REHAB [5SOS]

MARKED

MARKED

Calum

Uneasy.

That was a good word to describe how he felt as he walked up to the rehabilitation center, his bag of things thumping against his side. Uneasy. He was uneasy as hell.

Calum hesitantly opened the door and walked in. There were a few people in line before him, and he got in line behind two squabbling boys, both of whom looked around his age.

"Why are we here again?" The boy whining had unnaturally red hair.

The taller, blonde boy sighed, exasperated. "Because they told us we had to come here, okay? We're here, and we're gonna stick it out."

The red haired boy grumbled something to himself under his breath, and the blonde boy nudged him, which set them scuffling.

Calum wondered why they were here. Probably nothing like him. He'd come out of an asylum.

He finally reached the check in. "Um, I have this," Calum said, pulling a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket, sliding it across to the lady.

Doctor's orders.

She peered at it through her reading glasses. "Alright." She pressed a button on her desk and spoke into a mic. "Jim, take him to hallway 17."

Jim was a tall, burly man, even taller than Calum. As he walked Calum to his room in total silence, Calum looked around, peeking into rooms, catching glimpses of people lounging in rooms. It didn't feel anything like the asylum.

"Here's your room." Jim opened the door and then walked off.

Calum walked in, hesitantly, and flipped on the light switch.

"Hey, what the fuck, I was trying to take a nap."

Calum jumped at the voice. It was coming from the further of the two beds of the room.

Grumpy, a boy with disheveled black hair looked over. "Who the hell are you?" he asked, half sitting up and squinting against the light.

"Er, Calum. Who're you?" Calum asked, awkwardly stuck in the doorway.

"Zayn," the boy grumbled, rubbing his eyes and then looking at Calum balefully. "Well don't just stand there. You already woke me up from my nap." He pulled the blanket off and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. "Settle yourself in. Left side of the room is yours, so also the left side of the dresser. I've got to go to the toilet," he said, walking out past Calum.

Calum walked to his bed and placed his duffel bag on top of the blanket. "Thanks," he murmured to himself, even though Zayn was already gone.

He was finishing up unpacking when Zayn returned. "Hey, you're organized," he commented, sounding pleasantly surprised as he watched Calum fold a t-shirt and put it in the dresser.

Calum shrugged. "I guess," he agreed, sliding the drawer shut.

As much as he wanted to ask Zayn why he was here, he didn't want to be asked question himself.

Zayn jumped back onto his bed. "So, mate, why're you here?"

Calum froze. Great.

I was found with 14 grams of cocaine to help me forget the fact that I'm a murderer.

Great conversation starter.

He chewed his lip. "Erm, substance abuse," he muttered, looking down at his feet.

Zayn nodded. "Yeah, I got you. I'm here for the same thing." He flashed Calum a crooked grin, his fingers aimlessly tracing one of the many tattoos inked onto his skin. "Marijuana is addicting as hell."

"Yeah," Calum mumbled, walking back to his bed. Self consciously, he started tracing his own tattoos.

"Explain your tats to me."

Calum frowned at him. "Explain them?"

"Yeah, explain them." Zayn was lying on his back, looking up at the ceiling. "I'm having withdrawals, and I need a distraction. If you don't have a good reason, just make up some bullshit story. Just-" he suddenly cut off, and his hands gripped the blankets.

Calum could relate.

Out of sympathy, a story tumbled out of his mouth. "This one, this one's name is, uh, Chiefy," Calum said, tracing the tattoo. "I got him as a companion. He's strong, brave, and he's very loyal. Always here to keep me company. I can even make him talk," Calum rambled, demonstrating, moving the skin on his arm so that it looked like the tattooed face on his arm was talking.

Zayn looked at him with awe. "And you aren't even on drugs. Dude, that's a fucking talent. You should go be a kindergarten teacher and light up the souls of children with those stories."

Calum laughed, uncomfortable. "Yeah, that's that." He coughed, awkward. "What about your tattoos?"

"Mine?" Zayn glanced down at his arms, studying them, as though he'd forgotten they were there.

Calum nodded. "Yeah."

"There're a lot. Which do you want to know about?"

Calum glanced over them. "The girl."

Zayn grimaced. "Not that tattoo. I'm not ready for that one."

"Sorry, I-"

"You know, you're a lot better than my old roommate," Zayn said thoughtfully. "The other roommate, now that guy, he was a prat. Such a tool. I'm so glad they moved him to another hallway, although I feel kind of bad for his roommate."

"Yeah..." Calum said, unsure how to respond. Zayn didn't really seen to be talking to him.

Zayn sighed. "I'd kill for a smoke right now," he said, fingers hovering over the tattoo of the girl.

Calum stared up at the ceiling and sighed.

He missed his mother.

"Me too, Zayn. Me too."