Tell Me When I'm Good Enough [Scrim Fanfic]

I

TW!! - This chapter contains SA and child abuse. Read at your own discretion.

March, 15th 2008

The voices of people slowly droning out as the low sounds of buzzing entered my ears, staring at the floor in my own little world as some stranger gave off their sob story.

It would be the same shit, always blaming someone else but never themselves. I could place my hands on my heart and admit I was the reason why I took drugs, no one was at fault. No one told me to take them or force my mouth open while they slid the pills down my throat.

"Maybe you'd like to say a few words?"

Shit. 1,2,3, all eyes on me type of shit.

"You've been coming here for months, but we know nothing about you." The "ex drug addict" points his finger towards me, bullshit has he been sober for ten years, his jaw grinding and eye rolls say different.

See Dave knew things about me, he was acting as if I hadn't talked before almost a year ago. This drugged up junkie knew just about everything on me, I don't know how or why but maybe I had over shared a few years ago when I was high on molly. What a trip that was.

I sigh deeply not wanting to be involved in it before standing from my chair. I hate this NA bullshit. I didn't want to come here in the first place, but being forced to do so by my therapist.

"I'm Lorelei."

"Hi Lorelei."

Patronising

"I'm eighteen and a drug addict." I took that as my cue to sit back down on the cold metal chair that creaked underneath me each time, I shifted to get a little more comfortable. This place should invest a little more into brightening this place up, it was already depressing.

"It's nice to meet you, Lorelei. This is a safe space for you to open up about your troubles." Dave opened his mouth; showing what he had for lunch earlier on. He was the biggest ick in my eyes, everything seemed wrong about him.

I refrained from rolling my eyes. "Thanks." I mumbled. I wasn't going to share anything else about myself, Dave was a creep no doubt about it. There were rumors at one point saying that he had assaulted a few of the girls who used to attend the meetings however there was no evidence, and all charges were dropped on him or so he says.

I just needed my papers to be signed and I could move the fuck on from therapy. I couldn't drop myself out of it, ordered by the courts to keep going unless I wanted to stay another month inside the institution.

I was far from a drug addict; I smoked weed and popped molly occasionally when I wanted to spend some time in my own head, but it wasn't an amount that I was addicted to. The judge said different, I barely needed the pills. The weed I couldn't live without; it mellowed my head for a few hours especially from the reality of my world.

"I'm Scott." The echoes of hellos ringing through my ears. "I've been coming here for a year now and today I'm nine months sober." This strong accent came out of nowhere.

My eyes travelled to the mysterious man named Scott, I recognised him from previous meetings. We exchanged a couple of hellos but never anything further except from him asking for my number which I had to decline, my number had been out of service for years, but I had his number saved in case I 'ever needed anything', drugs? Maybe.