what happens when two people struggling with addiction found each other?
welcome to chapter two of addicted to you :) enjoy. <3
꩜ mention of drugs use, mental illness, mental health, sex and sensitive content.
Mason felt the room spun in a slow, nauseating orbit, the crystal chandelier above looked like a star on the verge of supernova, its light fracturing into a thousand shards in his blurred vision. In his right hand, a heavy crystal glass with two fingers of aged whiskey tilted precariously. He downed the rest of the liquid, feeling the burn sear his throat, trying to stifle the panic clawing at his chest. Then came the unmistakable sound echoing down the hallway. Not on the door, but on the floor, heels striking the solid wood with the precision of a stopwatch.
Helena Thames entered the room, she stood in the doorway and wore a Hermès dress clung to her body like a metallic skin, a white fur coat resting upon her shoulders. Her eyes, blue but sharp, swept the room, Mason had a glass in his hand, a slumped posture and the scent of alcohol and chemicals emanating from him.
Without a word, she stopped in front of him, with cold, ring-laden fingers, she gripped Mason’s chin firmly, forcing his face toward the light, Helena examined his dilated pupils almost in a clinic way.
— What have you done? — she hissed, her voice was low making Mason recoile from her touch with a jolt, standing up from the bed. — You’re pathetic. — Helena said, her voice was dripping with disgust. — Hundreds of guests downstairs, your father is waiting! And here you are, destroying yourself, about to ruin the only night that matters. Do you have no respect for this family’s image? For the name you carry?
Something inside him snapped.
— FUCK YOU! — he screamed, his hoarse voice tearing through his throat.
He hurled the crystal glass against the opposite wall. It shattered violently, spraying shards and amber stains across the imported wallpaper, but Helena didn’t even blink.
— Enough with the dinners! Enough with the faking, mom! — Mason kicked the bed frame, welcoming the sharp pain in his foot. He reached for his neck and ripped apart the perfect knot of his bowtie, tugging at it as if it were strangling him. — I’m not the perfect son you want so badly! I’m sorry if i’m so fucking broken!
He stopped, panting, his chest heaving unevenly, tears began to track down his cheeks. Helena watched him in silence for a long heartbeat, her expression was unreadable.
— You are not my son, Mason. — she said.
She took a step forward, and for one stupid millisecond, Mason lowered his guard. A broken part of him thought she was going to clean him up or hold him. Her hand collided with his face with shocking force, the sound of the strike echoed through the silent room. Mason’s head snapped to the side from the impact, his skin stinging where her rings had scraped him.
— You are an addicted. — she spat the word. — A filthy addict who can’t even stand on his own two feet.
Mason brought a trembling hand to his face, covering the red mark beginning to bloom. He couldn't hold it back anymore, a sob escaped him. He curled inward, suddenly looking much smaller than his eighteen years. She sighed, a sound of pure impatience, she reached up to her own hair, tucking a blonde stray back into place from the exertion of the slap. Helena glanced at her hand, checking if she’d chipped a nail, and then turned toward the door. Then, walked away, the click of her heels now sounding like abandonment, before leaving, she paused, without looking back.
— I miss my little boy. — she said, her voice suddenly soft, laden with theatrical sorrow. — The one who loved me, not this... thing you’ve become.
— I’m sorry, mom. — he choked out, Mason reached a hand toward her, his fingers shaking. — I’m... i’m sorry! Alright? I don’t want to be like this, i want to stop, i want to be clean... Mom, please i need help, your help! Please, just help me.
He was unraveling in front of her, his face wet with tears, waiting for any shred of humanity, a hug, a touch, a single word of comfort to pull him back from the edge. Helena looked down at him, her expression cold and stagnant, she adjusted the fur on her shoulder, eyes showing nothing but boredom.
— Mase… do whatever you want. — she said, her voice was devoid of any maternal instinct. — If you want to kill yourself by hitting the car in a pole, go ahead, just… don’t embarrass me.
Mason’s words echoed in your mind long after he left, “wish for it to be bearable”, you clung to that while trying to sleep in that strange bed, on sheets that smelled like industrial detergent. Your sleep was choppy, filled with anxious dreams of running through endless hallways. Morning arrived not with the sun, but with a nurse flipping on the harsh white lights at 7:00 AM sharp.
— Medication time, girls! — her voice was way too perky for that hour.
Maddy was already awake, sitting on her bed in a lotus position, staring at the wall. She looked pale, but she gave you a weak smile as you dragged yourself out from under the covers.
— Breakfast is the worst part. — she warned as you walked in line to the nursing station to swallow your morning pills. — But at least there’s cereal.
When you got to the cafeteria, Mason’s prophecy was fulfilled with precision, before you even grabbed a tray, you heard the sound of plastic slamming against a table. In their usual corner, Miguel was standing up, gesturing furiously at a kitchen worker who seemed completely immune to his screams.
— This is decaf! Again! — Miguel growled, his hands shaking slightly. — Are you guys trying to kill me? I need caffeine, not this brown dishwater!
Mason was sitting right behind him, calmly buttering a piece of toast as if his best friend’s freak-out was just background music. He saw you and Maddy approaching and raised his toast in a silent toast, sporting that trademark smirk.
— Told ya. — he mouthed as you got close.
Maddy rushed to Miguel’s side, placing a hand gently on his arm.
— Miggy, chill! Breathe, if you keep screaming, they’re gonna take away your rec points again.
Miguel jerked away from her touch, running a hand through his dark hair and taking a deep breath, his chest heaving. He looked like a caged animal, his dark eyes locked onto yours. For a second, you thought he’d snap at you too, but he just huffed, defeated, and flopped into the chair next to Mason.
— Good morning to you too, Miguel. — you said, sitting down with your tray, surprising yourself with the boldness.
Maybe it was the mood stabilizers the nurse gave you, Miguel stared at you, narrowing his eyes. The nervous tic in his leg was making the whole table vibrate.
— Don’t start, newbie. — he grumbled, but he grabbed a milk carton and ripped it open with his teeth. — You look like a zombie, sleep like crap?
— Hard to sleep with Leah crying next door and... unexpected visitors. — you replied, shooting a quick glance at Mason, making him let out a low laugh, biting into his toast.
— I’m like the rehab tooth fairy. — he joked, wiping a crumb from the corner of his mouth. — I only show up at night and leave wisdom instead of cash.
Miguel looked from Mason to you, eyebrows furrowed in suspicion.
— He went to your room? — Miguel asked, his voice dropping dangerously low. He turned to Mason, kicking his friend’s shin under the table. — Are you an idiot? If David catches you in the girls' wing, they’ll send you to the ISO clinic! And i’m not staying here alone listening to Leah talk about her imaginary ex-boyfriend.
— Relax. — Mason rolled his eyes, but you noticed a spark of affection in the way he looked at his grumpy friend. — Nobody saw me, and she needed a proper welcome.
— You guys are crazy. — you muttered, poking at the grey paste that was supposed to be oatmeal.
— We are. — Maddy agreed cheerfully, sitting down with a tray that held only an apple and a glass of water. — That’s why we’re here.
The vibe at the table turned strangely light for a moment. Despite Miguel’s rage, Mason’s arrogance, and Maddy’s fragility, there was a camaraderie there. A silent acceptance that everyone was broken, and they didn't have to pretend otherwise.
Suddenly, Miguel stopped shaking his leg, he fixed his gaze on something behind you, at the cafeteria entrance.
— Shit. — he whispered. — Here comes the bitch.
You turned to look, a tall woman, dressed in an impeccable suit and heels walked into the cafeteria. She was looking straight at your table, or rather, at Mason. His smile vanished instantly, his relaxed posture disappeared, and he went rigid in his chair.
— My mom. — Mason said. — Surprise visit day.
The air in the cafeteria seemed to drop ten degrees as she approached. She was flawless, a white blazer, perfectly brushed blonde hair, and a permanent expression of disdain. She stopped by the table, completely ignoring Maddy, Miguel, and you.
Mason didn’t stand up, he kept chewing his toast, but you noticed his jaw was locked tight. He swallowed slowly before looking up at her, putting on that mocking smile he used as armor.
— Hey, Mom, come to see if i’ve learned macramé or if i’m miraculously cured yet?
— I don’t have time for your childish sarcasm today. — she replied, checking a slim gold watch on her wrist. — The family lawyer is outside, we have papers to sign regarding the car incident, get up, now.
Miguel, whose leg was shaking furiously, let out a scoffing noise.
— He’s eating breakfast, can’t it wait five minutes? — Miguel snapped, glaring at the woman with an old, deep-seated hatred.
Mason’s mother slowly turned her face toward Miguel, looking at him like he was a smudge on her shoe.
— Nobody spoke to you, Miguel, stay out of this before i call your grandparents and tell them about the burner phone you hid last month.
Miguel shut his mouth, fists clenched on the table, his face turning red with bottled-up rage, the tic in his eye visibly worsened, Mason sighed, a heavy, exhausted sound.
— Chill, Miguel. — Mason murmured, patting his friend’s shoulder before standing up. He shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets, looking suddenly smaller in front of that woman.
He didn't look at you or Maddy, he just followed his mother out of the cafeteria, walking a step behind her like a prisoner being escorted. As soon as they disappeared through the double doors, Miguel exploded, he slammed the table hard, making the trays jump and spilling some of Maddy’s water.
— Bitch! — he hissed through his teeth, rubbing his face hard. — I hate that woman, i swear, if i wasn’t sober, I’d...
— Hey, hey, hey. — Maddy grabbed a napkin and started cleaning the spill, trying to de-escalate. — Breathe, Miggy, count to ten, you know how she is, Mason knows how to handle her.
— He doesn't know how to handle her, Maddy! — Miguel shot back. — She acts like he’s some problem, not a son, the only reason he’s even in here is because she doesn’t want the press to know her 'golden boy' overdosed at the company gala.
You felt a chill run down your spine. Overdose.
— What was the 'car incident'? — you asked quietly, Miguel let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.
— That’s how he ended up back here this time, he wrapped his dad’s car around a pole, he was high on everything you can imagine. — Miguel rubbed his eyes, looking exhausted. — His mom only cares about the repair bill and the lawsuit, she hasn’t asked him once if he’s okay.
An uncomfortable silence fell over the table, suddenly, the noisy cafeteria felt lonely without Mason’s magnetic presence.
— Is he gonna be okay? — you asked, surprised by the concern in your own voice.
Miguel looked at you, his nervous tic slowing down as his anger gave way to a resigned sadness.
— He always comes back. — Miguel said, staring at the door. — The problem is how he comes back, usually, after she visits... he’s either unbearable, or self-destructive.
The rest of the day dragged as if time itself was hungover, Mason’s absence left a weird vacuum in the group, filled only by Miguel’s palpable anxiety. He couldn’t sit still for a single second, he bit his nails until they bled, fought with a nurse over the TV schedule, and paced in circles in the courtyard during free time.
Maddy tried to distract him with cards, but gave up after he threw the deck on the table for the third time, muttering curses in Spanish. Night fell, bringing that muffled silence characteristic of clinics, you were in the common room, a space with worn-out couches and a TV locked inside an acrylic box. Miguel was perched on the arm of the sofa, his leg bouncing at a frantic pace. You were trying to read a book you found on the shelf, but you’d been rereading the same sentence for ten minutes.
Soon, the door opened and Mason walked in, his shoulders were hunched, his face was pale, and his eyes were red, not from crying, but from exhaustion. He’d ditched his hoodie and was just in a wrinkled white t-shirt, gripping his black jacket so tight in his hand it looked like he wanted to strangle it.
— Well? — Miguel jumped off the sofa immediately, his voice tense. — What did the bitch want? Did she make you sign that bullshit liability waiver?
Mason didn’t stop walking, he passed right by Miguel, heading toward the dark window.
— She paid off the lawyer, Miguel, the case was dropped. — Mason’s voice was cold, cutting. — Money in the bank, problem solved.
— And you? — Miguel insisted, following him. — What did she say to you?
Mason spun around abruptly, the explosion Miguel had predicted finally happening.
— She said i’m a high-risk investment! — Mason yelled, making Maddy jump on the sofa and causing a few others in the room to look over, spooked. — That if i trash the family image one more time, she’s cutting the trust fund and letting me rot in the gutter, satisfied? Is that what you wanted to hear?
Miguel flinched, hurt but not surprised, he held his hands up in surrender.
— I’m just worried about you, man.
— Well, don’t be. — Mason snapped, rubbing his face hard. He looked ready to either collapse or punch the wall. — I don’t need a babysitter, Miguel, i’ve already got enough therapists in here.
He walked away from his friend and slumped onto the vacant spot on the sofa next to you. The impact made you shudder, Mason sank into the cushions, throwing his head back and closing his eyes.
The silence in the room was heavy, Miguel stood in the middle of the rug for a moment, jaw clenched, before turning his back and storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him, Maddy, with an apologetic look at you, ran after him.
You were left alone with Mason and a few other patients pretending to watch TV so they didn't have to acknowledge the scene. You thought about leaving too, giving him space, but something about the way his hand was shaking slightly where it rested on his knee made you stay.
— You were right. — you said softly, without taking your eyes off your closed book.
Mason didn’t open his eyes. — About what? That the food here sucks?
— That nobody on the outside gets it. — you replied. — She made you feel like trash, didn't she?
Mason let out a humorless laugh, opening one eye to look at you. That defiant glint was back, but it looked fragile now, like glass about to shatter.
— She’s efficient, doesn’t waste time on feelings, she fixes things, and i... — he pointed to himself with disdain. — I’m the broken thing that’s expensive to fix.
He turned on his side on the sofa to face you, invading your space again, but this time he seemed to be searching for something in you.
— You know what i want right now? — he whispered, his voice husky, his eyes dropping to your mouth for a brief second before snapping back to your eyes. — I want to get out of here, jump that ridiculous wall, steal the gardener’s car, and drive until the tank is empty.
He tilted his head, his brown hair falling over his forehead.
— Would you come with me? If i asked right now... would you come?
You looked into his eyes, searching for the joke, but you only found raw desperation. The idea of running, of feeling the wind on your face and leaving this place behind was tempting, a flame igniting in your chest. But then you looked at your own shaking hands on the book, you knew how that story ended.
— No. — you whispered, your voice steady despite the ache in your heart. — I can’t, we’d end up dead or arrested before sunrise.
Mason’s face closed off, the vulnerability evaporated, replaced by a cold, indifferent mask. He let out a sharp nasal laugh, looking up at the ceiling.
— I knew. — he muttered. — Everyone has to stay, that’s what they say.
He didn’t say anything else, the silence between you became a chasm. He moved to the other side of the sofa, creating a physical distance that screamed rejection. Right then, the night nurse, a stout woman with a permanent scowl, walked in clapping her hands.
— Alright, wrap it up! — her voice echoed irritably. — Show’s over, everyone to your rooms, lights out in fifteen minutes. Mason, bed. Now.
Mason snapped, it was fast and violent. He vaulted up, kicking the coffee table with enough force to send the heavy wood screeching across the floor.
— I’m not a goddamn child! — he roared, his voice cracking. — Stop giving me orders!
The nurse didn’t flinch, she grabbed the radio on her belt.
— Code Grey in the common room.
— I’m not going to my room! — Mason screamed, grabbing a pillow and hurlin it against the wall, knocking down a frame with some stupid motivational quote, glass shattered on the floor. — I want you all to go to fucking hell!
Two nurses appeared almost instantly, they didn't hesitate, they lunged for Mason, who tried to push them off.
— Get off me! Don’t touch me! — he bellowed, face flushed, veins popping in his neck.
You shrank back into the sofa, hugging your knees, watching in horror. They pinned Mason’s arms, immobilizing him with a trained, painful-looking technique.
— Come on, kid, don’t make it worse.— one of them grunted, dragging him toward the door.
Mason stopped fighting for a second, his feet dragging across the carpet. He looked back at you, his eyes were wide, glistening with tears of fury and humiliation. And then, he vanished down the hall, his shouts echoing until they were muffled by a heavy door slamming shut.
The middle of the night at the rehab center was dead silent, save for the hum of the AC. Maddy was fast asleep, the soft sound of her breathing filling the space. But you couldn't sleep, the image of Mason being dragged away wouldn't leave your head, the look in his eyes, the loneliness.
You checked the digital clock, 2:15 AM.
With your heart in your throat, you slid out of bed, the cold floor made your bare feet tingle, you opened the bedroom door with millimeter-precision, praying the hinges wouldn't squeak. The hallway was dim, lit only by the green glow of emergency lights, and the nursing station was empty, the night nurse must have been on a break or doing rounds upstairs.
You knew which one was Mason’s room, you’d seen Miguel go in there earlier. At the end of the hall, you tiptoed, holding your breath with every step and when you reached door, you turned the knob slowly.
You stepped inside and shut the door behind you, leaning against the wood to catch your breath, Mason wasn't in bed, he was sitting on the floor in the far corner, back against the wall and knees bent. He was still in the same clothes, now wrinkled, his hands were laced behind his head, chin down.
Hearing the click of the door, he whipped his head up, on alert. When he saw it was you, the tension in his shoulders relaxed, but only a little.
— Are you crazy? — his voice came out raspy and dragged out, like he’d screamed until he lost it. — If someone catches you here, you’re screwed.
— I don’t care. — you whispered, taking an uncertain step toward him.
Mason watched you in the dark, he looked wrecked, defeated.
— Come to see the monster in the cage? — he asked, a bitter, weak smile trying to form but failing miserably.
— No. — you said, sitting on the floor at a safe distance, but close enough so he’d know he wasn’t alone. — I came to see if you still wanted to run away, or if we could just... sit here and hate everything together.
Mason let out a sharp breath, letting his head fall back against the wall. He turned his face to you, and the moonlight caught the dry trail of a tear he hadn’t had time to wipe away.
— I hate this place. — he confessed, his voice breaking. — But i hate my head more.
He uncrossed his legs and reached a hand out toward you, palm up, a silent invitation like a plea for peace.
— Sit here. — he asked quietly. — The floor is freezing.
You hesitated for a fraction of a second, your survival instinct screaming that getting close to this emotional hurricane was dangerous. But his gaze, so stripped of that usual arrogance, so raw, won. You slid across the floor until your shoulder brushed his, the contact was electric. Even through the thick fabric of your hoodie, you could feel the tension radiating from him like an overheated engine.
— You’re stubborn, huh? — he murmured, his raspy voice vibrating against your arm. — Most people run the other way when someone starts breaking things.
— Most people in here have broken something at some point. — you answered softly, looking at your own hands on your knees. — Glass, promises, their own lives... i’m no different.
Mason let out a long shaky sigh, he turned his head slightly, and you felt his gaze burning into the side of your face.
— My mom... — he started, stopping as if the word tasted like vinegar. — She looks at me like i’m a failed project, something she invested a lot of money in and didn't get a return on, you know what it’s like to feel like you’re just a math error in someone’s spreadsheet?
— I know what it’s like to feel like a problem that needs to be solved. — you admitted. — My mom didn’t even look at me when she dropped me off, she just wanted to ditch the guilt.
He moved his hand slowly, fingers brushing the floor until they found yours. The touch was hesitant at first, just fingertips meeting, testing the waters. When you didn’t pull back, he interlaced his fingers with yours, his hand was warm, and steady, a stark contrast to the cold room.
— Miguel says i’m self-destructive. — Mason whispered, squeezing your hand lightly as if he needed to anchor himself to something real. — He’s right, when i feel like i’m losing control... I just want to floor it and crash already, to get the waiting over with.
— Is that why you wanted to run today? — you asked.
— Yeah. — he leaned his head against the wall again, closing his eyes, but without letting go of your hand. — But i think... sitting here on the cold floor with you... is better than crashing the car, at least for tonight.
The silence that followed wasn't heavy anymore, it was comfortable, almost intimate. You heard distant sound of footsteps in the hall that you both hold your breath for a moment, shoulders tensing in unison. When the footsteps faded, Mason exhaled and laughed softly, a breathy sound.
— We’re gonna get in so much trouble. — he said, opening his eyes and staring at you with that intensity that made your stomach flip. — Are you sure you want to stay near me? I’m a mess.
You looked at your joined hands, at his silhouette against the moonlight, you knew he was trouble, but for the first time in months, you didn't feel invisible.
— I’m already in hell, Mason. — you replied, squeezing his hand back. — At least now i have company.
Mason watched you for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face. Then, he leaned in slowly and rested his forehead against your shoulder, the weight of his head was comforting, a silent surrender.