because of you ✰ britpop

thirteen

tw/mentions of eating disorders, drugs and recovery/relapse

90 days. i was going to spend 90 days in rehab for addiction and my eating disorder. they weighed me every day and every night. i had group therapy on monday, wednesday, and friday, and i was supervised while in the bathroom to make sure i didn't throw up my food.

kate visited regularly and we did all the things that we used to in our teenage years. we put on face masks, popped popcorn, watched rom coms, and cried. by the end of the night we had mascara tears running down our faces as we held each other tightly.

"i was so fucking scared, lyla." kate whispered as we lay together, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stickers a past patient had stuck on the ceiling of my room. "you're the only person i couldn't live life without." i turned to face her, nuzzling into her side.

"i don't plan on leaving any time soon." i spoke, lifting up my pinky finger. "sisters for life, yeah?" kate smiled widely as she linked her pinky with mine.

"sisters forever. no matter what."

in the ten days that i had been there, i hadn't taken everything easily, but recovery isn't easy. i threw fits, i had breakdowns, i screamed and i cried. after a long, aching day of calling for damon as i writhed in the pain of withdrawals, he came and i felt whole.

the first day he came, all he did was hold me in his arms as i sobbed until i fell asleep. i would awake in his arms as he ran his fingers through my hair. 

one day, he came after a particular time where i was being told off for not taking the medication they had prescribed me. apparently, i was depressed. it was "likely inherited through genetics" said the doctor as he gave me two of the pills. i wasn't allowed to keep the bottle, as they knew my past with pills.

i was sat on the blue sheets of my room, no makeup on my face and having an absolute fucking tantrum. something they don't tell you about getting sober or recovering is that it fucking hurts. it hurt to not have the numb, euphoric feeling of heroin engulf me. 

damon peered his head into my door, to see me curled up on my bed, my body shaking as i cried and screamed like a little kid who broke their toy.

"lyla..." he called my name softly from behind me. i felt his arms wrap around me as i was engulfed in his warmth. he cradled me and weaved his fingers through my hair as i cried in pain. even as i tried pushing him away, he kept his grip tight, simply wiping away my tears and caressing my face.

he began humming a mesmerizing tune that made me fall silent. i found my tears drying.

"is that a new song, damon?" i asked in a whisper. he tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear and nodded. "will you sing it for me?" i asked, looking up at him from my watery vision.

"only if you go to sleep afterward, love," he replied. i glanced over at the clock. it was midnight. i don't know how damon put up with me.  i nodded in response and rested my head on the pillow of my bed as damon began singing the tune slowly, mesmerizingly, and painfully beautiful.

"beetlebum
what you've done
she's a gun
now what you've done
beetlebum

get nothing done
you beetlebum
just get numb
now what you've done
beetlebum

and when she lets me slip away
she turns me on then all my violence is gone
nothing is wrong
i just slip away and i am gone
nothing is wrong
she turns me on
i just slip away and I am gone..."

i fell asleep to his words that night. the song was about me, that i knew undoubtedly, but it wasn't exactly a love song. it was a song that was dripping with pain and melancholy sorrow. and in that way, it was mine.

it was as if damon had borrowed a piece of my mind to write the song. and afterward, that piece, (which had brought me irrevocable sadness for years) began to evaporate. it was discarded as i gained sobriety.

the whole rehab situation never got leaked to the press (thank god) and on my last day, damon surprised me by not driving me to kate and i's flat, but to a beautiful house on the edge of a hill by the sea. damon knew how much i loved the sound of the ocean.

i was so happy i thought i was going to explode. life was like a fucking fairytale-- albeit, a fucked up one, but one that gave me that only thing i had ever wanted. a happy ending. bittersweet, to say the least.

nothing was perfect, though. i relapsed multiple times and it wasn't until nearly a decade later that i fully recovered. nobody can truly recover unwillingly, you have to want to get better. and it took those ten years for me to want to recover. 

you see, i didn't do it for me. i did it for damon, and in that sense, i did it for love. and after our first daughter was born, i knew i did it for her too.

the last thing i remember of that day was the picture. kate, damon, my father, and i all sat around the fire in our new home, bundled in blankets with tea and digestives.