I was surprised at how nice it was. There was a sectional sofa as well as a recliner in front of an entertainment center complete with flat screen television and I could see an Xbox on the floor. Nice to see how taxpayers’ money was being spent, I supposed.
A young guy came in from a door off the kitchen carrying two bags of groceries. Another guy who looked about my age followed him.
“Just put those over there, Oscar,” the first man instructed, pointing to the counter.
“Jason, Oscar, come over here please,” Roberta said in a way that said don’t give me a reason to slap you. I wasn’t sure who was who but both guys looked up. Though only one smiled in greeting. The other one looked at the ground almost immediately after making eye contact. Something told me that was a roommate.
The less socially awkward guy came over and held out his hand to me. “Hi, I’m Jason Frank. I’m a behavioral aide here at Rose Heights.” I shook his hand before he turned to shake Ruby’s hand.
“This is Oscar Martin. He’s a resident as well. Come on over here, Oscar,” Jason urged kindly as though talking to a Kindergartner.
Oscar shuffled forward but finally looked up and gave Ruby and me a timid smile. “Hi, I’m Oscar,” he said, stating the obvious. I blinked in surprise. His voice was totally at odds with his appearance. He sounded like a gruff, scary biker dude when in reality he looked more like Dwight from The Office.
“There are four of you living here. Ryan and Kyle are at school but you’ll get to meet them later tonight for the house meeting. Greg is the other behavioral aide that you’ll see around. His shift is tonight,” Jason informed me. I nodded, trying not to look as f**king overwhelmed as I currently felt.
Roberta made a clucking noise before interrupting. “Okay, well thank you Jason. I’ll show Clay and his aunt around now,” she said curtly. Jason didn’t seem perturbed by her brusqueness.
“Happy to have you here,” Jason said before returning to the kitchen with Oscar to unload the groceries.
“Let me show you the rest of the house,” Roberta said, heading toward the stairs. I glanced at Ruby, who was chewing on her lip again. We followed our less than enthusiastic tour guide as she showed me my room.
I was at least happy with the size of it. The bedroom was more like two rooms combined. There was a space with a bed and a dresser and then a side room with a sofa and desk. There was a door off to the side that led to a bathroom I would apparently be sharing with another of my roommates.
While Ruby and I were looking around, my other roommates showed up. I heard Jason call out a greeting but there was no response. Roberta, Ruby, and I were leaving my new bedroom when we passed by two guys, again about my age, with their heads down and heading toward the only other door on this floor.
“Ryan, Kyle, come over here and meet Clay,” Roberta called out. Ryan and Kyle didn’t look up, nor did they come over as they were requested. Almost simultaneously they lifted their hands in greeting and then went inside the room at the end of the hallway, closing the door behind them.
Roberta made a frustrated grunt but didn’t comment on my less than sociable housemates.
Ruby gave me a worried look and I knew she was debating whether she could bundle me up and put me back in the car so she could take me to Key West with her.
I gave my aunt a one armed hug, trying to reassure her. Though if I were honest, I needed reassuring as much as she did. This was not what I would call an ideal living situation. And I would be expected to endure it for a long ass time.
We started to head back downstairs and I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. And just like that the heavy weight in my chest lessened just a bit, because there was only one person who could be calling me. It’s not as though I had a lot of friends; at least not those out mingling with the general population.
Only one person would call me just when I needed her most.
Maggie Young.
The beginning and ending of my entire f**king world.
Before I could pull my phone out to see her name dance across the screen, Roberta handed me a sheet of paper. I looked down, seeing a crap load of words.
“These are the group home rules and guidelines. The staff here at Rose Heights works closely with the Grayson Center to ensure you achieve a successful acclimation. Coming out of treatment is tough. We’re here to support you as you move from one environment to the next. I’ve spoken at length with Dr. Todd Trimble about your outpatient plan,” Roberta explained and I nodded.
Dr. Todd had been exhaustive in going over my continued treatment plan. After six months at Grayson I had been released into outpatient care within the setting of an independent living facility. I was deemed “high-functioning” enough to warrant some slack on the reins. I was no longer a threat to myself, so the staff at Grayson thought living on my own would be beneficial for my progress.
So why, do you ask, did I not get into my car and head straight back to Virginia? Back to the girl I had promised my future to.
Because I had come a long way from being the selfish, self-centered prick who would launch himself back into Maggie Young’s life before I was 100% ready. I had done the second chance with Maggie and it hadn’t ended the way we both had hoped. And I wasn’t going to screw this up again.
My shit would be sorted before I took up residence in her world again.
So I was staying in Florida. I would follow my treatment plan. I would stay straight on that damn path until the only way to go would be back to Maggie.
I’d get there. I had to. Failure was not an option.
Roberta was still talking, going through the list of rules like I had lost the ability to read while I was as the center. She was being purposefully slow as though I didn’t understand what she meant by no loud music and parking only in my assigned space.
“Staff reserves the right to unannounced searches of the property if it is suspected you are using drugs,” Roberta stated firmly, pressing her mouth into a hard line. I tensed again at another one of her implied assumptions.
Though I guess I hadn’t earned the right to be exempt from them. There was a reason I had been institutionalized three times since the age of sixteen.
“I understand,” I said, tapping the paper against my palm, feeling more than a little agitated. I had stupidly expected today to be low key. That maybe Ruby would help me unpack. I’d order a pizza, maybe read a book. I’d call Maggie and remember why I was doing all of this to begin with.
Apparently Rose Heights was more hardcore than the brochure had led me to believe. I had yet to see the smiling residents sipping their coffee or a friendly game of badminton on the lawn that graced the advertisements. Reality wasn’t the pretty pictures on glossy pages. This reality was wariness and distrust until you earned otherwise.