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 [Open] What in Tarnation Goes Down at AA meetings

[Open] What in Tarnation Goes Down at AA meetings

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 Abandoned School | Windy & Cloudy | 11am 


 
I leaned outside the brick wall of the brutality vandalized building I was to hold my first ever Alcoholics Anonymous meeting in. I stood waiting idly for the impaired souls of the recovering addicts to bustle into the building, my hands beginning to shake with the nerves. Fuck. Why was I chosen for a sponsorship again? I'm probably the shyest person I know. What if I freeze up? I shoved my frigid hands into the pockets of my ripped jeans and glanced up at a sunless sky, it seemed as though it was about to rain but I couldn't bear to go inside yet. Hosting an AA meeting in Cedar Grove deemed fit, this area has been neglected from zero tolerance policing and tough on crime advocates and left to diminish on its own. It's not exactly the safest environment, but god I've seen worse. What if nobody shows?
 
One year ago I was so sure that I couldn't be saved. Now here I am, about to host my first ever AA meeting and I've never felt better. That's all there is to it, just tell them how you survived, Beth. I wanted to die back then. I wasn't scared of dying, as a matter of fact, I really fucking wanted to die. I don't think that's the case anymore. I sighed loudly, poking my head through the door and observing a small group of teens settle in. I better go in. I began setting up a few black dingy metal chairs into a perfect circle and then quickly sat in the first chair.
 
My phone screen lit up bright accompanied by a low-set alarm letting me know that it was finally eleven a.m. I discreetly took a deep breath and smiled warmly at the guests that had begun to take their seats. There was only a couple of seats empty, a better turn out than I had anticipated. “Welcome to alcoholics anonymous, my name is Bethany and I am a recovering Meth addict and Alcoholic.” I spoke firmly, as if it was the first time I was making this statement. The truth is I had long passed the denial stage of recovery.
 
“Today we are going to be talking about the 12 steps and traditions of AA and were going to be introducing ourselves. I encourage you all to share a short story about when you first identified that you…um, that you believed you might have a problem. We could all go in order, unless anyone would like to go first?” I questioned, glancing around the circle looking for the first brave person to speak up. I posted flyers all over town about this meeting, so I’m sure more people might still show. 

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“…SOMETIMES I WONDER IF MY PUSSY IS LOPSIDED?”

“GIRL WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THAT? CAN A PUSSY EVEN GET LOPSIDED? HELL I’VE SEEN MY FAIR SHARE OF CROOKED DICKS THOUGH.”

“…WELL SHOOT, SOMETIMES WHEN I PEEL MY PAD OFF IN THE MORNING I SEE MORE BLOOD ON ONE SIDE THAN THE OTHER. IF THAT ISN’T SOME LOPSIDED SHIT?”

“AIN’T IT ‘CUZ YOU SLEEP ON YOUR SIDE AT NIGHT? CUZ THEN ALL THE BLOOD IN YOUR PUSSY WILL LIKE—OH SHIT, CALL YOU BACK.”


A loud ass beep concluded a loud ass conversation bouncing from one crusty ass wall to the next smashed concrete wall all the way down this suffocating hallway—no, through the whole goddamn factory because ain’t shit in here but the morning sun pissing through shattered windows into a nasty yellow puddle warming this shitified concrete foundation—in other words we had concert-grade acoustics in this bitch. Damn. All it took was one ratchet phone call to ruin any chance of a favorable first impression. Usually I have to start rambling about dicks first but this was a new low for me. I almost turned back around to leave but if anyone needed this meeting it was goddamn me. I’ll suffer their tormenting judgment.

My hands cupped over my mouth as my blonde head peered around a decimated corner at a circle of chairs. Several heads stared ahead at a woman with mermaid-colored hair. Ursula was going on about introductions and my ebony eyes widened with interest above my cupped hands,  “Hi my name is James.” My muffled falsetto floated into a crumbled chamber that looked like a German tank steamrolled through it.  

Several heads turned up to stare at me. My pink lips pursed into a thin line at the army of stares crawling into my eye sockets, and with a heavy sigh, “Hi, my name is—I already said that—fuck it I’m addicted to weed, makeup, and dick.” A hand slipped through my silky blond locks and pushed my bangs away from my eyes narrowing to a squint as if those faces transformed into light bulbs, “And I’m an idiot who turns into a magician around a bottle of Hennessy. Now can we talk about this factory girl?”—yes James, go on and derail the whole fucking meeting—“Girl this factory looking like Freddy Kruger’s spot. For real. I couldn’t tell you if that was a broken desk or a dead body I stepped over on the way in and honestly your girl couldn’t give one fuck, I high-tailed it the heck out there to the other living souls gathered here.”

My inner narcissist sent the corners of my mouth crinkling into a smirk as my wrist flipped back over my shoulder and pointed its index finger at a gaping hole staring behind me into another dimension for all I fucking knew, “Girl the walls look like birth canals. Can we have our next meeting in a nightclub?”

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Re: [Open] What in Tarnation Goes Down at AA meetings

Shane Mathis | Warlock; Necromancer

Posted on Wed Mar 15, 2017 9:33 am

I hated this part of the job. I did, to an extent, consider this work beneath me. But it wasn't the kind of thing you could hire an assistant for, was it? Besides, my clients could be rather... choosy. Which was infuriating as they didn't seem to take their own desperation into account. To me it was like a homeless person pissed that he was offered a night at hotel six rather than the Waldorf Astoria. My current client was a middle aged man. A little young to die, sure, but I wanted to tell him get over it. But I didn't, because his plan to earn my payment seemed solid, and fast. That mattered more than anything. Let's just hope he didn't actually think I could get a Keanu Reeves look-a-like like the last guy. Women weren't the only vain creatures, that was for sure.

I entered the building which was one that needed a lot of TLC, but it performed its function. It wasn't too cold, there was lighting, and a roof over our heads. My tastes were slowly becoming more finicky with the money I earned, but I still remembered the cold of Alaska and the rough wind of the northeastern Seas. As a survivalist, being in a creepy abandoned building was child's play. Even if the roof might cave in on us. I stood at the door to the room where the meeting was obviously being held, realizing that I was a few minutes late but it was clear the party was certainly getting started without me. I watched as the obnoxiously... flamboyant man made his introduction, half annoyed that there were actually people who simply couldn't live without constant attention, and half.. amused. I grinned slightly.

"No, Shane. Absolutely not."
My smile widened.
Aw, but Martin, he's easy picking. Do you think anyone who acts such a fool has any friends or family that can stand him? It was a mumble, audible, but only discernible by my client. I'm here, I've got to go, I said before removing my headset, the perfect cover when you were constantly talking to spirits.

A nightclub would certainly defeat the purpose, wouldn't it? I said to the man, making sure my affect was friendly as I took a seat. I'm Shane. Oxy addiction, six months clean.

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Just when I thought that no one else was coming this extremely loud and definitely gay boy waltzed in having a full blown conversation about a lopsided pussy, his drag-like voice echoed throughout the primarily empty building. “Hi James!” I exclaimed, really attempting to sound as welcoming as I possibly could manage.
 
I couldn’t help but giggle at the last two addiction’s James listed. I mean I didn’t really consider weed very physically addictive, at least that’s not the way my psychology major would have described this schedule I drug. Although James completely skipped the guy who was just about to speak, I let him finish without interruption. “Well James, I think too much of anything isn’t a good thing, but then again I only learned that from the spice girls.” I chuckled nervously, placing some stray strands of hair behind my ear.
 
This boy was something else entirely, but I won’t deny I was so amused. He’s just so funny! To think that my first meeting wasn’t going to be eventful…it’s like the gods answered me after all.
“I think we can all agree this place isn’t the nicest spot in the world, but I think it may actually be one of the nicest buildings in this crappy town.” I laughed at his description along with the entire group, it did look like something out of a Freddy Krugar nightmare.
 
Now another man joined the circle, a handsome guy who I would say looked like he hadn’t slept in months. Who am I to judge though? “I’d have to agree with that. I don’t think a night club will help any of your three addictions, James.” I nodded in total accordance with the man I now knew as Shane, an oxy addict. Well if the shoe fits. “Welcome Shane, thank you for sharing that with us and congrats on your sobriety. We celebrate that victory tremendously here.” I flashed him a toothy grin, really couldn’t help it, I was quite attracted to the man.
 
“Now, I know some of you are only here because a court order demanded you do so, but I’d really like to say thank you for taking the first step towards recovery. Many of you are probably way past the stage of denial and can identify that you have a problem. I know it’s extremely hard to pass the denial stage but it’s amazing to be on the other side of the spectrum.” I exhaled glancing around the circle at the mostly broken faces and sunken eyes that sat before me.
 
   
“I would like you all to know that this is a sacred place. You can say anything you’d like, nothing must leave this room. This is your haven, your safe place.” I assured. “Does anyone want to start by giving us a brief story about when you realized you hit rock bottom and when you decided you had a problem? Or even a crazy story? Anything to share.” I asked, I wanted to get everyone comfortable with speaking openly in the circle.

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Post is crap, forgive me. I’m having a bad day but I don’t wanna slow down the thread lmao x_x


You know what? Miss Bethany was a nice bitch – they had these growing out in Index? Girl I’ve encountered so many demon-eyed hos around here that I felt like reaching into my second-grade pocket and handing this chick a gold star. Even made me want to reign in all the  sass a bit – just a bit – hell save it for this guy over here trying to be chummy. I’m sorry but can we leave the best friend antics for another day after he done scared the shit out me? Who asked him to roll up from the abyss like that?

The moment his voice hit the back of my head I snapped my head towards him, eyes wide and mouth pursing into a sassy frown, “Well Miss Shane, if this lady decides to have the next meeting at the gates of hell I’m going to need to be drunk first.” Shit. Why not up the ante on World’s Most Shittiest Meeting Places and just send us straight to hell next week?

I only looked about the chairs for a place where I could park myself and found one a few chairs down from Beth. I swear I’m not one of those gay people who go out of their way to let everyone know they were a flaming queen, but damn, I couldn’t just plop down into that chair like a normal man and spread my knees apart like I wanted easy access to scratch my balls. I tucked my knees together, stuck my butt out, even planted my fingertips onto my knees as I touched down onto that chair like the prettiest princess in Index. My dad used to beat the shit out of me when he saw me do that, but like I give a fuck. I threw one thigh over the other and clasped my hand around my knees. Then I slipped a hand underneath my blonde mane and flipped it away from my face.

Oh Lord now this woman asking for crazy stories? With me sitting at this damn circle? Does she want people to come back to the next meeting because shit after I get going someone’s bound to leave traumatized. I decided I wasn’t going to say shit. I was already talking about lopsided pussies out in the corridor I did not need to bring my fucked up personal life into the mix.

A woman seated next to me started shuffling with her purse, you could tell by how shiny it was that it was made of pleather but I can’t even front since half my shit is fake too. In fact my whole shit is fake. I’m probably the fakest thing in this factory and that was cool with me. I darted my eyes around the circle and said, “Only way I’m sharing my story is if everyone in the room, if we can call it that, agrees to hearing some 50 Shades of Grey shit, only my Christian Grey couldn't have been messier if he was a cheese and bean burrito exploding in the microwave for 3 hours.”

I sighed and raised my nails before my eyes, admiring the glossy black and grey paint, waiting for somebody to talk because once I get started about my personal dramas that’ll be the end of the meeting. I looked up from my hand over to where Shane was sitting, half expecting that scary queen to say something.

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