"Zoe, you realise you've only made the court more suspicious that you're not well enough to leave yet," Perry explained, soothingly.
I was sat in the gallery, surrounded by paintings. It was a regular place I visited in the rehab centre, to gaze at beautiful paintings and to be smothered by that amazing smell of paint and old paper.
Nodding, I leaned further into his arm, which was wrapped around my shoulder, holding me. It was nice, warm. But I was used to Perry, he was my mentor or whatever, late-twenties with dark brown hair and deep blue eyes. He was one person I'd allowed myself to get close to, even if I was going to leave him soon if I could convince the court I was fine.
"They might even decide it's in your best interests to spend a few months in Carther's," he went on, his soft voice calming me until he mentioned Carther's.
I sat upright and looked at him, "That's not something to joke about. I'm not mad."
Carther's was a mental hospital down the road from the rehab centre, it was originally debated to send me there for my anxiety and panic attacks, and sudden bursts of violent anger but it was ruled out and instead, I spent my time here.
"I'm sorry, but I wasn't joking Zoe. Your addiction has improved but your anxiety and anger haven't," Perry eased me, settling me down back into his shoulder and softly stroking my hair- dyed a deep auburn.
"I know," I mumbled, turning my face into his shoulder and bundling my arms into his chest. "But I don't want to go to some mad house."
He chuckled slightly, without humour, rocking his chest.
We were sat on a small red couch which was placed in front of a drawing of a corn field, one of my favourites. My legs were tucked under me and my body pressed against Perry's, his strong hands were holding me and his chest was warm. I sighed, content.
"You could do it, you know," he murmured through my hair.
"Do what?" I asked, my eyes closed.
"Fight your panic attacks, and stop your anger."
"Hmm," I sighed. "How do you know?"
"Because you're stronger than you realise," he whispered. Then after a moment, he added, "And more beautiful."
I opened my eyes and sat up to look at him properly. He looked right back at me, his ocean blue eyes gazing into my green ones.
"What-?" I started, when he leant forwards and brushed his lips against mine, holding my face in his firm, tough hands.
Puzzled, I pulled away and studied his face. His eyes, deep pools of midnight, whispered silently to me until interrupted by his own voice, "I'm sorry, that was very unprofessional of me, please forgive-"
I cut him off by suddenly kissing him back, his rough lips moving together with mine, but I felt nothing, only a dirty feeling of guilt that sickened me because I'd let down my guard and let him get close to me. Gently removing his hand from my cheek, I laid it back on to the cheap fabric of the sofa and stood up.
And then, turned back to say to him, "I don't get close to people Perry, I don't love, I don't care. I travel to never grow close to anyone, but these past two years I let myself get close to you and that was a mistake."
"Zoe, you need to let people in," he tried desperately, because he knew once I'd made up my mind to move, I wouldn't change it.
"No, I hate feeling a connection to someone because then I'm attached to them and they're just more baggage to carry around. I can barely handle living with myself, I don't want to add to that," I snapped, severing the emotional ties between us as I did and he knew it, he knew I was leaving him and I wasn't going to allow any emotional attachment drag me back here.
"Bye," I muttered, spinning round to walk quickly out of the room and out of the rehab centre, already planning my next location to move to.
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