Not at all to Emma's surprise, the same rules of the hospital applied to the rehabilitation facility. No phone calls to anyone but her parents, and even those were closely monitored. After about seven days, the withdrawals were completely gone, but her urge to use was still just as strong, and her reluctance towards recovery was just as vehement.

Most of her time was spent in therapy, whether it was group or individual. (Though, this group therapy was far different from the one she'd been partaking in before.) Her free time, though, was spent writing letters to Regina. Some were short, just a few lines. Others went on for pages and pages. None of them were allowed to be sent, so she simply kept them in her journal (a new one, provided by the doctors at the facility), and re-read them at night before bed. Finally, though, she decided that enough was enough, and that it was time to write the last letter.

Dearest Regina, the letter began. I really fucked up. I should have been honest with you and just told you I was an addict. I was doing well for a while, though… When I met you, I just didn't feel like I needed to use anymore. But then everything went to shit… I get it, though. Why you kicked me out. You want to deal with your shit just about as much as I want to deal with my own, which is not at all. I was pushing it on you, rubbing it in your face, without meaning to. I don't know why I couldn't just back off. I guess you were right. I care too much to just let it go.

Anyway, I wish I'd been able to at least tell you where I went, since you're probably worried. Hopefully you haven't showed up at my door looking for me yet. The last way I'd want you to find out about me going to rehab is for my parents to tell you. Yeah… That's probably what happened. Damn. Oh, well.

Looking back, I don't regret telling you to leave. I wish you'd never found me like that. I wish you'd just stopped texting me, stopped talking to me. I wish you'd just kept pretending I didn't exist. Then you wouldn't have to be hurt or disappointed by me. Now I'm just a mistake in your life that you'll always regret. I never should have gotten involved with you. I should have told you to piss off as soon as you kissed me, to save you from all this. I wish I could have. You enchanted me, though. You drew me in and I just couldn't let go.

I meant it when I said that I love you. I still do, and I'm sorry for everything. Hopefully, one day you'll forgive me, at least, and find someone less fucked up to take care of you and make everything right again. Thank you for all the time we've spent together. I really wish I could send this letter to you now… I guess I'll just put it in the mail when I finally get home. Sorry for the delay. I hope you're doing better, now that you don't have to deal with my bullshit. You've got enough on your plate.

I guess that's it then. I doubt I'll see you around, since my mom is going to put me in private therapy sessions and keep me out of Group once I'm home. I'm turning eighteen shortly after I get back, but if I'm living under their roof, I'm under their rules. Guess that's how it works, anyway. Tell your mom I'm sorry too. I was really lucky to get to have you both in my life. I didn't deserve either of you.

Bye Regina.

With endless love,

Emma Swan

Though the letter probably should have been cathartic and made her feel better, it wasn't, and it didn't. Instead, it made her feel sick to her stomach. As she sat on her bed, re-reading it, she wanted to gag, to throw up, to get rid of the feeling of remorse that washed over her. Still, even though she knew what a horrible mess it had caused, her urge to use was still intense, especially when she thought about Regina.

Part of it was that she missed the beautiful brunette, and the way the girl's hands threaded through her hair when they kissed. The way her eyes lit up when she smiled. The way the two of them roughhoused and tickled each other when they were relaxing in Regina's room on the weekends.

Part of it was the anger she felt at herself for ruining something so perfect. How weak must she have been to relapse over one rejection? Still, it had been the biggest rejection of her life, aside from the initial rejection of her parents, back when she'd been placed in foster care as a young child. For years, she'd lived the life of an abused orphan, until her parents finally got their act together and brought her 'home.' It wasn't home, though, really. Not for Emma. The only thing that felt like home there was Thor, and then… Regina.

That just made her think of the girl even more. As she lay there on her bed, Emma thought of the way she and the dog interacted, the love that filled Regina's eyes when she played with the Thor, and sighed deeply as she imagined all the could-haves that she'd ruined with her own poor choices.

Emma knew that she had to make it through rehab to go home, but she also knew that all she wanted to do was get out of there. Getting 'better' had nothing to do with it, so she faked progress, week after week, until finally, it was time to leave.

On the very last page of her journal, when asked to draw a picture of her plans for the future (but not to share them with the group), she drew only a picture of a syringe, a lighter, and a spoon full of dark liquid.