Young Writers Society

He woke up naked with a pounding hangover the next morning. He didn't remember last night, but it didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened. With shame washing over him, he got up and got dressed before going downstairs.

Ethan was asleep on the couch, surrounded by a sea of empty solo cups from the night before. A lamp had been smashed and something gooey covered the living room wall. There was a pile of vomit leading into the kitchen. Rhys took himself home.

He took the back path through the neighborhood, arriving at the house a little over fifteen minutes later. When he arrived, he went straight to the bathroom, falling on all fours in front of the toilet and heaving until he spewed vomit into the bowl. It smelled dizzyingly of alcohol. He flushed the toilet then leaned with his back against the wall, sweat beading across his forehead. He wasn't sure if this sickness was all hangover, or if it had something to do with what had happened. He leaned forward as another wave of nausea hit him, hanging onto the toilet bowl with his head drooping tiredly.

After a few moments he flushed and got to his feet, making his way out the door. He was going to a meeting.

It only took him half an hour of walking before he came to the First United Methodist church, stooping under the underpass supported by two columns on either side as it began to rain. Another fifteen minutes before the meeting started; he lit a cigarette.

"Can I bum one?" came a voice from behind him. He turned to see the blue-haired girl from the party, her eyes as startling as her hair and staring straight through him. He gave her a cigarette.

"Leah," she said, her voice a bit husky. Rhys could tell she was trans like him.

"Rhys," he told her. They shook hands once, lingering together beneath the underpass.

"You and your brother were at that party last night."

"Yeah, Calvin and my brother Ethan are best friends." Saying Calvin's name sent another wave of nausea over him. He fought the urge to vomit, taking a harsh drag off his cigarette instead.

"He seems like kind of an ass."

"Calvin?"

"Your brother."

Rhys let out a soft snort. "I'm guessing he used one of his pickup lines on you."

"He vomited on my shirt."

Rhys would have to remember to tease Ethan about that when he got home. For now, they finished their cigarettes as people filtered inside the church. Putting their cigarettes out, they followed the throng inside.

Rhys went to the coffee canister in the back, fixing himself a cup and dumping seven sugar packets into it. Stirring it, he took a seat near the back in one of the metal chairs. Leah took the seat beside him.

"Did you drink at the party last night?" she asked him under her breath. Rhys dug his shades out of his pocket and slid them on, the fluorescent lights of the church worsening his headache.

"Don't want to talk about it."

With that, the meeting started. Rhys sat back, eyes closed, mouthing the Serenity Prayer silently as the rest of the group chanted it. When it was done, he opened his eyes again and took a drink of his coffee, grateful that it scalded his tongue. He relished in the way it burned, everything from his lips to his mouth to his throat. He loved when things were so extreme that he could feel them

"So, you're an addict?" Leah asked him. Rhys took another gulp of coffee.

"Nope, I'm here for fun."

"Ha-ha, smartass."

He arched his eyebrows apologetically and turned his attention lazily to the front, where the speaker was stood in front of the podium rambling about something or another. Rhys wondered why he had come. As always, boredom. The boredom that ate away at him, that made his brain buzz and his synapses fire with fried electricity. Even when he was exhausted with the drug life, it was the boredom that drove him back to using. Each and every time. Nothing beat the boredom like getting high.

He took another drink of coffee and checked his watch. Another forty-five minutes before the meeting was over, then he could go score. He fidgeted.

"Nervous?" Leah asked him. He shrugged. He was always nervous, heart beating with anxiety every moment of the day. Another thing getting high alleviated.

The speaker finished their ramble and stepped away from the podium, leaving the floor open for whoever chose to go next. Rhys fidgeted some more, fixated on his next high. Another forty minutes.

He lurched a bit in surprise when the figure next to him got up and took the podium. Leah cleared her throat, smiling at the meeting's attendants.

"Hi, I'm Leah, and I'm an addict."

"Hi Leah," they all chorused. Leah's smile only grew wider.

"So, I know Birdsboro is a small town and most of you haven't seen me before, because I moved here only two weeks ago. But I'm Leah, like I said, and I'm about to be three years clean. And I just thought I'd let people know something that I'm really proud of - I'm ready to become a sponsor. So, if you or anyone you know is looking for one, I might be your gal. Besides that, I'm really excited to celebrate three years next Tuesday!"

The crowd snapped their applause and Leah descended from the podium, retaking her seat next to Rhys. Rhys took another drink of his coffee, not looking at her. He felt singled out by her talk about sponsorship. He didn't need a sponsor, nor did he want one. Sponsors were for sober people, and he certainly wasn't planning on being that any time soon.

He set his coffee on the ground beside his chair and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, people were getting up and Leah was shaking him awake.

"You up, kid?"

He sat up blearily, picking up his coffee. It had gone cold. He drank it anyway, getting to his feet. Time to go score.

"Hey," Leah caught him by the arm as they stepped outside, and Rhys lit a cigarette. "You wanna grab food?"

"Don't have money," Rhys tried to shake her off.

"I'll pay," she insisted. "You look like you haven't eaten in weeks."

She had him there - he couldn't remember the last time he had consumed actual food and not just cigarettes. With a begrudging sigh, he let her lead him to her car, a baby blue Subaru plastered in stickers and spray-painted peace signs. I love it He climbed into the passenger seat, taking a look around. The backseat was covered in a tarp; on the left-hand side lay mud-caked boots, and on the right a backpack full of equipment with what looked like an EMF device sitting beside it. Leah's purse was in the floorboard behind Rhys; the rest of the floorboard was littered with empty cigarette packs and empty water bottles. He turned to her, eyebrow arched.

"Ghost hunter?"

"Only in my spare time," she said dismissively, starting the car. "Haven't had time to do it in ages."

Rhys picked at his nails, wishing he was out scoring right now, but he said nothing as Leah backed out of the parking space. For some reason, he trusted her, and he was really hungry, stomach suddenly ravenous.

They pulled up to a Waffle House a few minutes later. Rhys stepped out of the car, lingering near the door to finish his cigarette. Leah stood by him, as if reluctant to leave him alone. When he was done, they walked inside.