It's been about a week of taking nausea pills and Advil with a cup of coffee a day. Surprisingly it helps. I've been sitting in for the activities I chose but not really participating because of the withdrawal. Today is visitation Tom called only long enough to assure me he was coming in. My probation period is up soon so I've decided to get a job. Speaking of job, my therapist knocks on my door frame. 

"Betty."

"Making house calls now?"

She ignores me. 

"You applied to do reception work here?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

I look at her, confused.

"Because it'd be fun. Duh to make some money for when my probation period is up."

She flips through some papers.

"Ah yes. Well, are you sure? You'll be very busy with 3 activities and a job. Wait. Did you.. just apply because it's the highest paying job available?"

I smile my most innocent smile.

"How would I know the pay. You don't tell that until improved for the work."

"Are you willing to take out your piercings?"

"No. Absolutely not."

"You're a pain in my side Betty."

"Then send me home."

"You don't have one, remember?"

"Jesus doc."

She flips through some papers. 

"I'm not here to sugar coat things for you. They honestly don't pay me enough."

I sigh and flop back on my bed. 

"You'll know if you've been approved for the job by the end of the week. Next week you'll start participating in activities. Visitation starts in an hour, you'll come straight to me after, and then you can enjoy dinner."

She leaves and closes my door. I choose to stay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Damon hasn't wrote back yet. I'm sure he's just busy with work and probably finding a girl to replace me. It's not like I'm that special, to begin with. I've never believed that he doesn't sleep around. It's not like we're together, officially at least and we've never slept together. Finally, I get up ad head towards the visitation rooms. 

"Sign in please."

"Is he here yet?"

"Nope but you can go in and wait. Room 5 is open."

I head inside and wait, practically twiddling my thumbs. I'm so nervous. None of us heard from Tom after he left. I was honestly surprised when he wanted to see me. According to my therapist, I ruined his life when I introduced Freddy to the band. 

"Betty?"

I jump up from my chair when the door opens.

"Tom!"

He closes the door behind him and we hug for a long time. Once we break apart, we sit. 

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"Wow Betty, I don't want to sound like an ass but you look like shit."

"Withdrawal."

He nearly falls out of his chair.

"Cocaine!"

"No! Are you stupid!? Alcohol."

He sighs from relief.

"Jesus Betty, don't scare me like that."

"Whatever. How'd you find me? And why?"

Tom frowns.

"What do you mean why?"

"The last time any of us saw you, you were packing your equipment. You blocked our calls and messages when we tried to reach out."

"I was angry at first. After a while, I came to understand that you kicking me out of the band was the best thing that could've happened. The music scene is toxic. I stopped drinking, got a stable job. It's great."

I cross my arms in front of my chest.

"I didn't kick you out, you left on your own."

"First, that wasn't my main point at all. Second, you brought Fredrick into an already full band, took over my position, and forced me to keyboard. Third, I don't want to hear it. That's not what I'm here for."

"Why are you here then?"

He frowns.

"Were you always this much of an asshole or is it just that you're here?"

"Both."

"Damn Betty. Regardless of the past, we're family. Please relax."

I sigh deeply and play with the thread hanging from my sweater sleeves.

"Alright. I'm sorry."

"Okay. I'm here because Damon reached out to me."

I smile wide.

"To check on me? He's so sweet!"

"No Betty. They wanted me to come back to the band as drummer."

My mouth drops open and I'm speechless. Tom looks uncomfortable and stumbles to continue. 

"I said no of course! That past is behind me and I like my boring job and life. But Damon explained everything that's happened in the last year. I'm so sorry Betty."

My vision begins to blur with tears. 

"I.. Damon didn't tell me they were doing auditions. He said it'd take forever because they needed two members."

"Well, technically they only need to replace you. Gunther can still play guitar. He'll just be in his wheelchair. It won't be too hard. I think you should focus on your happiness for Gun, not your sadness over the other stuff. I mean Fredrick already kicked you out, it's not like you could go back. Also, they got signed to a label. But don't let that overshadow Gun's progress!"

"How do you expect me to just be happy? Music is the only thing that's ever made sense. Music doesn't let me down, music can't hate me, music won't leave. I cannot live without music. It's everything to me!"

Tom glares at me.

"Grow up Betty. Music left you the day you got into that driver's seat. You've been living fine without music. Take some god damn responsibility. And don't whine about how bad you feel about what happened to Gunther. If you truly felt bad, you wouldn't be sitting here feeling sorry for yourself. It's not Damon's fault or Fredrick's fault. You got yourself kicked out. You put yourself in this position. You almost got yourself killed. You almost paralyzed Gunther. Don't blame the alcohol or whatever else you were on either. You put that bottle to your mouth every day. You made a conscious decision to do this to yourself. And don't even think about blaming your parents either Betty, you know better."

After he's finished, he leaves. I stare at the ground for a bit in shock. I leave the room, sign out of visitation, and head right for my therapist. I knock and walk-in, sitting on the hard couch.

"A bit early than I expected Betty. How was it?"

"Am I selfish? Am I avoiding taking responsibility?"

My therapist leans forward and interlaces her fingers like a villain from a movie. 

"Do you think you're selfish?"

"I mean I don't know. Everyone can be a little selfish, it just depends."

"Okay, let's try this. What do you think caused the accident?"

"Well, I was drinking and taking the medicine because my parents were really stressing me out over the band, like usual. They came to our practice place earlier, instead of waiting until it was finished like I told them to do. So after I drank a lot more than I normally would have. I didn't even feel that drunk, I just really wanted more alcohol. Gunther didn't have to get in the car but he was being annoyingly brotherly. I think it was ultimately a bunch of different things that led up to it."

"What was the common denominator in those things?"

After thinking for a bit, I hesitantly answer. 

"Me?"

My therapist just watches me with a soft gaze.

"Tom was right. I don't take responsibility. I put it on other things or people that have no control over it."

"You being here isn't a punishment Betty. It's a learning opportunity and a chance to better yourself. You're angry and frustrated. I get it. But you take it out on staff and other residents. They're in the same position as you. None of them really want to be here. They're here because of bad choices they made. You're not alone. You're not the first to hate this, and you won't be the last. This is why we offer activities, jobs, and incentives. This isn't a prison, although at first many think it is. We hope you can find someone you can relate to. You can become friends, encourage each other, relax together, form a healthy bond away from the dangers of society and social normalcy. Discover new healthy bonds and hobbies. I'm not saying that you leave here and never drink another drop of alcohol again. Don't drink until you're confident to be smart about it. Moderation, one glass of wine, one shot, one beer. You can have fun while sober, everyone can. It's all about holding yourself to the standard and being responsible. Become the designated sober of your friend group. Record them doing idiotic stuff in case they don't remember the next day. Set an example."