Variation
BODHI
TWELVE WEEKS SOBER
Dr Williams folded her hands in her lap and regarded me over the rims of her teal, cat eye glasses.
“So,” she said gently. “Last session.”
I’d imagined this moment a hundred times over the past twelve weeks. Thought it might feel triumphant. Victorious, like crossing a finish line after a long marathon. Instead, it felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, staring out at something vast and unknown.
I let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh on a different day. “Yeah. It feels . . . strange.”
“Endings usually do,” she replied. “How are you feeling about leaving?”
“Ready,” I said, and surprised myself by how true it felt. “Scared too. But the good kind, I think.”
She smiled. “Tell me about that.”
I shifted on the couch, elbows braced on my knees. “Before I came here, everything felt loud. Chaotic. Tour buses, crowds, expectations.” I swallowed. “Music used to be the thing that kept me alive, and somewhere along the way it turned into something I was drowning in.”
“And now?”
I glanced down at my hands. “I want it to feel like mine again. I miss writing because I want to, not because I have to.” My eyes lifted back to hers. “I’ve been playing the piano in the lounge, and instead of exhausting me, it’s made me want more. Made me realise how lost I’d been without music.”
Dr Williams nodded. “That’s an important shift.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I don’t want to go back to just surviving shows. I want to feel them again. To be present. Not numbing myself through the parts that scare me.”
“And what scares you?” she asked.
I didn’t answer right away. Let the question settle, heavy but honest.
“Failing,” I said eventually. “Losing control. Being the guy everyone relies on while I’m quietly falling apart.” I rubbed my palms together. “Tour life doesn’t slow down for feelings.”
“No,” she agreed. “But you’ve built tools this time. You know your triggers. You know how to set boundaries.”
“I know,” I said. “And I think I trust myself to actually use them.”
She studied me for a moment. “That confidence wasn’t here when you arrived.”
I huffed a small laugh. “Nah. Back then, I thought sobriety was about gritting my teeth and pushing through.” I shrugged. “Turns out it’s more about knowing when to stop pretending you’re fine.”
Dr Williams crossed one leg over the other and smiled. “That’s growth.”
There was a pause. Then she asked carefully, “And how are you feeling about leaving the people you’ve connected with here?”
My chest tightened before my brain could catch up.
“You’re talking about Iggy.”
She didn’t react, just sat in the silence and let it stretch, giving me space to answer. She was the pinnacle of patience.
“He’s . . . important to me,” I said honestly, the corner of my mouth twitching despite myself. “He makes this place feel lighter. Like it isn’t just group therapy sessions and counting days.” I fiddled with the hem of my T-shirt. “We talk a lot about the shit we like. About what scares us.”
She nudged her glasses higher on her nose. “How does it feel to leave him behind?”
“Hard,” I murmured. “I think he’s scared he’ll end up back here. Or that he’ll disappear entirely.” My throat tightened. “And I hate that I can’t fix it for him.”
“But?” she prompted gently.
“But I know I can’t stay for him.” I swallowed. “I care about him. I really do. But we’re meant to walk out of this place on our own.”
Dr Williams hummed. “That sounds like a healthy understanding.”
“I hope so,” I said quietly. “I’ll miss him. He’s become a really good friend, and I just . . . I hope he believes what I see in him. That he’s stronger than he thinks.”
“And what do you believe about yourself, Bodhi?”
The question caught me off guard.
I thought about the quiet mornings here. Time spent in the music room. Afternoons by the lake or wandering the gardens with no urgency. The way my chest no longer felt permanently clenched, like I was bracing for impact.
“I think,” I said slowly, meeting her gaze. “That I’m allowed to want a good life. Not just a successful one.”
She rested her elbow on the armrest, chin propped on her fist. “That’s a powerful realisation to leave with.”
I exhaled, and something loosened in my ribs.
Dr Williams stood, and I followed her lead.
“Okay, one last thing,” she said. “What are you hoping for when you walk out that door today?”
I pictured the drive away from the Willow.
The world waiting beyond the gates. Reuniting with my friends.
For a brief moment, my thoughts drifted to the person I was leaving behind, but I pushed them away.
There wasn’t room for that now, not if I wanted to move forward. I couldn’t carry everything with me.
“I want to stay sober,” I said firmly. “I want to make music that means something. And I want to keep the parts of myself that I found here, even when life gets loud.”
She opened the door and gave my shoulder a reassuring pat. “That sounds like a solid foundation.”
Just before stepping through, I turned back. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” she said.
“Is it okay,” I whispered. “To care about someone even if you’re not meant to stay in their life?”
Her expression softened. “Some people are chapters, Bodhi. They change the story, even if they don’t stay until the end.”
I nodded, letting the words settle deep in my chest.
When I stepped into the corridor, the Willow felt different. Not like a cage or a hiding place. Just somewhere I’d passed through. A moment in time that would linger, not because I was trapped there, but because it mattered.
Now it was time to say goodbye.
I entered the foyer of the Willow to find Iggy perched on the front desk, chatting animatedly with one of the intake administrators.
I thought her name was Amanda. She must’ve said something funny, because Iggy tipped his head back and laughed.
The sound rang out bright and musical, echoing up towards the high ceiling and skittering across the tiled floors.
At the sound of my footsteps, his head snapped in my direction. His eyes flicked from my face to the suitcase at my side. I watched his chest rise sharply, like he’d taken a sudden breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. Amanda followed his gaze and grinned.
“Ah, Bodhi,” she said, her high-pitched voice cutting straight through my skull. “All ready to go?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “Dr Williams said there was a form I needed to fill out before leaving?”
Amanda hopped out of her chair. “Oh! Yes, absolutely. I just need to print a few things.” She glanced between Iggy and me, her smile widening. “I’ll give you a minute to say your goodbyes. Back in a jiffy.”
She slipped out from behind the desk and disappeared down the hall towards the east wing.
And then it was just the two of us.
“So,” Iggy said, leaning back on his hands. His legs, bare beneath a pair of tiny cotton shorts, dangled over the edge of the desk, swinging idly. “This is it, then?”
I sighed and nodded. “This is it.”
Something dark flickered across his face. Fear, maybe. Or the shape of a thought he didn’t want to give too much space to. Whatever it was, it vanished just as quickly. He worried at his bottom lip, like he was trying to trap the words he really wanted to say before they could escape.
My mouth twitched. He was so easy to read. I liked that about him. The way everything lived right at the surface. Honest and unguarded.
“Say what’s on your mind, Iggy Pop,” I said, using the nickname I’d given him weeks ago.
It had started as a joke, a way to pull him out of his head on a bad day. Somewhere along the way, it had stuck. Become part of how I saw him, a part of us.
He straightened and shoved his hands into the pocket of his oversized hoodie. His gaze dropped, lingering somewhere around my chest instead of meeting my eyes.
“I’ll miss you,” he said softly.
Something fluttered low in my chest.
I stepped closer, close enough to cup his cheek.
He leaned into the touch immediately, instinctively, like he always did.
Iggy had been tactile from the moment we met.
Always pressed against my side, looping an arm through mine, tugging me along on his impulsive detours during free time.
Like affection was something he was always reaching for, afraid it might disappear if he let go.
I wondered what he’d do when I wasn’t here anymore.
“I’ll miss you too.” I let my arm fall back to my side. “When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow,” he said. “I had my final therapy session yesterday, but my lift can’t get here until then.”
“What’ll you do when you get out of here?” I asked.
Iggy shrugged, but it didn’t feel casual. “Who knows,” he replied. “Find a job so I can pay my rent. After that . . .”
He trailed off, and the fear was unmistakable then. It hung between us, sharp and sour, like it had a smell of its own. The part of me that cared about him wanted to pull him close. To tell him he’d be fine. That everything would work out.
But I couldn’t promise that.
We were leaving each other behind, and the truth was, I’d probably never know how his story unfolded. I didn’t even know his last name, just like he didn’t know mine. Whatever came next for him would happen out of my sight.
So I said the only thing I could.
“Just take it one day at a time.”
Iggy smirked. “Okay, oh wise one.”
I chuckled and gave him a light shove. After that, we fell into silence. Not awkward, but not comfortable either. Just heavy. Like we both knew what was coming and were choosing not to name it yet.
“What about you?” he asked. Sunlight caught in his green eyes, bright through the tall front windows. “What will you do?”
“Go back to music,” I said. “Try to enjoy it again.”
He smiled and tucked a strand of pink hair behind his ear.
The colour had faded since the first few weeks, washed down to something softer, more pastel.
His blond roots were showing now. I wondered if the pink would survive once he left this place.
Or if he’d try something new, like a fresh colour. Visible proof of a fresh start.
He opened his mouth to say something else, but Amanda rounded the corner, waving a stack of papers.
“Here we are!” she announced, slightly out of breath, as if she’d hurried. She slid the forms across the desk towards me. “Just a couple of things to fill out and sign, and then you’re officially on your way.”
She handed me a pen. I could feel Iggy’s gaze on the side of my head as I followed her instructions. I dotted the i’s. Crossed the t’s. Signed my name more times than felt necessary.
And then it was done.
I was free to re-enter the real world.
A world without scheduled therapy sessions or carefully structured days. A world where thousands of eyes would be on me instead of a few dozen. Where people watched in awe instead of concern. A world without the shelter of old stone walls, strict routines, or a built-in safety net.
A world without Iggy in it.
When I signed my name for the final time, I handed the pen back to Amanda.
“Okay, Bodhi, you’re all set!” she chirped. “Your lift is outside and waiting, so all the best to you.”
“Thank you.”
I gave Iggy one last look, but he was staring down at his lap, picking at the chipped polish on his nails. His shoulders were drawn in, like he was making himself smaller. Like if he didn’t look up, this moment might pass him by.
So I said nothing.
I turned and started towards the front doors.
“Bodhi, wait!”
A body collided with my back, making me grunt as I stumbled forward a step.
Arms wrapped around my waist, tight and sudden, and the familiar scent of peaches and cream washed over me.
The nerves that had been winding tighter with every step towards the exit loosened all at once, and before I could stop myself, I leaned back into him.
When I turned around, Iggy was looking up at me.
His eyes were glossy, his smile thin and trembling, like it was the only thing holding him together. Over his shoulder, Amanda had her head buried in paperwork, posture rigid, very deliberately not paying attention.
“Bodhi,” Iggy said, voice unsteady. “I, um—” He cleared his throat. “Thank you. For being there for me while we were here. For being my friend.”
He took my hand in both of his, holding it between us like it was something fragile. Something important. I felt him slip something into my palm, and when he let go, I opened my hand like a flower.
A small, beaded bracelet rested there. One just like the many that decorated his wrists every day. Black and white beads, with a single pink one positioned to sit over my pulse point. Threaded between them were lettered beads spelling out two words: stay sober.
“You deserve a life that makes you happy.”
His words lodged painfully in my chest.
I smiled, even as my throat tightened, and closed my fingers around his gift. The beads clicked softly, the sound unbearably loud in the space between us. Then I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him.
He hugged me back immediately, like he’d been waiting for it. Hoping for one last embrace.
I held him for a heartbeat longer than necessary, memorising the shape of him, the warmth, the way he felt against me. Because I knew this was all I’d be allowed to take with me when I left.
“Go out there and live,” I murmured into his hair, the words meant only for him. “Really live, Iggy Pop.”
He nodded against my shoulder.
Then I let him go.
I turned away, pushed through the double doors, and stepped back into the real world, carrying more of this place with me than I ever expected to.