SECRETARY- Kylo Ren.

Chapter 1 - New Hope.

New Hope Manor.

   A lavish manor, standing tall and wide in its glory. Red bricks crumbled with age, framed windows, acres upon acres of greenery. Stone fountain out front, rounded gravel driveway. Grand stairs leading to the large doors of the aged manor.

   To the outside eye, the large land is lavish, assumed to be owned by some business man, or even royalty. Those were the only kind of people to be able to afford it, anyway. But it was more than just that. It was a rehab; a gathering ground for alcoholics and addicts.

   Everyone had a room in the manor. A single bed with two pillows, one top sheet, two comforters. A lamp, a dresser, and a window. It was all that you had, other then the little belongings you had first brought with you, packed away in your small suitcase.

You had spent majority of your days in that room — four months, exactly. You had cried in that room, screamed, laughed, danced. Everything had been experienced in that small bedroom, or at least for the past few months.

But, you hadn't been locked away in your room the whole time, you also had yard time, almost like a prisoner living in the most lavish and big prison known to man. Thirty minutes, all to yourself, free to walk upon the acres of land that was owned.

Two weeks into the program, and one of the participants had run away on those said thirty minute breaks. After that, you were forced to walk in pairs. You didn't mind though, it just made it easier to trade cigarettes.

   But the program wasn't all sparkles and rainbows. It had been a shit show.

   Forced meals in the dining hall — which included every participant sitting at a laughably long table, politely passing salt shakers and awkwardly making eye contact. Daily chores, as if suddenly being an addict meant you had to do dirty work like a teenager living with their parents still.

   And your favourite, group therapy, where people cried, screamed and insulted each other, and even caused physical fights — which was always entertaining as ever to watch. For four months, that's what you had done to occupy your time.

   But today, that all ended. You were being discharged from New Hope Manor, you were clean – although this was the dirtiest you had felt in years.

   What was life outside of rehab?

   You found yourself first asking that when you packed your suitcase in the morning, folding faded t-shirts and out-of-fashion jeans. And then again, when you were making rounds, saying goodbye to all the acquaintances you had made in the past four months. And now, as you stood outside, waiting for your cab. 

   In all honesty, you weren't sure what life would be like now. Even before rehab, you had spent most of your days drunk or hungover. Definitely not experiencing life to its fullest then, and definitely not for the past four months. But now, you were free.

   There was nobody to tell you to brush your teeth, or that lunch was soon, and you sure as hell didn't have Dr. Hux trying to diagnose you with ridiculous mental illnesses for an hour every week anymore either.

   "Going so soon? I feel like I just met you yesterday." A familiar male voice speaks, tone soft and welcoming.

   Your head turns to the side, eyes narrowing at the voice. Speak of the devil.

   "Dr. Hux," you breathed, cracking a weak smile, "Sorry for not saying my goodbyes earlier, I think you were in session with someone." You apologize.

   Hux waves his hand, dismissing it. The short man was dressed in his usual slacks and button-up, sleeves rolled and Rolex glinting on his wrist. At least you knew where all the admission money went, you thought. He shook his head of firey ginger hair.