Supreme Championship Wrestling

OOC: I did this for VWA, decided you guys should see it, too.


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“Okay Ms. Lancaster, now that we have your personal information entered, we have a few evaluation questions for you. Firstly, why have you decided to come to Avenues Recovery?”

“Well, my husband threatened to divorce me if I didn't.”

Sitting in an office decorated to look like a small living room, Amy glares at the addiction counselor who just asked the question. The look on the middle-aged woman's face tells Amy that she is not pleased with the response. The counselor glances at the medical professional sitting next to her. Amy isn't sure yet if the younger man is a doctor, PA, NP, RN, or what. Both of them had only introduced themselves by name. The man, Ricky, takes over.

“Alright, but that's not what we mean, and I'm willing to bet you know that. I understand this is a difficult situation, especially if you came here under.... less than willing circumstances. But we're all here to help, and we can only do that if you're open and honest with us.”
Amy sighs, crossing her arms. “Fine. But first I need you to tell me exactly what kind of medical professional you are.”
“Of course. I'm a Nurse Practitioner. I should have opened with that, I apologize.”
The woman, Helena, leans forward a bit, reentering the conversation. “I'll rephrase the question. What are you seeking help for with us?”
Amy stares at the floor, contemplating her words. She knows why she's here, she just doesn't think all of this is necessary. Her husband disagreed though, so strongly that the man has legal paperwork ready and waiting if Amy refuses or just goes through the motions. She never thought he would go so far, because although she knows she has a problem, she doesn't think it's that bad. Everyone else seems to agree with Wyatt, though, so maybe she's wrong, and they're all right. Amy looks up and catches eye contact with Helena.
“I'm an alcoholic. I've done this before. A different place, a few years ago.”
“Thank you for that. I'm sure we can get those records, if we don't already have them. Was there a specific incident that led to you coming here today?”
“Yeah...” Amy scoffs, there's no way she's getting into all of that during intake. “It's complicated.”
“Can you give us a little bit of an idea?”
“Well... I guess the main thing that set my husband off was... I hid things from him, and asked someone to lie to him to cover for me. Said person almost immediately told him anyway. And here I am.” Amy shrugs. That as about as simplified as she could make it. The counselor and nurse give each other a look. Ricky takes over.
“Thanks. Now getting into the physical or I should say medical side of your treatment, I have a few questions as well.” Amy nods, she knows what's coming. “Can you tell me when was the last time you had alcohol?”
“A few days ago. Uh.... Saturday night.” The night before SCWs Rise to Greatness. She'd bought wine from a store near the hotel, not wanting the charge to appear on her room service bill. She and Wyatt had argued about it. But if she was coming here anyway, what did one more bottle matter? He'd backed down, but wasn't happy about it and left the room while she consumed the bottle.
“Okay, so you won't be needing any detox or withdrawal treatment?”
“No... it's not really an every day thing. I just... really overdo it when I do it.”
“And did you overdo it Saturday night?”
“Not really. It was a bottle of red wine, and that doesn't usually fu- uh, mess me up too bad. I just get mildly loopy and struggle to sleep.”
Ricky makes some notes, then looks back up. “Is wine your usual drink of choice? Or something harder?”
“I go back and forth between that and amaretto.”
“Alright... and finally, I do have some of your records here, I see that you've previously been prescribed naltrexone. Can you tell me why you stopped taking it?”
“My doctor, well... therapist, thought I was well enough into my recovery that I no longer needed it. That was a few years ago, too.”
“Are you opposed to taking it again?”
“No, I found it really helpful.” Amy hadn't wanted to speak at all when she walked into here, but now that she's had to answer a few things, she finds it easier to be forthcoming. She's suddenly embarrassed about her initial attitude. Adjusting herself in her seat, she “Listen, I want to apologize for the way I answered you at first. You're just doing your jobs, and...” Her words trail off, but Helena gets it.
“And it's hard. We know. I appreciate that, but don't worry about it, we've gotten much worse.”
“Usually from court-ordered clients. Your discomfort is understandable.”
“And we're going to work on that.”
Amy just nods.
“One last medical question for you, standard stuff. Any allergies?”
“Just latex.”
Ricky notes that down. “Alright. That's all I have. Helena?”
“Right. So we know why you're here, and a little of your history. Typically this is where we'd discuss insurance and payment with a client but we're aware that isn't a concern for you. Instead, we'll discuss your specific needs, being who you are.”
“You mean because I'm well-known.”
“Yes, exactly. Your husband explained some of that when he called us to make your appointment, but we'll need some details from you. I see here that you have a booking commitment on August twelfth?”
“Yeah, I'm defending a World Championship in Toronto.”
“That's a little over two weeks from today. Our programs usually start at thirty-day stays. But we can make accommodations for your schedule. I can offer you this... stay inpatient until August tenth, so you'll have travel time. After your commitment, we'd have you participate in our Intensive Outpatient program. That entails counseling sessions three times a week, for the remainder of your initial thirty days, and after that we determine what the next step should be. Does that sound agreeable?”
“I don't suppose I have a choice?”
Helena and Ricky glance at each other.
“Given the details of your case, I would say not.” Helena shrugs apologetically.
“Then I guess that's what I'm doing.”
Helena smiles. “Great. We just need you to sign a few forms...”

Amy spent the next fifteen minutes doing the paperwork, handing over her cell phone (which she would get back in three days), and being assured that she would have a small private residence condo on site. Most other inpatients share a residence and some share rooms. They understood her need for extra privacy however and accommodated that, at cost of course. Not that Amy needed to worry about the cost. She isn't overly wealthy by the millions, but enough that paying for this won't hurt her finances.

A little over an hour after Wyatt walked her into the lobby, then left without a word, Amy is escorted to her home for the next two weeks. It's a one bedroom flat condo, with what should be called a kitchenette rather than a kitchen. There are no televisions, but there is a radio in the living room. After Helena leaves her to get settled in, Amy goes to the bedroom to unpack the clothes and toiletries she brought. She'd also brought a notebook as suggested, to use as a journal. Leaving the suitcase open and no clothes put away yet, Amy grabs the notebook and pulls out the pen tucked into the spirals. She flips it open and scribbles exactly what's on her mind today...


I can't believe he's making me do this.
I can't believe he said NOTHING before leaving me here.
Yes I'm fucked up and I DID fuck up but I don't deserve this.
I don't.
I DON'T!


With an angry huff, Amy slams the cover shut and throws the notebook across the room towards a side chair. Somehow, it lands on the seat and stays. The pen follows through the air, but bounces off the arm and lands on the floor. Amy doesn't care. She lays back and closes her eyes, waiting to be summoned for whatever first-day bullshit is yet to come.






“Please Amy, come in and have a seat.”
The door tells Amy the man's name is Dr. Patrick Donnelly. The man himself appears to be around Amy's age, short dark hair with a few grays sprinkled in.
“Thank you.” Amy walks in and sits. This room isn't like any other therapists room she'd ever been in. Dr. Donnelly didn't sit at a desk, the desk was in the far corner. Instead, he sits in a comfortable looking brown plush armchair. The seat Amy took was a matching armchair, placed across from the doctor and separated by a black coffee table. There was another matching armchair pushed against the wall, Amy assumed for when a family member joined the session – she was told that was on her treatment plan, too.
“Before we get in the weeds here, how are you today?”
“Relatively okay.”
“In relation to what?”
“The day I got here, for starters.”
Dr. Donnelly nods. “I can understand that. The first day here is usually rough for everyone.”
“I'm sure. I'm actually happy to be here talking to you, Dr. Donnelly. The other kind of sessions... are not really helpful to me.”
“First of all, please call me Patrick. There are no formalities here.” Amy nods, she didn't care to be addressed formally, either. Patrick smiles. “Okay. I'm glad you're happy to be here, I see a lot of people who dread this part of their treatment.”
“I don't really like it... I just prefer it to being asked to share in a group. I know the so-called “rule” is to not repeat anything said there, but I don't trust people. The last thing I need is to say something real, then read about it on TMZ or Under the Apron a few days later.”
“That's valid and completely understandable. You won't be going to any more of those after today.”
“Thank every god.”
Patrick grins, amused. “Okay. Are you ready to actually get started?”
“As ready as I'm gonna be.”
“Great. So, we're going to chat like friends. I want this to be more like a casual conversation, rather than a question and answer, interview type thing. Feel free to ask anything you want, and please speak freely. What I mean by that is... there's no need to censor your language.”
“Oh good, because I'm sure I'll have a lot of that spewing out through this.” The resentment in her voice is clear.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I did not want to come here. I didn't think it was necessary.”
“Then why are you here?”
“My husband disagreed with me. I was given two options. Come here, or he'd.... he'd leave.” It was only the second time Amy had spoken Wyatt's ultimatum out loud, and the words sound just as unbelievable on her tongue as they did in her head since the moment he said it.
“That's pretty drastic. Why do you think you and....?” Patrick pauses, prodding for a name.
“Wyatt.”
“You and Wyatt have such a differing opinion on your addiction?”
“I don't know. I guess he... just got fed up with my bullshit.”
“Elaborate on your bullshit.” Patrick sits back in the chair, in a relaxed position. Amy remains seated upright, the complete opposite of relaxed.
“Hiding things. My liquor and wine bottles, the one in my car...” Patrick shakes his head, but stops himself, as if he hadn't meant to react to that. “I always had a line I wouldn't cross with it, I wouldn't ever take anything to work. I can't say I never showed up at the gym after downing something at home. Or still fucked up from the night before. You know... that kind of bullshit.”
“Do you feel he is justified or unjustified in being upset with you over this?”
“Oh he's absolutely justified. Nothing he said to me was wrong. I did lie. I did go to someone else instead of him when I was in a bad place, I did ask that man to lie for me. I just...” Amy stops, and exhales hard. “I don't like being wrong.”
“And you were wrong about not needing treatment.” It's not a question. Amy nods. “You should probably say it out loud. Claiming it is the first step in overcoming it.”
Amy shuts her eyes tight. She keeps them shut as she speaks. “I've gone back and forth in my head so much about it. I didn't think I was that bad. Not like before. A few years ago. But he did. So much that he gave me no choice.” Amy's eyes open, accompanied by a frown. “The man saw a lawyer, okay? There's undated and unsigned papers, I saw it.”
“I guess that's what made you take things more seriously.”
“Well, yeah. I mean, if he thought it was so bad that he had to go that far to get to me.... then okay. I had to be wrong.” The doctor gives her a pointed look. “Okay. I was wrong.”
“And?”
“And.... I need to be here.”
“Great. I'm glad to hear that. Now... we can help you. But you have to be willing to do the work. You've done this before, you should know.”
“I know. And I am. Willing, I mean. I should warn you though... I am incredibly stubborn.”
Patrick snickers. “I've noticed.” Amy grins. Of course he did, with the way she came in here seeing red.
“But, I'm here. So I'm not gonna waste it.”
“Good. Are you ready for the work?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. First thing. And this is very important. I see in your records that you've been seeing a therapist on and off for the last several years, yes?”
“I have. I met Dr. Lucio after an accidental overdose.”
Patrick nods. “I read about that. A couple years later was your first time in treatment. Were you still seeing her then?”
“Off and on, yes. But what you need to know about that stay was it was mandated by my job. I had already quit on my own and been sober for a month when they sent me.”
“In that case, why did they feel it was necessary?”
Amy sighs. The whole story would take an hour to tell. The main details would have to do. “A fan or reporter or something saw me in a bar and took a picture. They sat on it a while, then released it to the dirt sheets. My employers did not believe me when I said I had already quit.”
“Do you blame them for that?”
“At first I did. As well as the people behind the picture. But in the end, it really was what I needed at the time. More of a... structured way to better deal with things.”
“And this Dr. Lucio, she helped with this?”
“She did. But as I told you, I'm stubborn. I've had more than one relapse. This time though...” Amy shakes her head. “I couldn't- can't control it. Everything that's happened was just too much.”
“And we'll get to that in further sessions. Today though, the first thing I need from you is this. When you get home from treatment, you are to stop seeing Dr. Lucio.”
“What? Why? We've known each other for years, she helps at my women's shelter, she-”
“For exactly all of those reasons. We're aware she works for you with the women you care for. It's my opinion that she has become too close to you to be effective. She may be telling you what you want to hear, rather than helping you acknowledge the hard truths you need to accept to heal.”
“I... never really thought about it that way.”
“It happens a lot, when any patient has seen a particular doctor over a few years. A fresh perspective can be a jump start to getting through things you haven't been able to get past as yet.”
Amy didn't want to Dr. Lucio to feel slighted.... but she is a professional and Amy had to trust that she would understand.
“Okay. I can do that. I guess I'll be seeing you instead?”
“Yes, and one of our counselors on some occasions. We are also going to find you a new sponsor. Whoever has that position now is clearly not helping you.”
Amy scoffs, fighting back a laugh. Or a cry. Something. “You have no idea how right you are about that.” Amy's sponsor for the last few years has been her friend Simon Lyman. Unfortunately his betrayal is one of the major events that sent Amy spiraling back into the darkness.
“I have a feeling I will find out soon enough. But we'll get there. In the meantime, I have a few people in mind who may be a good fit for you. We'll have that worked out before you leave.”
“I'm more than okay with that.”
“Great. I also want to make sure you're aware that part of your treatment with me includes at least one session involving your husband. He's already aware.”
“Yes, I was told that the first day. Honestly, I think we're gonna need more than one. You have no idea how complicated everything is.”
“I don't, but I do know that in time, we can help you untangle it. You just have to trust the process.”
“I'll do my best.”
“That's all we ask. Did you bring a notebook?”
“I did. I threw it across my room the first day and I haven't opened it since.”
“Well, you're going to start using it. After every session I want you to journal about what you got out of the session, how you feel, what you might have disagreed with. Then if you like, we can discuss it at the next session.”
Amy hadn't been expecting literal homework. She thought the journal was just a suggestion, not actually part of treatment. But, she had committed to taking this seriously.
“Okay, I can do that. Are... are you gonna read it?”
“Only if there's something you want to share.” That makes Amy feel better. “I have one more thing for you today. The naltrexone. We're going to start you on that again. The standard dose is 100mg per day. I recommend taking it in the morning.”
“Yeah, I remembered that. So I should start tomorrow?”
“Yes, someone will bring it to your residence sometime later today. Since you've taken this medication before, I assume I don't have to explain how it works to you?”
“No, I was on it for a while, I know what it does.”
“Just so I know that you know, tell me.”
Amy looks at Patrick a moment. His expression tells her he's serious. “Okay... well, it blocks the receptors or whatever it is that makes alcohol give you a buzz. So that drinking has little to no effect. It can make alcohol taste funny, and cause mild nausea. And over time it'll decrease or eliminate the craving.”
Patrick started nodding halfway through Amy's answer. “That's all correct. One thing you left out is, you have to take it every day. Skipping one day probably wouldn't hurt, but several days could cause setbacks.”
“Understood.”
Patrick makes another note in his notebook, then closes it. It looks brand new, probably pulled out specifically for Amy's file. “Alright. That's everything for today. Remember to do the journaling, and I'll see you on Monday.”


Back in her room, Amy is still surprised the session wasn't longer, and didn't start to dive into the mess in her head that sent her here. The notebook was on the nightstand in her bedroom. Grabbing a bottled tea from her fridge (It had been prestocked, Wyatt must have told them what she liked), Amy goes into the bedroom and sits in bed, crossing her legs and leaning against the headboard. It's just midday but she's already tired. Amy eyes the notebook warily for a few moments, then grabs it. She opens the cover and stares at the first page, her angry scribbles from just a few days ago on her first day here.


I can't believe he's making me do this.
I can't believe he said NOTHING before leaving me here.
Yes I'm fucked up and I DID fuck up but I don't deserve this.
I don't.
I DON'T!


Amy flips the page and pulls the pen out of the spiral.

Okay. I've just seen Dr. Donnelly, or Patrick as he told me to call him. I'm not going to scratch out or tear out the previous page, because it's what I felt when I got here. But I was wrong.

Wyatt didn't do this to me, I did it to myself. I do deserve this, to be here, because HE doesn't deserve to deal with my bullshit. He deserves the best version of me. I don't know where she went but I'm gonna find her. I have to. He's taken care of me, literally saved my life twice, supported me through everything I've been through, put him through. All I had to do was keep control. And I repaid him by losing it, lying, not trusting him. What the fuck is wrong with me??

Losing Wyatt is not an option. If I lose him Ill have nothing left keeping me sane. I'll do anything and everything it takes to save it. Give up anything, anyone. It doesn't matter. All that matters is keeping my family together. I can't lose him. I WILL NOT lose him.

Not. An. Option.


Amy reads over what she wrote, the pen hovering over the page. There's so much more she could write, maybe enough to fill this book. But for now, this was enough. It was everything important. She closes the book and lays down. It's lunch time but all Amy wants now is a nap....







Amy turns over to her back and wakes up with a start. She's covered in sweat and her eyes are full of tears.

“What the fuck...?”

Wiping her face off, Amy sits up and looks around the room. She had been so deeply asleep and lost in the dream (nightmare) that she forgot she was in rehab. A very nice rehab residence... but still rehab. Glancing at he clock, Amy sees it's nearly dinner time. A white plastic bottle is on the nightstand. Someone on staff must have come by with her medication, and just left it there while she slept. Dreamt.

Was the dream a warning? Did she give into this for the wrong reasons? Is wanting to keep her husband the wrong reason? What was the right reason?

“That's what I'm here to find out, I guess...”

Amy forces herself to her feet and to the shower. She wanted to look presentable when she went to the common hall for dinner.