Behind her eyes, she tried to meditate on a future only bravery could give her. A future that would not be found at the bottom of a bottle. This was the real trouble. Focus and she had nothing in common. Pulling a hoodie over her head for these sessions with earbuds in place is how she survived. Sleeping-at-Last would wash over her; blocking out the room, the group, the memories, the world. It would just be her and the music but hours later she would need a bottle or two. She would find it.
However, she promised to try, so today is different. Today the earbuds are away, and no hoodie in sight. She's… trying, wanting to no longer be familiar with the shame her mirror reflected back. So, she was trying.
Sparing a quick glance at the others, she closed her eyes again and started to imagine a future where she was happy- a beach or something she urged her mind. To be on a beach like the one she imagined, she would have to be would have to own an island. To own an island, she would need money, not salary money, the I'm-friends-with-Bill Gates money. Money she could swim in. The thought excited her, sending a shiver down her spine. The shiver started to burn and then suddenly stopped as she opened her eyes.
Where was she? Did she drink again and lose time? This wasn't the centre. It was dimly lit and cold. She gasped at the sight of bundles and bundles of twenty and fifty pounds.
She slapped herself, it always worked. What did she drink? if she didn't drink, how did she end up in a vault? Her mouth said don't panic but her brain didn't listen- a phone that looked nothing like her spider-web screen buzzed, interrupting her meltdown. Bill Gates was calling.
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