Before I Forget

The Colors of the Rainbow

The first week was horrible, but after that - well, rehab wasn't as bad as Sky had feared.

The withdrawals had passed by now, and she was getting used to being sober, to living without the soft, safe haze the opiates had provided her. Sky had to admit that this environment was a lot better for that enormous task than home ever would have been.

Here she didn't have to worry about anything except getting better. No school, no social media, no pressure to be a good daughter or a friend - no Kyler calling her a slut or throwing her down the stairs, no Hawk breaking her heart.

She spent her days mostly in therapy - individual and group therapy, and art therapy too, even if she sucked at painting. But as the therapist said, it wasn't about how good the painting was - it was about the feelings she processed through the art - and boy, did she have a lot to process. But therapy wasn't all they did here - Sky was grateful for the strict day routine (even if she had hated it for the first couple of days when she had still been sick with withdrawals), all the physical exercise, the frequent meals, the beautiful surroundings, and especially the animals. They had horses and dogs here, and cats too, even farm animals like cows and sheep - apparently being with animals was a form of therapy too, and that was the one Sky liked the most.

Animals didn't ask you stupid questions that made you want to rip your heart out of your chest. They accepted you just like you were, they accepted your silence, and if you were kind to them, they were kind to you. Sky attended horse therapy every day - even if she had never tried horseback riding before.

"You look better," said Dad one afternoon when they were having tea in the garden. It was a beautiful day - the sun was high up on the cloudless sky and it was warm enough to sit outside, even if it was almost the end of November - something Sky really liked about California. The wind carried the scent of the Ocean, even if they weren't that near to the coast, and it ruffled Dad's blond hair. He had freckles on the bridge of his nose, Sky noticed as he smiled at her over the table.

"I feel better," she replied truthfully. "But I would give an arm for a cup of coffee."

"Maybe next week I'll take you for a ride one day and we pop by a Starbucks."

Sky flashed Dad a grin. "Yes, please! I'll never drink green tea again when I get out of here."

Tea was definitely the downside of this place - the people who ran this facility thought that caffeine and added sugar were as harmful as alcohol and drugs. They went for a full cleanse here, but Sky kept dreaming about milkshakes and frappuccinos topped with a mountain of whipped cream.

"You have to admit the tea is working, though. You look good, Sky. You look... almost like you did before."

Dad's voice was hopeful, kind, and Sky's heart ached. She didn't deserve Dad, she didn't deserve his never-ending love. With shame, she remembered the way she had acted the day Dad had brought her here - how she had thought it was because Dad had stopped loving her. Now she realized nothing could have been further from the truth. Dad had brought her here because he loved her, because he wanted to save her life.

And here, she had slowly begun to believe that it might be worth saving, after all.

"It's not the tea, though," Sky said. "It's... everything. Thank you, for bringing me here. This place isn't so bad."

Dad's throat bobbed and he looked down. They had talked about a lot of things during this week - Dad had visited every single day - but this was the first time Sky had admitted to him she needed to be in rehab, and she could only imagine how relieved Dad was to hear it.

"You stay here as long as you need to, okay? I don't want you to worry about anything else."

"Be careful what you wish for. Maybe I'll stay for good." Sky smiled as she took a sip of the green tea with chamomile and honey. It was good - not coffee or hot chocolate good, but okay. She was getting used to the tea and the therapy. She was getting used to not wanting to die all the time.