Narcotics Anonymous Books Free Novels & Stories

It was cluttered with books and materials of all sorts. Several opened books were scattered on the computer table, with red marks and notes scrawled across the pages. Someone had been studying very hard there. Nathan slowly walked over and flipped through the books. Psychology? He frowned as he took in the room. He saw a lot of books on the shelf that didn't belong to him. His gaze was locked on the titles. "Best Ways to Handle Toxic People". "The Key to Overcoming Nasty People" "Foundations of Psychology" Nathan's lips curled slightly as a smirk played on his face.

He had encouraged it—demanded it—to keep them tethered to him. Nora fingers tapped a frantic rhythm. She paused, the blue light reflecting in her wide eyes. “Yes.” She pivoted the screen toward Robbin, pointing to a digital rap sheet. “These were the substances in her system after her arrest. It’s a list of heavy narcotics.” Robbin leaned in, her eyes scanning the clinical jargon. “Severe withdrawal symptoms... frequent hospitalizations for overdose. So that’s where she’s been. Chasing the ghost of a high while we were chasing the sun.”

They wanted the trash out of the establishment—me. I stood, tucking the strap of my purse over my shoulder, only to have the thin leather snap. Suddenly everything I had in my bag was scattered over the tiles. There were tampons, lip gloss, my phone, some lotion, gum, and my twelve-step book. The waitress grabbed the book and looked at me again with a hint of pity. I thanked her and tucked the bag under my arm with my possessions shoved back inside. The voices had already started up. ‘Just one hit, it won’t hurt anything. You will fell so much better. All of this will go away. Do it, Shay, we need it.’

I looked at the sets of books that cost me thousands of dollars, and hundreds of hours just to read all of them. “Yeah, Izzy,” I said as I grabbed the set of Percy Jackson Books by Rick Riordan, and I could almost feel tears form in my eyes, “these books seem like they’re harmless, but I know in myself what they do to me, and I know how much these books affect me spiritually. I need to let go of these books and set myself free from myself and my addiction.”

Inside were clippings, old printouts from academic journals, a photograph of a lab—Anastasia and Nicos side by side, too bright-eyed for what would come next. “They cracked it together,” Marta said. “It wasn’t meant to have real-world use. Not at first. It was a detox protocol. Designed to reboot the system, flush everything. No withdrawals. No cravings. Clean.” I flipped through the folder. Research notes, dosage tables, liver function charts. Pages of a dream that had no place in the world we’d inherited. “It was beautiful,” she said. “Too beautiful. Then the wrong people noticed and filled their pants.” I didn’t have to ask who the bad people were.

Dillon followed suit as they rolled their windows down. "Yer right. It's hard, I got so used to medicatin' my feelings away… it's an unpleasant sensation to feel such things like rejection or sadness again full-force. But instead of medicatin', I keep a journal now. Anytime something triggers me to want to use, I write it down, along with possible solutions to the problem," he explained, then took another drag and exhaled. "Nice! It seems like you and Anthony are makin' some real progress, huh?" Anthony was Dillon's addiction counselor, whom he still saw on a weekly basis for a one-hour session.

Chapter 7- Miguel walked around New York city, with an unconscious girl in his arms. There was a loud thunder followed by a thunder strike. The sky tuned pitch black, announcing to the whole world that it will soon start its heavy attack. Miguel couldn't believe that he was doing this, he has never done this for anyone before. He should have just left her all alone and continue with his own usual business but he couldn't bring himself to do that. She looked so vulnerable and lost, she was so innocent and a part of him wanted to shield her away from this dangerous world, strange right?

Elliot ignored her. He reached into his coat and pulled out a thick file, dropping it onto the metal table with a loud thud. “Before you answer,” Elliot said, “perhaps you should read this.” The commissioner hesitated, then opened the file. His face was drained of color. The room shifted from interrogation to teaching the police men their job. “This is…” the commissioner began. “Anne’s medical records,” Elliot finished for him. “Three years of documented substance abuse. Heavy narcotics, Prescription manipulation, Multiple relapses. Now tell me, is she a normal person?”

“Quiet doesn’t mean unbothered. Just good at hiding it.” We fell into silence. The only sound was distant thunder rumbling above ground. I wondered how long we’d be down here. Minutes stretched. My mind wandered to how close he was. How alone we were. “Tell me something,” I said finally. “Why’d you become a librarian? You don’t seem like the type who likes being stuck behind a desk all day.” Mr. Kane exhaled softly. “Books don’t talk back. They don’t expect small talk. I like the order. And the stories. What about you? History major with a focus on obscure trade? That’s not common.”

I knew this was against the rule, even if it was my record, but I took advantage of Myrna's reluctance to say no to me. Myrna suddenly frowned as she read the notes on a page. “Yen, are you sure you want a copy of your medical abstract?” I didn’t answer her. I grabbed the chart and read the part that made her question my decision. And just as what I saw in my discharge instruction, it also mentioned “dissociative amnesia.” All the smiles on my face disappeared when I felt the seriousness of the situation. I looked at her with pleading eyes and held her hand.