Title: The Real Problem
Info: Degrassi/The Best Years crossover, Ellie/Alicia, Pg-13. For . Ellie POV.
Group is not going well. To say the least.
It’s unmoderated discussion, for the most part, which means everyone attacking everyone else to escape their own problems. It can have its benefits when group members are willing to point out things that you’re unwilling to see yourself, but with people like Alicia?
Not going so well.
First of all, she’s new here, newer than you are even, so she has no right to just barge in with her judgments even though she’s the one who almost died from a cocaine overdose, at least that’s what you hear in the hallways.
Nobody here understands you, its not like the group you used to go to, near home.
It was just an accident, you find yourself saying it at least once a day, but your mom was sure to send you far away to the best center possible where no one knows a lick about your issues.
So what if after years of keeping "clean" you’d messed up and sliced too deep. So. What.
You’ve done nothing to deserve Alicia’s eyes staring daggers into you, nothing to make the nurses assign her as your roommate. You’re paying for this hell, for Christ’s sake.
"I don’t get it," she smirks, knowing this will goad you. "What’s the point?"
"Probably similar to the point of snorting crack," you snap back, this close to standing up and retreating to your room.
"At least that doesn’t fuck up your skin," she laughs, spurring a response from the other group members.
You tug at your sleeves, wanting to fuck up her skin.
"Look," you say, "everything we do, whatever we’re here for – cutting, overdose, addiction – it’s all some form of escapism, right? I mean, that’s what we’re supposed to be learning." You let it hang in the air, one or two people nod. A guy who’s been here longer than you scoots back out of the circle and walks out of the room.
"So maybe these are the symptoms and not the real problem."
Alicia snorts. "That’s not what my mom would say."
"And maybe you’re a little old to be taking stock in what mommy says," you mumble, realizing that you’re talking to yourself as much as the girl you hate for no reason.
After dinner you lay back on the uncomfortable bed, wishing to god that you were alone in this room. Alicia has been staring at you, which you know, even without looking at her. You can just… feel her eyes. It’s enough to make you scream. And you would, if that wouldn’t call the nurses to your room faster than you can say "go."
"I think you might be right," Alicia says, tapping her fingers against the metal bed frame.
You snort. "Oh, really?" Your bandages itch.
She gets up from her bed – you hear the springs shift – and comes to sit next to you, her body alarmingly close. "What are you doing," you blurt, scooting backwards onto the pillows.
"Solving the problem?" Alicia suggests, tilting her head. She lifts a hand towards you and touches your arm. It feels strange; a healing fire.