open starter -- open to anyone !!
tw; alcoholism, addiction, depression/generally heavy emotions & thoughts spoken aloud
muse; Shiloh Di Caprio --33. Half-Italian. Ex-convict. Florist. Tough guy with a soft heart. Tourettes. Anger issues. Terrible RBF. Attends AA regularly to be able to see his daughter.
plot; y/m is attending AA and just heard Shiloh speak in the group. after he leaves, y/m also goes outside for whatever reason--could be their own shit, getting triggered by someone's discussion, or to check up on Shy, anything goes
A breath, swallowing down nerves, steeling himself. Shiloh tenses, blinks, wrinkles his nose... A twitch of his lip, a sniffle--get it out of your fucking system. Not that it worked like that, but it was worth a try. When he finally feels the buzzing stop, his lips part, eyes pinned to the floor.
"My daughter's turning 10 today," he starts, refusing to look up at the group in front of him. "Yeah...And I'm here. I'm here because her mom thinks I'm not fit to see her." Throat clear, sniff. He fidgets in his seat. "She has this fucked up image of who I am because of who I used to be...a- and- and I don't blame her, but..." He shakes his head, tears stinging his eyes already. A hard frown. A sharp sniffle. "I haven't been that person in so long, you know?" A brief glance up, then back down again. He clears his throat.
"It's hard to continuously have to be reminded of who I was back then, um..." His voice is shaking. His cheek twitches. "I mean, I haven't had a single drink in 2 years...haven't gotten drink in..." He shakes his head, looking up at the ceiling with a heaved sigh. "Five? Haven't even- even touched drugs after..after Eloise." Throat clear, sniffle, blink. "And somehow..." Lips remain parted for a few beats. A shuddered inhale. "I'm still too much of a fuck-up to even see my own daughter once a month, I mean Jesus Christ..." Breath hitches. He swallows down the emotions. His lip twitches, he sniffles, wrinkles his nose.
"And the worst of it is...I'm--" His voice cracks. "I'm afraid she might be right. Like, what if...What if I'm so fucked I can't come back from that, you know?" He purses his lips, sniffles again, his vision bleary. "I dunno..." And that's really all he has to say because it's all that's on his mind on this fucking shithole of a day. So he gets out of the chair, moves back to his seat. Legs stretch out and he slumps into the folding chair, arms folded firmly over his chest. Sniffle, throat clear, twitch... It won't stop and he's fucking over it, so...Even while someone is still talking, he gets up and goes outside for a smoke.
Smoke streams from his nostrils when the door behind him creaks open again. He glances up, quickly swatting away tears with a couple sniffs. Nods his head at whoever has just stepped out, but doesn't try to bother them beyond a simple acknowledgement. He waves a hand through the air to disperse the smoke, fully aware some people here were trying to quit that shit, too...Just like he's supposed to be doing. Failure.
