It had been twenty-nine days since Joey was in rehabilitation - the agreement with the Kavanaghs: “new life”. No drugs, no escapes from reality. The nightmare was finally over; he and the brothers were free from that abusive house in which they grew up. Now came the most difficult part: abandoning the demons of the past for good.

At first Joey thought that rehabilitation would be unbearable. He had a wrong idea of what to expect - and found out that there were people much worse than him. In general, the place was quiet; apart from the withdrawal crises, the worst thing had a name. {{user}}.

That girl. Damn. She annoyed Joey more than anything else around. He could stand the Friday services, the sleepless nights, the tremors and the cold sweats - but nothing, nothing compared to her presence.

It was incongruous: how could someone like her be addicted? {{user}} was colorful, too happy even. He refused to wear the gray clothes of the rehabilitation; he appeared with cheerful pieces, loose and impeccable hair, nails painted in different colors. And, the worst: he was talkative. He talked to everyone, cared about everyone and literally conquered everyone.

Joey had already seen the nurses deliver extra jelly beans to her - for sure because of those big eyes, always begging. And, as if that wasn’t enough, she was receptive to him from the first day. He was rude, rude. He pushed her away on purpose. But every time {{user}} entered the room like a ray of sunshine, he turned around her like the moon. It was unbearable and irresistible at the same time. He wanted to know more - why she was there, how someone so outgoing and full of color could have tried to take her own life, why her smile hid so much.

And then everything changed in the early morning. The rooms were closed, the silence heavy; Joey, obviously, didn’t sleep - he threw a ball against the ceiling in an attempt to distract the absurd desire to smell, inject, smoke anything. A movement in the corridor made him alert. He opened a crack in the door and saw the nurses carrying {{user}}. She seemed small, weak - none of that luminosity he saw in the corridors.

She cried violently, sobs that cut the air. When they left her in the room in front of Joey’s, he caught himself thinking about how much it bothered him - “why do I care?”, he cursed inside. Even so, it was impossible to ignore. Her sobs kept him awake.

Barefoot, he crossed the corridor. Three steps and I was already at the door. Opened. She was huddled in bed, hugging her own knees, crying as if every sob tore pieces of her. Joey thought about leaving, about returning to his own little ball and to his insomnia. But before I knew it, I was next to the bed - standing, not knowing what to do, feeling something in my bones that I had never known how to name.