For the next twenty minutes, voices rose one by one around the circle. Some stories sounded like Fiona’s, people running from pressure or the fear of failure. Others were trying to numb pain, literal or emotional, or outrun their own minds because thinking sober was apparently a contact sport.
Every story was a little different, yet they all shared one thread. By the time each person finished talking, they seemed lighter than when they had started—reassured, somehow—as if speaking their mess out loud eased the weight of it.
The poster children for that old saying, “a problem shared is a problem halved.”
It didn’t mean I was ready to open my mouth and share my truth, or whatever bullshit Ricky had spewed at the beginning.And when he turned to me expectantly, my mouth went dry, heart pounding a staccato beat against my ribs.
Thankfully, a loud groan echoed through the room, bouncing off the high ceilings and drawing Ricky’s attention.
I turned towards the source of the sound on my left, where the petulant fidgeter had dropped their head against the back of their armchair. The hood that had hidden their face had slipped down, revealing high cheekbones, a button nose, and a tangled nest of long, faded pink hair.
“Did you have something to share, Iggy?” Ricky asked, unbothered by the theatrics.
The fidgeter, Iggy, sighed and stretched out long legs that ended in fuzzy rainbow socks, a bright, almost cheerful contrast to the sunroom’s muted, earthy tones. “What if you’re not running from some giant emotional black hole?”
“Can you elaborate?”
“What if I just want to feel good?” Iggy raised his head and looked directly at Ricky. “Like, okay, sorry I don’t have any childhood trauma or deep-seated issues. I just had a good fucking time and it got out of hand.”
Someone huffed a laugh, and I had to cover my mouth to hide the reluctant curl at the corner of my lips. Who was this guy? I wasn’t sure if it was bravery or pure idiocy, but fuck, it was a welcome break from all the negativity.
A guy across the circle, who had already shared, frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Ricky raised a hand to stop him and nodded at Iggy to keep going.
“I mean yay, pain, meaning, whatever. But also, drugs are fun, right? Or they start that way, I guess.” Iggy’s dark brows lowered in a thoughtful frown, and he raised his gaze to stare through the window behind Ricky’s body. “What if you weren’t trying to escape life? Everyone’s got these dark, tragic reasons,and I’m over here like, ‘I’m just enjoying not being bored.’ I’m chasing a good time, not demons. Or okay, so maybe the demons showed up later, but at the start? I just wanted everything to feel... bigger. Brighter.”
His voice dropped to something softer, almost a whisper. “I just wanted life to sparkle a bit more. But then one day it’s gone and you’re face down in glitter and regret.” Iggy tugged at the hem of his sweater again, like a nervous tic, pulling a thread loose between his delicate fingers. Then he lowered his gaze back to Ricky. “So, what does that say about me?”
Ricky didn’t respond right away. Instead, he steepled his fingers and raised them to rest against his chin, just below his lower lip, using the moment to think. From the corner of my eye, I watched as Iggy’s twitchy hands stilled, waiting for the counsellor’s judgement to be delivered. His face was blank, expressionless, like he was ready for Ricky to say he was fucked up and couldn’t be saved. Accepted it, even, before the situation had occurred.
“Boredom is still a feeling, Iggy,” Ricky began, and Iggy’s chest deflated as he exhaled. “Wanting to feel good isn’t a crime, but relying on substances to feel alive? That’s where the cost begins.”
I watched the words sink into Iggy’s skin, and I expected relief to follow, just like with all the others. But instead, he looked confused. Anxious, perhaps, in the way his jaw tightened. Something about his reaction made me want to speak, to open my mouth for the first time all session. But I didn’t. Not because I didn’t have anything to offer—well, partly, I guess—but because I didn’t want to. Speaking felt dangerous right then, almost vulnerable, like I’d be admitting that I was watching, noticing, caring.
Instead, I stayed quiet as Ricky wrapped up the session. Iwatched the way Iggy went back to his fidgeting ways, shifting in his armchair, curling one knee in slightly. The way he tugged at that loose thread with fingers decorated with sparkling purple nail polish until the material puckered, like he could pull the tension right out of his body if he tried hard enough.
Not once did he try and argue or resist the point Ricky made. He was parsing it. Turning it over, like he was trying to figure out if feelinggoodwas actually allowed. Maybe it made him feel small, just for a second. The kind of small you get when someone says something that makes sense but still hits a little too close to the truth.
And still I stayed quiet, even as Ricky released everyone, encouraging us to enjoy our free time. Silent as I walked past Iggy, who remained in his seat, and headed straight for the door to the maze of gardens beyond. I didn’t offer comfort or praise, because sometimes it was better not to interfere. Let him fight with himself and figure it out, because I had my own shit to puzzle through.
But first, I needed to smoke.
I walked down a gravel path, ignoring the dust kicked up around my tattered Vans with every step. Tall hedges rose on either side, boxing me in. The sky above was streaked with pinks and purples as the sun began to set. There was still some time before dark, and without my phone—they’d confiscated it on intake—I guessed it would be at least an hour before the dining room opened for dinner. That meant sixty minutes of peace and quiet before the scrape of knives on porcelain joined the chorus of awkward conversations between strangers bound together by mutual fuckups.
A gap in the hedge on my right revealed a small alcove with a stone bench. The surface was darkened with age and patches of moss, but it was clean enough to sit on and tucked awayenough that I couldn’t be seen from the path. Despite the sun, the shadows made the hard surface cold against my ass. Still, it was quiet and hidden, so I didn’t complain as I pulled the refillable vape from my pocket. I closed my eyes and inhaled, almost smiling when a cloud of cotton candy and nicotine hit my lungs.
“You’re new.”
My eyes flicked open and I tilted my head to the right. Iggy sat on the bench beside me, one bare leg crossed over the other, and one hand stuffed into the large pocket of his oversized hoodie. The other was holding a bejewelled vape against his lower lip. I frowned. When the fuck had he appeared? I hadn’t heard him approach, let alone felt him sit down beside me. Had he fucking teleported?
His pink hair hung loose around his shoulders, and when I didn’t respond, he turned to face me. Green eyes bored into mine, glittering like gemstones under the setting sun. His lips were chapped and cheeks slightly gaunt, but despite that, with his pale skin and rosy cheeks, he was... pretty, almost ethereal in appearance. Like those flower fairies or elves in the anime I watched sometimes.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
I didn’t respond, still a bit stunned that he’d appeared out of nowhere, and pissed that my solitude had been interrupted. Instead, I turned away and gazed at the hedge on the other side of the path. I heard rather than saw Iggy inhale whatever was in his vape, and when he released the cloud, I was surrounded by the scent of something sweet and fruity. Strawberry, maybe?
“Fine,” he said on a sigh. “Ignore me, I get it. You’re one of those mysterious types.”
We sat in silence for a few moments, and I hoped I’d still geta chance to enjoy a side of peace with the one bad habit I’d allowed myself to keep. But no such luck.
