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The woman on my left takes her turn, and I will myself to listen just as they listened for me. Nodding and smiling, and finding comfort in this collective give and take only group therapy in a safe, controlled environment can provide.
When Diane’s finished, she wipes her eyes and smiles, nodding as we thank her for sharing and congratulate her on her three month sobriety that just so happens to fall on today.
Is that how long I’ll be here?
Would I even be upset about that at this point?
“Shawn?”
At the unfamiliar name, I lift my head, following Dr. Simmons’ gaze to the guy on Diane’s left with the dark, closed off gaze, and gaunt, stubbled cheeks.
“You feel like taking a turn today?”
It’s his first group. Has to be. There are other times and groups, but if he was here before today, I probably would’ve seen him. Unless he was still in detox.
The worst of it, he would’ve spent in the hospital under close monitoring, like me. By the rangy, gaunt look to him, and the bags under his eyes, and the slight tremble to his fingers as he rubs at the sweats covering his thighs… I’d say he’s fresh out of Hell. Probably just arrived.
Group was the first thing they threw me into when I arrived too.
Did I look that bad then too?
I don’t think so.
There’s a raggedness to him—a hollowness—that tells me his rock bottom was a lot deeper than mine.
Tugging down at the sleeves rumpled around his hands, he starts bobbing his knee. He’s fiddling with something just under sleeve, and I catch a wink of pink before he quickly covers it.
A hospital bracelet maybe?
“Um,” he says, clearing his throat. His voice is deep, rough. He blinks fast. “I…I feel like shit.”
Despite how abrupt his words are, no one laughs.
“I haven’t been sober in years. It’s…it’s hard.”
Wincing, I look around, taking in the wary lines and knowing, empathetic eyes shining back.
Jesus, years? He can’t be much older than me. Though the scruff and wariness in his eyes definitely ages him.
Dr. Simmons says, “The first couple weeks are the hardest.”
Shawn’s jaw ticks. He says nothing.
“And something good?” Dr. Simmons says, tilting his head.
The guy shakes his head.
“It can be anything at all. Something that might be nothing to another person, but everything to you, even if it’s not lasting.” At those words, his gaze flits to me.
Shawn works his jaw, and plays more roughly with the end of his sleeve. Finally, he just shoves it up, just enough to reveal a pink and yellow beaded bracelet. The pink ones are round, but the yellow are shaped like little moons.
I frown.
“I got a gift,” he forces out shortly. Quickly. “In the hospital. Someone made this for me. I-I can’t remember the last time anyone…” His voice fades, and he scowls before quickly shoving his sleeve back down, hiding it. Hunching his shoulders, he slumps back.
He’s clearly done sharing.
“That’s great, Shawn. Definitely something to be happy about.” I can hear the pleased smile in Dr. Simmons’ voice, but I don’t look over to confirm. I only have eyes for the guy currently darting wary glances my way as the room murmurs a sort of welcome to him.
