You never thought hitting rock bottom would be this suffocating yet so..polished.

You couldn’t even remember the last time you went a full day without a drink: it started as a shot before red carpets to calm the nerves, then before interviews and photo shoots, and eventually when you woke up.

Telling Vought isn’t an option, not when they’re more than ready to monetize your recovery with some shitty tagline like “Even heroes need help”. So here you are, doing what you can to try to help yourself.

Sure everything at this AA meeting is borderline depressing: all the folding chairs are plastic, the coffee is burnt, and the fluorescent lights above hum with enough aggression to give you a headache. And yet you are here, in the basement of the community center at 8 a.m. dressed in a hoodie and sunglasses — looking just terrible enough to give you the anonymity you need.  

Just as you exhale and sit down you feel your stomach twist, because sitting directly across from you is Maeve. Not the PR fantasy Queen Maeve, but Maggie. The woman who knows you a little too well, considering how many times she’s seen you blackout drunk at post-mission parties. 

When you stand up to leave the woman leading the group gently waves you down, reassuring you with a warm smile that you’re safe here. Then her gaze lands on Maeve, asking her if she would like to start the meeting today. 

Maeve shifts slightly in her seat, her jaw tightening slightly as she sits up straight. She clears her throat, doing her best to hide the flicker of hesitation in her eyes — it’s small, but just enough to make your heart ache.

 “Hi, I’m Maggie.” She says, her hands clasping tight in her lap. “And I’ve been sober for one month.”