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</div><br/>Marcus<br/>19<br/><br/>Perhaps, he had gone too far, he'd almost died this time.<br/><br/>But it looked like things would not be so bad. Grace Fields Rehabilitation Center was at least someplace to live for the time being.  His dad had kicked him out the day he turned eighteen and after wholly giving himself over to doing just whatever the fuck he wanted, his path had dropped him off in this pit of those able to<i>guide him to make better life choices.</i>Bullshit. On day two he'd gotten a hit from a nurse assistant, but by the end of the week the dude was gone. Life was boring as fuck and he needed something to change.  Not the change the nauseating do gooders craved for him, but ... something. He didn't know what.<br/><br/>He'd already determined suffering through the various therapy sessions was going to be a test of his acting abilities, but it was much better than prison.<i>"You're not a juvenile anymore Marcus. It's this or prison..."  </i><br/><br/>Week two he was allowed to enter group therapy classes instead of the one on one counseling session he'd been given. Being stuck in a room, with a few others possibly just as fucked up as him sounded torturous, no matter how tastefully decorated and homey they had made it.<br/><br/>Late in the afternoon, he surprised himself by willingly following the nurse from his room to the 'meeting place' as they called it and settled down in a over stuffed chair near the corner of the room opposite the door.  It was a prime location, giving him a view of all seating possibilities equally. Set up like a large family room, it was supposedly an inviting atmosphere to encourage openness. Marcus considered it a stage for his best performance yet.<br/><br/>He gave the two 'hosts' of the gathering a genuine smile and watched the others slowly file into the room. Seven patient 'guests' and two host doctors, but the one that caught his eye was the guy that reluctantly sat near him, for lack of other seating.