Chapter Seventeen

Two days later, I entered a drug rehab program. For the first ten days, I wasn't allowed any visitors. I was put in what the residents called "the hell chamber." I wasn't given any morphine and went through major withdrawal symptoms. I hallucinated, had nightmares worse than right after the accident and even would become so outraged at nothing in particular that I would throw myself against the wall. I kind of felt good that I wasn't allowed to have visitors. I didn't want Brian to see me like this.

After the ten days were up, I was forced into an addict support group. I hated every minute of it. I also had private counseling sessions to help me deal with the problems I had. In the group session, I had to admit that I was an addict, which was really hard to do. It took me four days of just sitting and listening to everyone else's stories before I finally convinced myself that I was an addict. Everyone had stories of how they had sold everything they owned to get their drugs and how the drugs had ruled their lives. They had pushed everyone close to them away. Then on my third day in the group, a teenager, known only as Mary, got up and told her story. She told that she never sold anything to get her cocaine. Her parents where wealthy and gave her an allowance that they thought she was putting in the bank, but she was really using to fund her habit. She told how she got started using cocaine in that she had tried it as an experiment at a party right after her boyfriend had left her. Something about her story struck a chord with me.

The fourth day, I stood up and introduced myself. "Hi, my name is Briann and I'm an addict." I said.

"Hi Briann," the group said in unison.

"Do you have a story to share with us, Briann?" the leader, Suzanne asked of me.

"Yes, I do." I told them about the accident and about how I had killed my fiancé. I told them about how I started taking the morphine to dull the physical pain and the high I got off it dulled the emotional pain. I told them that I never sold any of my things to pay for my "treatments," I was on a payment plan and then I ran into an old friend who happened to be quite wealthy but didn't like to spend his money on himself. I told them how he had offered to help pay for the treatments and then how I had overdosed one night because the pain wouldn't go away. I had their sympathy.

After the ten days were up and I was in counseling, I was allowed to have visitors. The first person who came to visit me was Brian. He came on a weekly basis. We walked through the courtyard of the rehab facility talking about my experiences.

"I thought you had a tour or something to do?" I asked Brian one day.

"We moved it up. I wasn't going to leave you. Fortunately our new management is very understanding about these types of things."

"I'm more important than your fans?"

"Yes. I couldn't let you ruin your life. So how are you doing here?"

"Okay, I guess. There's not much to do, except walk and spend time in my room. There's no one to play basketball with either."

Brian laughed. "Leave it to you to be more concerned about your game than your own health."

"Hey, I never said that."

"No, but you implied it."

"Ooh, big word from the man who barely passed English."

"Don't talk to loud. You barely passed math."

We both laughed and continued walking.

After forty-five days of rehab, they let me go. I still had to go to monthly meetings, but the doctors decided that I was well enough to go back to my normal life. Only there was nothing normal about it. Brian and I decided to remain friends, but not to date. We would always care about each other, but it just wasn't meant to be.

It took a lot of therapy, but I finally forgave myself for the accident. I know that Dave wouldn't have wanted me to continue to beat myself up over it. I finally let him go. And once I did that, I realized that I had all I ever wanted right there. I had family and friends who cared about me. And I'd always have my B-Rok.

The End!

So what did you think? Did you like how it ended? Or did you hate it? Let me know. Email me.