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You tried to make me go to rehab...	By : Hayley666 Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > HIM Views: 1366 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own or know any members of HIM. This is a work of fiction and I make no profit from it.

Chapter List
- 1-1 - Ville
- 2-2 - Eve
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- 2
Important - Chapters will switch POV, Ville odd and Eve even.
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Ville stared through his fingers at the carpet below him, thick and dark, the colour unidentifiable due to the lack of light in the heavily curtained room, and sighed deeply. Here he was again, shamed and disgraced by his own stupidity, his descent once more into the murky and blurred world of alcohol dependency. It had taken him all of three days to go from stone cold sober to needing a drink to keep away the shakes, and near 6 month’s to wake up and realise that once again he needed help in fighting the addictions that plagued him so terribly, and so he had checked himself into rehab.
Unlike last time, when he had checked himself into one of the worlds most prestigious and sought after clinics in the world, Ville had chosen to check himself into a tiny private London hospital with an excellent reputation that specialised in rehabilitating people with drug and alcohol addictions and various other mental afflictions using strict methods and limited privileges. It was what Ville needed this time round, a complete and utter step away from his own reality, a shock to his system to get him back onto the wagon he hoped never to fall off again. Something he would never be able to find in the warmth and comfort of Promise’s rehabilitation clinic.
It had only been three hours since his last drink and his body was still drunken from the various cocktails he’d dumped down his throat over the hours, and indeed days, before he’d realised he’d needed help. His mind however, for the time being at least, was as clear as ever. He needed to be here, in rehab, he needed to sort himself out and he needed to do it now, before he drank himself to what must be an excruciating and unbearably long death. However what worried him was that all too soon his body would be craving the one thing he would have to deny it. It would scream out for it, shake and sweat and push Ville to the most extreme insanity and it wouldn’t let up for days, not unless he had a drink. And he didn’t think he could handle that. Not this time at least... In Promise’s they had eased the process for him as much as possible, giving him drugs to stop the shakes, the cravings, the constant ache in the pit of his stomach and the back of his mind. Here, in Markwood’s they left him to detox naturally, they waited until every unit of alcohol had been sweated out of his system, waited until his body craved it no more, reacted no more to the fact that it was no longer being given the substance in relied upon to keep itself running normally until they started any kind of treatment. The average time period for a natural detox was anywhere between 3 and 7 days. Considering how heavily Ville had been drinking of late, he feared that his detox would lean towards the latter end of the time scale.
**
It was early, after few hours of disturbed and nightmare plagued sleep that Ville was awoken his body’s desperate need to cling on to the alcohol slowly seeping from his system, and its cries out, begging him for more, pleading with him to give in and have a drink, something to quell the shaking, to ease the headache and sooth the agony in the pit of his stomach and kidneys. He was cold, and no amount of huddling in his duvet could warm, him, and yet his skin was covered in a thin film of sweat. He tried to reach out for the bottle of water on his bedside table in hopes of easing his suffering a little, but he was shaking so much that he dropped the bottle to the floor. It rolled under his desk and fell still by the leg of his chair. He didn’t have the energy to go after it and was certain that if he moved around too much the swirling nauseous feeling in his stomach would rise up to his throat and have him vomiting. No, he was going to stay where he was, was going to hope and pray for sleep but knew that it would be a near impossibility. He had world of suffering crashing down on his shoulders, and would have to bare it until his body saw fit to move past the worst of it and return to some sort of normality.
The morning dragged on, slow and steady, disrupted by little other than the 8am knock on his door for breakfast, which he ignored (mere movements had his stomach in turmoil, eating would more than an impossibility) and the soft creeping of the sunlight across the floor, flooding though a gap in the curtains, easing its way towards his pillow, where it blinded his closed eyes, staining the dark view of his eyelids a bitter red. Days seemed to have passed in a blur of pain and unease, of endless nausea and shaking, but it reality it had only been hours, and few at that. And not once did he sleep...
As the day eased into the early afternoon the peaceful, almost eerie silence that had long since fallen in Ville’s room was brutally disrupted by a young woman’s cries and screams of protest, somewhere below Ville’s 1st floor window. They were loud and frantic, piercing through Ville, chilling his blood cold. The woman sounded terrified, she was hysterical and like she was putting up one hell of a fight. It was obvious she was not at the hospital by choice. Ville tried his hardest to ignore the woman, and the low muffled sounds of the staff trying to reassure her, but it soon became obvious that things weren’t going to calm down any time soon, so Ville decided to investigate, if only to distract him from his aches and pains, which were showing no signs of lessening in any way.
Ville eased out of bed, thankful that his stirring stomach stayed stiller than it should have with him moving about and padded across the room slowly, not risking stretching out for fear that it would worsen the aches in his body. He stopped briefly to rescue his bottle of water and take a few ginger sips from it, before widening the gap in his curtains just enough to enable him to see out. The powerful sunlight had dimmed as the day had worn on, masked by a blanket of fog and mist, the lightest falling of snow, hiding from view everything but the stark naked tree’s, bleak in their emptiness, barely painted by the glittering fallen snow that melted away long before it had a chance to hit the frozen ground below. There was nothing more to the dismal, depressing view. He could not see the woman crying out, the staff trying to help her, or even so much as a path or road. Just tree’s, looking like death itself, stretching out into a deep grey fog of nothingness, reflecting perfectly Ville’s mood. Bleak and low, worsened by his sympathy for the frightened woman that he could not see. He stared out for a while longer, closing his mind off to all thought, all noise, his eyes not really seeing what was before him. He soon became lost in the emptiness inside of him, no emotion, no feeling. Nothing. But maybe life was safer that way...
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You tried to make me go to rehab...