TW: Rehab, withdrawals, drug use, depression
Phillip walked down the hall, his feet bare, his curls in disarray, and his clothes baggy but incredibly soft compared to their normal worn out state (how dare they wash his clothes! What an outrage). His bruises had almost finished healing, the cuts and scrapes had gone away, and he actually smelled good. True, he was very well groomed. In fact, he probably hadn’t been that clean since they brought him home from the hospital as an infant. But with all of that aside, he looked like a mess. There were obvious bags under his eyes, a very tired feel in the way he walked and spoke - very mellow to his normally giddy, childlike, and playful personality.
He had been through his withdrawals, had come back alright, but he was still worn. With very little time in the outdoors and no contact with his loved ones aside from his moms who visited on the weekends and Wednesdays, he was very lonely and out of his element. They kept saying that he had accomplished a lot, but he still felt, well, guilty and sad about all of it.
Today was visiting day, and he was incredibly nervous. They said someone had come to see him, but he wasn’t really sure who yet. Fidgeting nervously, he made his way towards the visiting room. He made it all the way to the door with the company of the one friend he had made while he was there, Leena, when he came to a very abrupt stop. The panic set in his chest as he stared at the door, fear seeping into his pores. His breathing became erratic, his heart in a frenzy. He was about to turn around when he felt her hand slide around his.
“Hey...” she whispered. “It’s okay. You’ve got this. Okay?”
It took him a while, what seemed like forever to his thudding heartbeat. But, finally, he worked up the courage and nodded, reaching out, opening the door, and at last, stepping inside.