Helloooo! This is my first submission, so I would love any replies helping me with this story.
Things I'm concerned about:
-This story needs a name! I am clueless!
-Suggestions on grammer
-Help on developing the main character, whom I have left nameless and her only attributes are sarcasm, skepticism, and a really bad drinking problem! Flawed much!!??
Untitled (Chapter 1) Draft
To be honest, I don’t know how to exactly start telling my story. There are several places I could begin, like when I took to drinking after my fiancé’s death. My downward spiral, spending $100 a day on booze, and passing out for hours at a time. Waking up, remembering nothing but blurred images, slurred words, like some psychedelic movie. Then my realization that things had gotten out of hand, enrolling myself into rehab.
I completed 3 months and now I’m in sober living, with 4 other people. It cracked me up so bad, our first group counseling session, all our stories were the same, just different things that set us off and started our addiction.
My roommate is this real quirky girl, Madison, totally unique. Her sense of humor is real dark, most people don’t get her, but we just seemed to click from the start. She was abused as a child, drank to rid herself of the pain, and then she started cutting. She always wears long sleeves, and one night before bed, she lifted them up and showed me her scarred arms. She had even carved the word “failure” into her forearm, a constant reminder, as if her mother reiterating the word was not enough for her.
“I’m ashamed, I don’t want people to see how low I sank.” She said and pushed her sleeves back down. We never talked about it again after that.
Then there’s Mark, barely eighteen, thinks he knows everything. But I guess most people think they do at that age. He’s still convinced he didn’t have a problem. He went to rehab to please his parents, and has come here to keep up the façade. So far, he said, it’s working.
Marlene, a.k.a. Mom, is the oldest in our group. This is her fourth time here. She claims she is really trying to sober up, but I once caught her sneaking in some Boones. I never mentioned it to her, thought it might be rude. Alcoholic or not, she is about the sweetest person I ever met.
Our resident rock star, Derrick, has taken some time off from his world tour to take care of his pesky little problem. He sincerely believes that none of his fans know he’s an addict, even after that youtube fiasco of him stumbling off stage.
Our counselor, I haven’t exactly figured out yet. He’s middle-aged, balding, and goes by Joe. He just sits in on our meetings, comments a little, asks a question or two, most of the time he just listens. And that’s what he’s doing right now during our little pow-pow. Listening as Marlene recounts a story where her son walked in on her having drunken sex with a man that was most definitely not his father.
“Did your son tell your husband…is that what lead to your divorce?” He asks, while jotting down on his clipboard.
“No,” sob, “I eventually told him about my affair. Few months later we were divorced.”
She goes on, telling more about her life before she ended up here. The whole time, I’m vaguely listening, I’m watching Joe. I sense that he’s a hypocrite, listening and writing things down, probably very judgmental. He glances up and sees me looking at him, I don’t look away. We stare. Finally, he looks back down at his paper. I don’t think he’s really listening to Marlene. The whole session he never interrupts her, and then he announces that our meeting is over.
Marlene wipes her eyes, sighs, and smiles in my direction. I still like her, even though she’s a bit of a whiner. We all get up and head to our rooms, saying goodnight to each other.
In the middle of the night, I have a humongous case of the munchies. I head down the stairs and to our fully stocked kitchen. I get a slice of chocolate cake and sit down at the breakfast nook. I love chocolate. Each bite I savor, I think I might be able to replace my booze with chocolate cake. Mid-chew I’m interrupted by a throat clearing.
“Hey.” Says rock star Derrick.
“Hi.”
“What was up with you at our session?”
Puzzled look.
“ Ya know, you and Joe Blow staring each other down?”
“He’s a hypocrite.”
“Really?” He grabs a slice of chocolate cake and sits down next to me.
“Really.”
“And when did he talk long enough to give you this impression?”
“It was nothing he said. It’s what he does. Like he’s looking down his nose at us, while writing on his little clipboard. He’s probably not even writing anything.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Mmhhmm. So when is “Spilled Shots” going back on tour?”
“Not any time soon. I’m really trying to clean up.”
“How’s that going for you?”
“ It sucks,” he laughs, I laugh.
“Well, I better stop stuffing my face.”
I make my exit and before I’m upstairs, he’s behind me.
“Meet you tomorrow night for some more cake?” He offers.
“Definitely.”
