Free Tainted by K.A. Robinson Page B

cocaine. Even though the nurses had tried to prepare me, I was knocked on my ass by the muscle spasms, nausea, vomiting, and all the other things that came with withdrawal. I felt like I had the flu, but this particular flu had decided to take steroids and beef up a bit.
    Over the next couple days, the physical symptoms were still horrible, but the mental side of things became almost unbearable. I was at war with myself. Part of me was fighting this with everything it had, but the other part was on its knees, begging and pleading with me to cave. All of the feelings—the guilt, the anger, the pain—that I’d suppressed with the cocaine were coming to the surface. I couldn’t help but be depressed. Without the cocaine to make me feel like everything was going to be okay, I realized just how fucked-up my life was.
    I lashed out at everyone around me—the band, the nurses, and even my doctor. I hated all of them for pushing me to stop, and I made sure that they knew it. I expected the band to get sick of me and leave, but instead, they stayed by my side constantly. At times, I appreciated it, but most of the time, I just wanted them to go away. It was hard to wallow in self-pity when I had three assholes always trying to cheer me up.
    On my last day in the hospital, my symptoms were finally starting to fade. The relief I felt could not be described with words. Even though the depression seemed to stick with me, I started to feel like my old self more and more. I was convinced that I could stay away from the drugs without checking into rehab, but when I mentioned it to the others, they refused to believe me.
    After several arguments, I finally gave in and agreed to check right into a rehab program.

    As I walked up the steps to the facility that would be my home for the next few months, I felt hopelessness begin to take over. I didn’t want to be in this prison. The building itself was beautiful, but looks were often deceiving. It appeared to be too cheery and bright to be a place where so many people suffered every day.
    My friends and I walked in and approached the reception desk in the lobby.
    A young woman looked up and smiled. “Hi, can I help you?”
    Jade gave me a small shove, forcing me to the front of our group.
    I turned and glared at her before I faced the receptionist again. “I’m Drake Allen. I’m supposed to check in today.”
    “Of course!” She picked up a clipboard and handed it to me. “Please fill out these forms for me, and then we can get the ball rolling. Just bring them back to me when you’re finished.”
    I walked over to several empty chairs. I sat down and started filling out the forms, and the band followed and took seats around me. The beginning was mostly standard information—name, address, phone number—but the following pages focused on questions that I wasn’t ready to answer. My addiction was my problem, and I didn’t want to spill my guts to strangers. I answered the majority of the questions and then returned the clipboard to the receptionist.
    “Have a seat, and I will let one of the nurses know you’re here,” she said as she took the clipboard from me.
    I walked back to my seat, sat down, and started tapping my foot. I didn’t want to sit. I wanted to walk out of this fucking place and never look back. But I couldn’t. If I did, the band would drop me, and we would lose our one chance at making it big in the recording world. Plus, I wanted Chloe back. I needed to be sure that I could stay clean before I made any attempts to win her over.
    I looked up when the door beside the reception desk opened. A pretty young nurse stepped out and looked around. As soon as she saw our group, she started walking in our direction. I forced myself to sit still, instead of running for the exit like I wanted to. I had to do this.
    She stopped in front of me and looked at Eric, Adam, and me. “Drake Allen?”
    Adam pointed at me. “That would be him. Take him away.”
    I turned to