Layla
It was that time. Layla could feel the dread filling her heart. She know she needed help. But these group meetings? Where she had to let her business out to everyone, going into extreme detail of all the branches of her addictions? It was embarassing. Layla couldn't think of a better word to put it. But admitting your addiction was one of the easiest ways to overcome it. Well, that's what her coach said. It would be their first meeting, so it would probably be mainly introductions and backgrounds. But it could be different. Could be worse. Their first opinions of her would probably be along the lines of 'slut', or 'whore'. Layla tried not to think about it so hard, running one hand through her long, black locks. She sat back in the la-z-boy, her light eyes scanning the room quickly.
There would be others, Layla knew. But not very many with her problem. No, no, no. See, her addiction was rare. Most people didn't believe her when she first told them. But it was true. It was painful to admit, but true. She couldn't hide it anymore. People wanted to help her, and she needed it. People said they were praying for her. She didn't see anything coming out of that so far. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, staring at the light blue door that was to open at any second, telling her to come in the room, sit with a bunch of strangers, and spill her heart.
Layla pulled at her white pencil skirt. She had tried to dress her nicest, putting on a fancy shirt that someone had bought her a few years back. She wanted to make a good impression on these people. She didn't want them to know her secret before she put it out there. She toyed with the edges of her wavy hair, fidgeting nervously. She hit her black pumps up against each other, and her head snapped up at the sound of the door being open. It was a nicer man, probably in his early 50's, smiling at her and opening the door wider.
"Come in." He said softly. Layla quickly stood up, brushing her skirt against her long legs, before smiling at him briefly and stepping past him into the room. She looked around the crowd of people, all those who she would have never expected had an addiction or a problem. She took a seat in between a guy with blonde hair and a girl with cat eyes. She smiled at them as nice as she could, before she started drumming her black fingernails against her white skirt nervously. She wasn't good with formal introductions or meetings. And this was a mixture of both.