Recovery Center: Travis & Marta
The recovery center was something entirely new to Travis. From the outside, it looked nice. He sat on his motorcycle, finishing a cigarette while he turned off the engine and secured the kickstand. She'd warned him that they would search him at the main entrance. Travis hadn't planned on smuggling any contraband in to Marta, that would have been the most fucked up thing, but he didn't want to bring in anything by accident either. So he checked his pockets while he loitered in the parking lot. He didn't have anything but cigarettes, his phone, his wallet, bike keys, and lint. Then, for peace of mind, he checked those pockets a second time. It would have been so fucked up, and therefore an entirely Travis thing to do, if he accidentally carried in a stray xanax or something. When the same checklist of safe items was found in his pockets for the second time, he felt ready to go inside.
Having visited various family members in jail over the years, Travis was pretty familiar with being searched. He emptied his pockets on the counter and took off his shoes with having to be asked. They gave him a sticky name tag and showed him the way to the common room, pointing out where Marta sat on one of the couches.
He'd been tough on Marta when she'd told him about her relapse, and Travis was getting to be tough on himself now. He was in deep with drugs and drug money at the moment, and was even beginning to dabble in using a little bit again, so it wasn't like he could be a friend to her. Travis reassured himself while in approach that this wasn't a selfish thing, seeing her. He just wanted to make sure that she was okay. Through his time in talking to Marta, he'd figured out that she wasn't the best at looking out for herself.