My Angels Have Demons (Users #1) by Stacy, Jennifer Buck Page B
Authors: Stacy, Jennifer Buck
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group would welcome him back with open arms, offering him sanctuary from the outside world, and the revenge seeking maniac that was Alaric, that hunted for him.
He plopped down in an open seat next to a gruff looking older fellow in camouflage army fatigues. The old man was a vet no doubt, so many of them were, and who could blame them.
"As I was saying before we were interrupted." A twenty something woman with meth mouth and yellow stained smokers fingers continued. "In the past I would use my powers to push drug dealers into giving me their stash."
Carter looked away from her instinctively. Of all the Users, the pushers made him especially nervous. Just looking into their eyes could be dangerous. Even for the slightest moment and they could warp your mind, convince you they were your best friend, and have you emptying your bank account or even take you for a leisurely stroll off a seven story building before you knew what hit ya.
"But I've been sober now for four months. Lately, I feel like I've been white knuckling it. Like I want to use all the time. I even found myself passing by my old squats the other day, but then I remember my tools and my higher power," she said.
And there it was. The other reason that Carter hated N.A., the god damn higher power. Why did the founding fathers of these groups have to bring God into it? Can't an atheist get sober without having religion crammed down his throat. His blood literally began to boil just listening to it.
"That's good Talia," Vince said. "Work the steps and they'll work for you." And everyone clapped as the woman sat back down like some Hollywood starlet had just given her acceptance speech at the Oscars or something. And so it went around the room, with each man or woman standing up in turn to get the weight off their chest. Or was it more like a monkey off their back or the devil off their shoulder, but it all had the same end result. Just a bunch of whiners drowning in the sorrow that was their addiction.
Vince was staring at Carter from beneath his thin glasses. The room was dead silent. He gave a slight nod and Carter knew the time had come. Vince was giving him the polite signal that he needed to talk, or get the fuck out. He cleared his throat while getting to his feet.
"My names Carter," he said.
"Hi Carter," everyone said in unison like a brain dead cult.
"And I'm an addict," he said.
From there he went on to explain the horrific events of the past few days of his life. Carter let it all out, going into every gory detail. Starting with his girlfriend leaving him and ending with the death of Fox. They listened intently to his every word. They gasped audibly when he got to the grisly death of Fox.
"And that's what lead me back here," he finished.
His tale was met with total silence. Carter scanned the room to find a mix of blank stares and dropped jaws staring back at him. The air had been sucked out of the room. Someone coughed.
"Um...okay. Thanks for sharing Carter," Vince said in a desperate attempt to breathe life back into the room. The group needed to be resuscitated. Carter had nearly killed it.
The absolute lack of a response from the group had him sweating. He ran a hand through his dirty blond hair. Were they not going to help him? What happened to the hug it out, do anything for you, we got your back group he remembered? The N.A. Users used to be thick as thieves, but times change. His heart raced in his chest as panic set in. He had just made a fool of himself, and to top it all off, it was probably for nothing. The vein on the side of his pounded. Carter reached into his sweatshirt pocket and pulled out his bottle of Xanax, pressed down on the cap, and dropped a pill into his sweaty palm. Without taking so much as a sip of water, he popped the pill into his mouth, and swallowed.
Carter closed his eyes and took a deep breath as the meeting continued on without him. He could hear the next User going on about some relapse he had the other
He plopped down in an open seat next to a gruff looking older fellow in camouflage army fatigues. The old man was a vet no doubt, so many of them were, and who could blame them.
"As I was saying before we were interrupted." A twenty something woman with meth mouth and yellow stained smokers fingers continued. "In the past I would use my powers to push drug dealers into giving me their stash."
Carter looked away from her instinctively. Of all the Users, the pushers made him especially nervous. Just looking into their eyes could be dangerous. Even for the slightest moment and they could warp your mind, convince you they were your best friend, and have you emptying your bank account or even take you for a leisurely stroll off a seven story building before you knew what hit ya.
"But I've been sober now for four months. Lately, I feel like I've been white knuckling it. Like I want to use all the time. I even found myself passing by my old squats the other day, but then I remember my tools and my higher power," she said.
And there it was. The other reason that Carter hated N.A., the god damn higher power. Why did the founding fathers of these groups have to bring God into it? Can't an atheist get sober without having religion crammed down his throat. His blood literally began to boil just listening to it.
"That's good Talia," Vince said. "Work the steps and they'll work for you." And everyone clapped as the woman sat back down like some Hollywood starlet had just given her acceptance speech at the Oscars or something. And so it went around the room, with each man or woman standing up in turn to get the weight off their chest. Or was it more like a monkey off their back or the devil off their shoulder, but it all had the same end result. Just a bunch of whiners drowning in the sorrow that was their addiction.
Vince was staring at Carter from beneath his thin glasses. The room was dead silent. He gave a slight nod and Carter knew the time had come. Vince was giving him the polite signal that he needed to talk, or get the fuck out. He cleared his throat while getting to his feet.
"My names Carter," he said.
"Hi Carter," everyone said in unison like a brain dead cult.
"And I'm an addict," he said.
From there he went on to explain the horrific events of the past few days of his life. Carter let it all out, going into every gory detail. Starting with his girlfriend leaving him and ending with the death of Fox. They listened intently to his every word. They gasped audibly when he got to the grisly death of Fox.
"And that's what lead me back here," he finished.
His tale was met with total silence. Carter scanned the room to find a mix of blank stares and dropped jaws staring back at him. The air had been sucked out of the room. Someone coughed.
"Um...okay. Thanks for sharing Carter," Vince said in a desperate attempt to breathe life back into the room. The group needed to be resuscitated. Carter had nearly killed it.
The absolute lack of a response from the group had him sweating. He ran a hand through his dirty blond hair. Were they not going to help him? What happened to the hug it out, do anything for you, we got your back group he remembered? The N.A. Users used to be thick as thieves, but times change. His heart raced in his chest as panic set in. He had just made a fool of himself, and to top it all off, it was probably for nothing. The vein on the side of his pounded. Carter reached into his sweatshirt pocket and pulled out his bottle of Xanax, pressed down on the cap, and dropped a pill into his sweaty palm. Without taking so much as a sip of water, he popped the pill into his mouth, and swallowed.
Carter closed his eyes and took a deep breath as the meeting continued on without him. He could hear the next User going on about some relapse he had the other
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