I pace back and forth in front of the main nurses station for the third week in a row. A nurse comes out with everyone's mail and sighs when she sees me.

"Come to harass me more?"

I roll my eyes as she begins passing out mail.

"Looks like your lucky day Morris."

"I have mail?"

She nods her head.

"Fucking finally!"

"Language. Now leave me alone. Stop asking me a million questions about the mail every day."

She hands me a single letter and I practically sprint back to my room to read it.

"Betty,

I'm sorry I haven't wrote until now. It's been busy out here. With work, I mean. The record shop closed. They told us the way it used to be is dead. Like the music and shit. Anyway, I got a new job. They work us like crazy. It'll be nice to save up though. Since nothing is going on with the band. I could finally buy you that drum set you were eyeing for months. We'll need a new hangout spot once you get released too. Uh, your parents had all your stuff from your apartment put in storage. They're dropping the key off to me next week. Then I'll mail it to you. They can't send it themselves because of the restraining order. Don't worry, I'll pay for the storage. Damn, I talked too much about myself. How are you holding up? Anything new? I'll write more often, I promise. I miss you Betty. It's tough out here without seeing your face to brighten up my day! Pictures just don't compare! It's a bit strange writing to you. I didn't even write my penpal I was assigned in middle school. Ah, it's hard not to ramble on in a letter. Only 17 months left.

I love you, Damon"

Nothing about the band? Nothing about Gunther? I need to know if Freddy is interviewing drummers and lead guitarists. I need to know how Gun is. Is he out of the hospital? Is he doing physical therapy yet? Is he going to write me? I need to know these things. I'll go insane if I'm left in the dark like this. I hate this, I want out of here. I flop down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. I could just leave. Just walk right out of those front doors. Of course, that would mean the judge in charge of my case would put a warrant out for my arrest. Where would I go anyway? I'm not allowed to contact my parents, Damon would bring me right back, Freddy would call the cops and I'm too terrified to face Gunner and his family. I.. have nowhere to go. I'm close to crying when there's a knock on my door. I sit up to look at the young nurse.

"Betty Morris?"

"Yeah?"

She clears her throat.

"I'm one of the assistant activities coordinators. I was going through new residents and noticed you haven't signed up for anything."

"Yeah. And?"

"Well in this program, everyone is required to participate in at least one activity. Actually, your assigned therapist has requested more."

"Why?"

She looks down and flips through the papers in her hands.

"Due to the extent of your time required to be here. You are to sign up for 3 separate activities for 3 different days of the week. That leaves visitation day free and also a free day for when you begin group therapy sessions."

I look at her like she's lost her mind.

"What? No. I'm not gonna sit in a room with a bunch of strangers and share my feelings while everyone cries. I don't give a fuck about anyone's sob story."

"No one asked if you wanted to do it Ms. Morris. You don't have a choice. Well, you do, technically. But if you refuse to cooperate with the programs rules, you'll be transferred to serve the alternative sentence in jail."

She smiles at me. The kind of 'we both know you don't want that, so you're screwed here' smile that makes me want to punch her.

"Wow. And what exactly do you have planned for my weekends?"

"The weekends are yours. If you have no violent outbursts before the three month probation period is up, you'll be allowed to leave the facility Saturday afternoons."

"I'll be able to go out?!"

We look at each other for a few seconds.

"Supervised. And to one of the approved locations. If you do want to go elsewhere, you'll need to put in a request to your assigned therapist. It's up to them to approve or deny. You also have the option to get a job to make money."

I roll my eyes.

"Do you guys control what I can spend the money on too?"

She looks at me with a serious face.

"Actually, yes. Now that you have no more questions, I'll tell you the options available to you for activities. You'll have a week to turn in your choices."

She looks up at me. She seems to ne assessing me. Checking over my hair, piercings and tattoos.

"I assume anything crafty is out of the question."

"Are you kidding? Knitting is my passion."

She completely ignores my joke.

"There's holistic activities, various sports, arts, physical fitness, cooking, gardening, crafts, swimming, a book club, a game club."

Honestly, I stopped listening after she said arts. It would be totally sick if they had a music program. Drumming would at least make being here at least a little bearable.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"You said arts. So is there a music program?"

"Yes.."

"Okay sign me up for that one!"

She shakes her head.

"Sorry, no can do. Your assigned therapist won't allow you to sign up for that program. She's linked your drinking to your participation in music. Until you've been here longer, she won't allow you to join that program. Plus, I hear you were a drummer. Our music program is more of a percussion and woodwind group. No drums in sight."

"Of course it is. Is that all?"

"Yep! Turn in your choices by next week."

She leave and I flop back on my bed, sighing.

"What the fuck dude. My drinking had nothing to do with being in the band."

The music was my escape. I drank because I unfortunately can't just play forever. I wish I could. Just as I settle my face into the pillow, there's another knock on my door.

"UGH!"

"Hello to you too, Ms. Morris. It's time for therapy. But before you go, you have a phone call request from a Tom Hale. Your therapist will discuss potential approval with you during your session."

I follow her out and to my therapists office. I go in and sit on the couch.

"Good afternoon Betty. Who is Thomas Hale?"

Of course, right down to the point.

"Tom is a former band member. Back when we first started. He was on drums and I was lead singer."

"Oh! Was this before Mr. Rivers joined?"

"Yeah. When Freddy joined, I moved to drums and Tom moved to keyboard. After a little while he left. Freddy can't play any instruments."

I laugh as I think back to his pathetic attempts to play the guitar.

"Do you blame yourself for Thomas leaving?"

"What? What do you mean?"

I look up at her a bit caught off guard.

"Well, it was ultimately you who forced him to leave. You had a full band already. Then you introduced Fredrick into the group as lead singer. You moved to drums, which pushed Thomas to keyboard. And I'm just assuming here, but I don't think there's a huge need for a keyboardist in a metal band. So he left."

I'm at a bit of a loss for words.

"You'd be surprised over the amount of metal bands that feature a keyboard."

She looks down to write in her binder.

"That doesn't answer my question Betty."

"I.. I don't know. But we needed Freddy. I didn't have what it takes to be a singer. We need an edge."

"So you don't think you could be successful as a female fronted band? There are plenty of very famous female lead bands."

I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

"That's not the point man. We were a joke before Freddy joined. Tom left willingly. It was his choice. We'd been playing for like 3 years before then. We played shows at small venues all the time. We didn't have any following. Tom lost sight of his dream. He told us it was a waste."

"Ms. Morris, in previous sessions you mentioned groupies while Thomas was still in the band. But now you say you didn't have a following. Which is the truth?"

I shake my head.

"No, no, Like I said, Tom didn't leave right away. Once Freddy joined we started getting a following. We became more and more popular. Even when Freddy had me change the stupid band name."

"It wasn't always 'Blood On The Sword'?"

I cringe at the stupid sounding name.

"No. Before Freddy joined it was 'Ravenge'."

My therapist clears her throat.

"Pardon me, but, why the hell would you change the band name?"

I shrug.

"Dude, I don't know. We still just kept gaining fans though."

"Betty, my job is to listen and give my thoughts. Regardless, if you'll like them. I think Mr. Rivers saved your band from failing. I think you should've left when he joined. He replaced you, no one else. I think he deserves control of the band."

I look down at the floor.

"I.. don't disagree with you..."

The closing of the binder causes me to look up.

"Alright. That's all for today. I'll accept the call request."

Once I get back to my room, I pull out paper to write Damon back."

"My beautiful bassist,

You sure took your sweet time. I'm going crazy in here. I hate it. Did ya know they read every letter that comes in and goes out? I'm sorry the shop closed. We loved that place. It's great you have a new job. But Damon, don't bother buying me that set. I'm stuck in here for so long, I'll probably forget how to play. Save that money for yourself. Thanks for letting me know about my stuff. I have the option to get a job in here. It'll probably suck and pay near to nothing, but I'll do it. Then, I'll be able to pay the storage myself. It is my stuff anyway. I have to do stupid group therapy. I can't even refuse. I have to do what they tell me or I'll get thrown in jail. I have to choose 3 activities per week or whatever too. The only cool thing is that soon I'll be able to go out on Saturdays! To certain places and under watch but still! It's something, right! Who am I kidding? It'll still suck, won't it? I miss you too. Ah, I feel so honored to have the wonderful Damon Zeer write me! I'm just a garbage human in rehab for an alcohol addiction. Hey, do you think the band would've just died if Freddy wouldn't have joined? Do you think it was selfish of me to push Tom off drums to keyboard? Do you think he left because of me? I don't know. I was just wondering.

Write back soon, Betty."