A/N: Yo! New story. Erm, new posted, oldly written (: haha so here it is, sorta a tragedy, but then, i couldn't leave it like that, so you'll see where i decided to change the mood. Please tell me if you thought that was a good idea. Thanks so much for reading! reviews are loved.

Recovery
Just one more time, then it’d be all over. Just this last night and I would stay out of this house, out of this neighborhood for good. I wouldn’t come back here, not I had better things to do, right? Besides I only need this, it’s not an addiction or anything, right? Right! A single dose and that would be it, until… never, never again would I do this to myself… right?

It had only been a week since then, and I was already spazzing out about what I was going to do for my next fix. I made that promise because my father was coming home, finally, but how what I going to let all that go? The smell, the taster, the feeling inside of my—the explosive eruption of speed and adrenaline—I would miss that high the most.
“Honey, it’s just a few more hours,” Mom said, smiling at me. We were going to the airport to pick Dad up. This was the best part of my week. And because of my sweating and fidgeting, she thought I was nervous. She never was good at putting two and two together: it took her an hour to do a Sudoku.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Ma, whatever,” I rambled on, not really sure what was going on around me. All I could see was a blanket of green, probably trees, or something. My stomach was churning and I was wondering why I was there, and not somewhere else.

“It’s okay, you should take a sleeping pill, you’ve been pretty restless lately,” Mom glanced at me from the side of her eye—why’d she take her eyes off the road? What a bad idea. But sleep, it sounded so nice. Most of my nights were spent getting my fix, until lately, now they were full of turning in my bed and staring at the ceiling. I don’t know how people do it, live without the drug; how do they stay calm? I couldn’t do it, I just couldn’t.

Blinking a lot, I realized that the road was getting fuzzy, and I hadn’t even taken the pills yet. I should have though, that might have given me something to work with, passed a little time with ease. But, the road, it was becoming harder and harder to see the yellow lines—or where they white?—lines in the middle.

I felt Mom’s eyes on me; she was staring, I don’t know if it was concern or terror. She didn’t know about my problem—wait it’s not a problem, not it wasn’t a problem, just a habit, a bad habit, like smoking—did she?

Her eyes were staring at me, and all I heard was my name a few times before the rest of the world didn’t matter and I blacked out.

I heard voices, voices that were almost familiar, almost. I couldn’t place whose voices they were, but someone’s. And that’s about the time my stomach erupted with this feeling, not a good feeling. My bowls were moving faster and faster, and then I tasted rusty metal in my mouth, next thing I knew, there was a brownish-grey barf covering my face and upper torso. It smelled putrid.

The voice belonged to my mother, “Oh my, Allan, I’ve got to go!” she said, slamming the phone shut as a door opened.

Blah, blah, blah, someone was talking to me, I think, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. The feelings in my stomach were controlling my movement and they were screaming at me, telling me what my brain couldn’t.

Then, the door shut, leaving my blurry vision of white to Mom and me. White, what a horrible, bland color. White? “Where am I?” I asked Mom. Although clear in my head, I don’t think it came out of my mouth quit right.

“What is that, Sam?” Mom said, her voice almost bitter.

I ignored her question and choose not to say anything else, until I was sure of what I was saying, and rid of the throw-up.

Hours later, Dad came into the room. I knew I was in a hospital; the woman in bright scrubs gave me the hint when they came and cleaned me up. But there was also a man in a white coat, which was extremely rude, and asked to see Mom in the hall. She came in much madder than when she’d left.

Now that Dad was there, I felt a bit safer from Mom’s cold stare.

“Hey Beth, Sammy,” he went and kissed Mom, happy to see the both of us. “It’s wonderful to see you…How’s Sam?”

“I’m good, and real glad to see you,” I smiled, hoping it sounded like actual words coming out of my mouth.

“Oh?” he asked me, taking a seat beside the bed.

“Yes, if you call withdraw all right,” Mom shot another dirty look at me as she talked to Dad. They both ignored me, and my hello…

The look on Dad’s face was…not really priceless, rather unforgettable. His dark blue eyes told me a lecture—no—story rather, that hit something inside of me. It’s been a year since he went off to Iraq and since then, I haven’t seen him, or talked to him much. Living with Mom, she always nagged me about writing or e-mailing him, but it never seemed too important, but now, it was different. Something in his eyes told me that he missed me and was astonished that was the reason we couldn’t meet him at the airport. He was obviously hurt.

“Dad…” I whispered, afraid of what he might really say to me.

“Withdraw, really Sam? I thought I taught you better than…” he looked away from me and at Mom. Mom knew what he was thinking; she’d been thinking the same thing for the past three hours, except she didn’t say anything, rather have the look of disappointment and shame in her eyes.

“Dad? I’m quitting! I am, really? Right? Withdraw means I’m quitting!” I urged for an apology, but he didn’t look at me again that night, instead just stayed outside the room, maybe in the cafeteria after he told me: “Quitting Sam? Or just too lazy to afford another high?”

Hurt that Dad wasn’t looking at me, Mom sat down at about midnight (the doctors were afraid of what I might do because I needed real help, so they kept me over night to try and find rehab) and stared at me.

Finally, about twenty minutes later, she decided to say something, “Why’d you do it, Sam?”

Unsure of the answer, I shrugged, even though I knew that was the worst possible response.

“Sam, just tell me. Please enlighten me on how you got so far up your own ass that you thought you should take the easy way out?!” she raised her voice, staring at me with intense, piercing gray eyes.

“Easy?” I choked out, knowing this was the second worse response, “You think sneaking out of the house, trying to salvage enough dough, putting yourself in a giant hell hole to try and score some coke is easy? No, no, no! You’re right, that’s just a giant fun fair, right, Mom?” I yelled.

“I’ve never been that great, but why not come to me with your problems, Sam, I would’ve been there!” tears were beginning to swell her eyes.

“You’re right, how could I forget? You are always right, always free to speak, always available. Too bad you were too busy worried about the rest of the world and what they thought about you to notice your only son!” I didn’t want to cry, I really didn’t. I felt nothing but hate towards her. Sure, I lived with her, but I never once had a conversation that was more than ten minutes with her, and if it went past ten minutes she’d start to nag me about something stupid. But I felt tears stain my cheek—angry cries.

Offended, she stood up. “You’re a good for nothing drug addict!” she hissed before turning her back and storming out the white door.

That was the last time I saw my mother, or my father. I thought about writing him. In the last two years, I started about a hundred letters, but I couldn’t finish them or have the courage to send them. It was so hard to say I was sorry. And each night, I remembered those eyes of disappointment and shame; I wouldn’t let myself forget them. Dad was the only one that supported me when I was younger. Even though he wasn’t there the one time I needed him most, I knew I could handle it. As long as he was there, in the end.

My night had been long and restless, much like they day my Dad came back from Iraq; I didn’t get any sleep. That was the day I would change my life, for the better.

Getting out of bed, I stared in the mirror: my face was pale and my black hair was cut short for my big day. I took my daily shower without any interruptions and got dressed. My suit was fresh from the cleaners and ironed to perfection.

It was about ten now, and I was ready to face my past. I walked out of the room and into the kitchen, where a petite brunette sat, reading the paper.

“Hey, Sam, are you ready for your big day?” she sat her coffee cup and the paper down to stand up. She looked me over and smiled, “I think it’ll go your way.”

“Thanks Kady,” I smiled awkwardly. Kady had been a constant in my life for about a year in a half. She was the main reason I go through rehab and my life. She knew my story and vowed to help me through it all. And soon, I’d ask her to be my wife, where my father and mother would be, smiling at me as we walked down the aisle together.

“You’ll do good…do you want me to drive you?” she asked, walking to the stove and pulling out a sheet of Cinnamon rolls.

Taking a deep breath, I eyed the rolls and sighed. I nodded, “Yes, but…” I trailed off.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” her green eyes danced around the aroma of the freshly cooked cinnamon and bread mixture. Her slender fingers traced the icing around them, and slowly, it melted down the side of the pan.

Grabbing a roll, I gulped. “Will you stay in the car?” I asked, taking a bite of the flakiness.

She agreed and a few minutes later emerged from the bedroom in pants and an old tee shirt. He hair was pulled out of her face and flip-flops secured her feet. “Lets go.”

I straightened the blue suit and sighed on last time. Off we went.

Kady stopped the car, about fifteen minutes later, in front of my old home. My hand started shaking and I was at a loss of words.

“Sam, they love you, you’ll be forgiven. And I’m right here if you need me,” Kady squeezed my hand as she turned the car off.

A portion of a face appeared in the front window and stayed there a little while, until the curtain finally closed. No one showed up at the door so I knew this was it.

“Thanks, Kady,” I kissed her good bye as I opened the car door. Walking up that sidewalk was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. My heart was pounding faster and faster, and my hands were becoming sweaty. The suit on my body felt chafed and my hair felt as though it were falling out.

I can do this… just a few words. I thought to myself as I arrived at the front door. My shaking fingers reached for the door bell, but before I had a chance to ring it, the wooden door flew open, revealing Dad.

“Who are you? What do you want?” he had changed. He was no longer a laid back man, instead uptight and wronged by time.

“Who’s at the door?” my mother’s sweet voice asked. She had changed too, at least her voice had, it was softer, gentler.

“No one!” Dad screamed back, but it was too late, Mom was already beside him, looking outside. And that’s when she knew. Her face twisted around and she smiled at me, speechless.

“So who are you?” Dad asked, this time, it hurt. He didn’t recognize me, and I was too nervous to speak.

“Allan,” Mom questioned, bewildered.

“Go back to watching TV, Beth. I’ll get rid of this man,” he said, shooing her away. But, Mom didn’t leave. She stayed at the door and invited me inside me, leaving Dad confused.

“Beth, who is this?”

I turned back around to shake his hand. Smiling, I reached my hand out, “I’m real glad to see you,” I said, my hand floating in the air.
“Sammy?” Dad whispered, his eyes growing big and filling up with something that wasn’t shame or bitterness.

“Yeah, Dad, it’s me.”

“Sammy,” he cried, grabbing me by the neck and dragging me into a big hug. “Sammy, I thought I was going to die before I saw you again,” he sobbed into my shoulder.

Mom watched him open his heart, but she gave me a strange look when I was hesitant to return the emotion. Same old woman, but I couldn’t be mad anymore, I just couldn’t.

“I’m--” my voice cracked as Dad continued to hug me, “I’m sorry. I really am!”

“Sammy, Sammy, it’s okay. I forgive you, and I’m sorry for what I did that day…” he cried harder into my shoulder; I’ve never seen him cry.

“Good to have you back, Sam,” Mom said. She was unsure of something, probably what to say because of her words that day.

“You too, Mom, you too,” I said, smiling through my stained face.
The weight of the world lifted off my back at that moment. Dad wasn’t mad at me, my anchor was back and I felt as though I changed him back to the man he had been before the hospital. But, I couldn’t just forget about that day, it was my day. The day of change. After two years, I didn’t feel ready to face the past, but I did it. I recovered from my addiction and my pain. But, all that was still there: the shame, the lies, the pain, it would always stay there because I wanted it to be. Without Dad ignoring me and Mom screaming at me, I wouldn’t have changed; I wouldn’t have met Kady; I wouldn’t be half the man I was right then, in that moment.

That was the reason I lived through it all. Through the pain and tears, my recovery was hard, too hard… But I knew Dad would still love me, and take me back, no matter what. He was the reason I could recover.

The End.