Emma said nothing to her parents on the two-hour drive back to their apartment. Instead, she let her mother ramble on about how 'proud' she was, and how 'important' it was to their family that she had 'gotten better.' The girl wanted to laugh, but held it in. When they drove past Regina's house on the way downtown to the store, Emma's heart skipped a beat.
She tried to see in the windows, to catch just one last glimpse of the girl, but found that the curtains were drawn shut. It was probably for the best, she told herself, but was still bitterly disappointed. During the last mile of the drive, after they left the store, Emma made a vow to herself. Not to get 'better,' as her mother so desperately wanted… but to be more careful this time, and not to get caught.
Once in her bedroom, she pulled a shoebox down from the top of her closet and set it down on her bed, beside her journal. She relaxed against the pillow, savoring the softness that contrasted so strongly with the beds at the rehab facility. Taking a deep breath, she pulled out the last letter she'd written to Regina and read it one more time. She wanted to burn it, to tear it to pieces, but at the same time, she wanted something to remind her of her failures, so she put the journal into the shoebox and took out her lighter, a clean syringe, and a small baggie of the product that would help her forget all that pain – at least for a little while.
A few hours later, after a particularly large dose, Emma woke in her bed to the sound of her parents knocking at the door.
"Emma!" her mother called out. "Dinner's ready! I've been calling you for fifteen minutes!"
The girl quickly scrambled to throw the contraband back into the shoebox and shoved it under her bed. Feeling dizzy and groggy, Emma made her way to her bedroom door, once the items were stashed away, and turned the lock. Her mother burst in immediately.
"What are you doing?" the woman snapped.
"I… Uh…" Emma started slowly, wiping the sweat away from her forehead, then scratching at the skin of her arm as she folded them to hide the mark from the injection.
"Come down for dinner, would you? You're as skinny as a rail now. Did they even feed you there?"
When the woman turned and began to walk down the hallway, not waiting for the girl's response, Emma followed her, slowly, stumbling every few steps.
"Are you alright?" her mother finally asked, turning around to watch Emma nearly run right into her.
"F-Fine… Just… Uh… Tired."
"Hmm… I suppose that makes sense. Well, a little bit of food will perk you right up, now, won't it?"
"Um… I'm not really… Not… hun-"
"Oh, don't be silly! Dinner's on the table. You have to eat! I made lasagna!"
Emma felt her stomach drop. Lasagna just reminded her of Regina and the girl's mother, and the last thing she wanted to do was eat. Groaning under her breath, she followed Mary Margaret down the stairs into the kitchen and sat down at the table.
"You alright, Emma?" her father asked, wearing his usual concerned face.
"Fine, Dad," she muttered, picking at the food on her plate with a fork.
"Eat something, honey," her mother pressed. "You're too skinny."
"I'm fine," Emma whined, pushing her plate away.
"Sweetheart, please," Emma's father begged. "Just a few bites?"
With a sigh, Emma shoveled a few forkfuls of food into her mouth, then looked pleadingly up at the man sitting across from her.
"May I please be excused?"
"Emma, come on," he tried. "Just-"
"Please, Dad. I don't want to eat any more."
The man sighed and nodded his head, saying, "You're excused."
"David!" the girl's mother cried, nearly slamming her glass of wine down on the table. "She's barely eaten anything! She's a twig!"
"If she's not hungry, I'm not going to force her to eat. I'm sure she's just tired. Right, honey?"
Emma nodded weakly, so her father flashed his wife a stern look.
"Fine," her mother conceded. "But I expect you to be up all the earlier to eat breakfast before school tomorrow."
Emma ignored her and went back upstairs into her room where she pulled her shoebox out from under the bed and used the rest of her stash of chemicals to put herself to sleep.
The best thing about going to school the next day for Emma was that she was able to replenish her supply of narcotics through old connections who were happy to see a repeat customer return for the first time in months.
"So, back on the Dragon, eh?" the young man asked with a smirk as he handed over the product, after first collecting payment.
"Yeah, whatever, man. Just give me the goods and shut up about it, okay?"
"Yeah, yeah. Sure thing, Princess. Whatever you say. You just keep bringing me the dough, and I'll keep you supplied. We've got a good thing going here. I'm glad you're back."
"Shut up, Marcus," she hissed, shoving the product into her bag and walking away from him.
For the most part, she kept to herself and said little to anyone else at school. She barely paid attention in her classes, and as a result, her grades quickly went downhill. She avoided anyone she knew from group therapy, not wanting to chance hearing anything about Regina, and kept her head down most of the time.
At home, when they got the next progress report of her grades, her parents became furious, even though they really had no idea where the problem was stemming from.
"What?" Emma snapped at them, after being thoroughly scolded for her failing grades. "It's senior year! Classes are hard, okay?"
"Emma!" her mother shouted. "If you keep this up, you're not going to graduate! Don't you understand that?"
"Yeah, Mom. I fucking understand that. Maybe I just don't give a shit!"
"Emma Swan!" her father cried, slamming his fist down on the kitchen counter. "That's enough! You're grounded! Really grounded this time. I want your phone and your laptop. They're going in the gun safe until you bring your grades up. Is that clear?"
"Are you fucking kidding me right now? Are you Satan?"
"Don't speak to your father that way!" Mary Margaret interjected, before her husband had a chance to say anything in response.
"Well it's his fucking fault if he's going to ground me over nothing!"
"It's not nothing, Emma! This is your life, and you're throwing it away," the man told her sadly, shaking his head in disappointment.
"You have no idea," she sighed, then turned and went up the stairs to her room.