Chapter Text
Frank walked up the driveway from the road with his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Inside it contained everything he’d ever owned: a laptop, some books, a few sets of clothes, and a chain his half-brother gave him. It felt heavy on his back, his entire life (not so) neatly packed into a single piece of luggage. When he finished this long walk from the country road to the picturesque farmhouse, his life would never be the same. He stared down at the wedding ring on his finger, a faint slip of silver that felt tighter and tighter with every step he took.
This is where he chose to end up. A voluntary stay at a rehabilitation centre, one of his choosing, which had been the deal he and Abby had reached. She gave him an ultimatum: he had to get better on his own, or she would leave him. All Frank had ever wanted was kids and a family, something that he was denied when his dad walked out on him and his mom when he was just ten. Abby was amazing, she was a fierce lawyer who knocked him head over heels when he met her at the courthouse five years ago. She was there defending some bigshot client, and he, embarrassingly, was trying to get out of a parking ticket. They hit it off while sipping on overpriced kiosk coffee while she was on recess, and the rest was history. Their life was everything he’d ever thought he wanted, he had a hot wife, a cushy job in medicine, and a nice car. It just felt like something was missing. So they planned for a kid, but Abby kept saying “let's revisit this next year” every year until he sank himself deeper and deeper into a bottle of valium. It wasn’t completely her fault; an old back injury from his college hockey days was re-inflamed in a car accident, and he tried so desperately to kick the habit alone without anyone noticing.
But people noticed. That’s why he was here, walking up the driveway of Flowerhill Rehabilitation Centre, in Wyoming . In the end, he chose this rehab centre over hundreds of others in the country, as it was far from his hometown of Hartford, so there’s no chance of him running into anyone he knows. But it was also far from his wife in Pittsburgh, he wanted to be better for her, so he wanted the next time she sees him to be when he’s sober. Completely sober and thriving. Right now, he’s neither, having popped his last 3 benzos in the Uber on the way here from the airport. They would’ve just taken them from him, why should I waste them?
It was beautiful, and it wasn’t just the drugs; rolling fields of grass framed by breathtaking mountains. Peaceful and calm, the complete opposite of Dr. Frank Langdon, ED doctor. He was used to loud, chaotic scenarios where life and death are literally in his hands. He was a drug addict who stole from his place of work, he was a fuck up, he was a disaster. What better place to fall apart than heaven on earth?
Frank looked around at his surroundings, breathing in the fresh evening air. He had read about this place online; it was a nature rehabilitation center, supposedly helping people get sober with the healing power of the earth. Whatever, Frank thought. Sounds like fucking bullshit. Wyoming had attracted him because it was scarcely populated; he wanted to be as far from civilization as possible. This centre was known for its small group therapy sizes and generous doctor-to-patient ratio. Frank just wanted to forget about himself for a few weeks, become a different person if that’s what he needed to do to become sober.
He finally reached the door to the farmhouse, it’s much larger than he’d originally thought, sprawling backwards and concealed by clever landscaping. He opened the door to find a normal-looking house (albeit a massive one), a foyer filled with shoes scattered on the floor, coats on hooks. The foyer led into a very large open concept living room, kitchen, and dining area, with several tables, four or five couches, and maybe a dozen armchairs. What the fuck? Frank thought, Is this like an old hotel? Frank was trying to wrap his head around the layout and logistics of his place when a woman with a strawberry blond braid exited a bathroom near the dining tables. She smiled and walked over to him.
“Oh, hi! We were expecting you!” She says.
“Hi. I’m Frank.” He responds by offering his hand to shake hers.
“Oh!” She looks down at his hand and hesitates. “You know, I just washed my hands, so they’re cold and wet.” Frank awkwardly withdraws his hand and stuffs it into his pocket.
She looks at her feet, awkwardly laughs. Frank clears his throat. What’s this chick's deal?
“And you are?” He said, rather rudely.
“Oh!” Oh? Can she say anything other than ‘oh’? “I’m Dr. Mel King.”
Frank huffed. Fuck. She’s my doctor? Great going, Frank, you’re being rude to the person you need help from. He dragged his hand down his face.
“You’re also a doctor, correct?” She said after a few moments of silence.
“Yeah, emergency medicine.”
“Wow, that’s very commendable. I don’t know if I could handle that.” She said, smiling again. She has a nice smile, it’s warm and inviting. Probably why she does this, Frank thinks.
“Well, would you like me to show you around?” She asked, motioning towards the house surrounding them. He nodded curtly. “As you can see, this is the social area, we call it the Pitt because it’s where everyone falls into after the end of the day.” She begins walking, and Frank follows her.
“This is our kitchen, it’s huge and everything here is for communal use.” She points at all the pots and pans. “Have you ever been to rehab before, Frank?”
Frank shakes his head forcefully, like he’s embarrassed that he doesn’t know how it works.
“That’s okay, most other places have cooks or cafeterias, but since we’re a smaller facility, everyone around has to pitch in for dinner. Unless you’re not cleared. Are you cleared, Frank?”
“Cleared?” He asked.
“Yes, are you allowed around knives?” She asks curtly, no beating around the bush. “Are you a danger to yourself or others?”
“Uh. I don’t think so?” He squeaks.
“You don’t think you’re allowed around knives, or you don’t think you’re a danger?”
Jeez, this lady is direct. He thinks.
“I think I’m allowed around knives, I don’t think I’m a danger to anyone.”
“What about yourself?”
“Aren’t we always a danger to ourselves?”
Dr. King gets a weird look on her face. She turns and heads down a hallway connected to the side of the living room.
“These are the dorms, everyone has their room, but they don’t lock, and there are cameras in all of them.” Her braid bounced on her back as she led him down the hall. She motioned for him to drop his duffle back near the laundry station.
“They’re gonna go through your stuff to make sure you didn’t bring any contraband into the building.” Frank is very thankful he’s still riding the high of his pills from earlier. “And they’ll wash all your clothes too, just as a precaution for bed bugs.”
She leads him down yet another hallway into a large recreation room. There’s a wall of windows that reveals the room overlooks a gymnasium, with a couple of people down below playing basketball. They’re the first people he’s seen aside from Dr. King. “Why’s this place so empty?” He wonders aloud.
“Oh,” There she goes with the ‘oh’ again. “Everyone is outside right now with the horses.”
“Horses?” Frank's blood runs cold. “Uh, what do you mean ‘with the horses’?”
Frank is not a fan of horses. He never has been. When he was younger, his sister was obsessed with The Lord of the Rings and desperately wanted to learn how to ride a horse. He never understood the appeal. In fact, he thought that horses were quite terrifying; everything about them freaked him out. First of all, they were enormous and measured in hands? Who the hell measures things in hands? Their teeth were powerful, able to sever multiple fingers at a time. Riding them was dangerous; they can be spooked just slightly and buck you off without a second thought. Frank was all too familiar with horseback riding accidents as an ED doctor.
“They’re all outside for the group horseback riding session.” She says it so plainly, obviously, why didn’t you know that-ly. “ Because this is Flowerhill Stables Rehabilitation Centre?”
“Flowerhill Stables? ” Frank probably looked stupid, his mouth hanging open wide.
“Yeah, the head doctor here, Dr. Robinavitch, believes that healing through animal therapy is very effective for all types of ailments.” Dr. King gestures towards the window. “See? You can make out Dr. Robby on the back of Jailbird over there.”
And fuck. Yup. Frank sees a bunch of people emerging from a trail over a hill, the sun setting in the background. If Frank wasn’t completely and utterly terrified of horses, he would have thought it was a beautiful sight. But all he can think about is being unsteady on the back of an animal that could easily kill him. He starts to shake, the idea of even being near a horse is enough to unnerve him. His breath quickens, and he drops to the ground. Dr. King is still looking out the window and doesn’t notice he’s in crisis until she turns around to say something.
“Frank!” She immediately brings herself to his level. “Oh my god, are you okay?”
He can’t respond; he just continues to fall apart on the floor.
“Frank, pretend you’re breathing through a straw.” Dr. King says beside him, voice calm and grounding. Her hands cover his. “Look into my eyes, Frank, breathe deeply through the straw.”
He obeys her, trying to force himself to purse his lips. Hyperventilating is a great way to pass out, so he focuses on her enormous pupils, her brown irises just a sliver surrounding them.
“Dr. King–” Frank chokes out.
“Mel. Call me Mel.”
He stares into her soul, grounded in her eye contact. Her hand, the one she wouldn’t shake with his, is tethering him to this earth. Focused on her, he feels his heartbeat begin to slow, his breathing becoming steadier. They stayed like that for what felt like hours, but in reality was only 15 or so minutes. Breathing in and out, coming back to his body, clutching Mel’s hand. The pulsing in his ears is the last thing to leave him when a tall man with a salt and pepper beard comes into his field of vision.
“Frank Langdon. I’m Dr. Robby.” He says quietly, sinking to sit on the floor beside Frank. “I see you’ve met Mel, our welcoming committee.” Dr. Robby taps Dr Ki– Mel ’s arm, as if to dismiss her.
“I have to admit she usually does not elicit that sort of reaction.” Dr. Robby laughed. “But she’s also the best person to have in your corner when it happens.” Frank took a deep breath and sighed, feeling much more regulated than before.
“It wasn’t her.” Frank clarifies after a few seconds. “It was the horses.”
“There are no horses in here.” Dr. Robby shoots him a huge goofy grin, like a dad cracking a bad joke. “If you react that viscerally to them, why the hell are you on a horse ranch?”
“I honestly had no idea that there was a horse aspect to this place. I thought it was just nature walks and other hippie bullshit.”
“Well there is a lot of hippie bullshit here, but I promise it all makes a difference.” Dr. Robby stood and then held out a hand to help Frank up. Frank accepted and hauled himself to his feet.
“Frank, you do not have to ride the horses. Not yet. Not at all if you don’t want.” He put his hand on Frank’s shoulder. “But maybe give them a chance, they might surprise you.”
Dr. Robby showed Frank around a little more. He explained in depth the treatments Frank was expected to follow, and laid out the ground rules for his stay. He explained to Frank that while everyone was here for rehabilitation, not all of them were substance addicts. They weren’t forbidden from talking about their reasons for treatment, so Frank would have to find out for himself. Robby directed Frank to his room, and showed him where the participants attended group therapy, then he was shown where he’d receive individual therapy. He introduced him to his therapist, Dr. Collins, his nutritionist, Dr. Whitaker, and his physiotherapist, Dr. Santos.
After an evening of going over his personal effects with Dr. Collins ( Heather , she corrected), explaining the significance of his books and analyzing what each item meant to him, it was finally time for him to sleep. Heather walked him to his room, giving him encouraging words.
“Today was the first step, Frank.” She said with her hand on his shoulder. “It will be even better when you’re not high.”
Frank gaped at her, mouth flying open.
“What?” She laughed. “Do you think we’re fucking stupid? This is rehab, Frank, we’ve seen it all before.”
“I’m sorry.” He said, and he thinks he meant it.
“It’s okay. We expect it. It’s part of the job.”
“Mhm, speaking of jobs…” He said tentatively. “I know you’re my shrink, but what does Dr. King do here?”
“Dr. King?” She repeated. “Oh! Mel King. Dr. Mel King.”
“Yeah, her.”
“She’s not a doctor here. She’s a patient.”
–
Thankfully, one of the few freedoms he’s still permitted is wandering. They’re in the middle of fucking nowhere, Wyoming, having paid almost 150 dollars to the uber driver to drop him off from the Laramie Airport. He wouldn’t be able to purchase drugs if he wanted to, unless the horses had some ketamine they’d be willing to share, and if he ran away, he’d be faced with the cold, harsh wilderness of the shrublands.
He heads outside. It’s cooler out than he expected, but he likes the bite of the air. He slowly meanders around the sprawling acreage of Flowerhill. He finds some coops with all sorts of critters inside. It’s dark, but he thinks he can see a few ducks and a chicken sleeping through the slats in the windows. He can hear crickets chirping in the distance. He thinks If I have to suffer, at least it’s pretty here. There was a gas fire table on the deck, surrounded by wooden chairs. He leaned over to find the switch and tentatively turned it on, half expecting it not to work. The sky was impossibly dark; it was around midnight, and Frank could see every star in space. He startled when he realized someone else was there, illuminated by the glow of the flame.
“I’m sorry.” The person spoke. It was Mel, the doctor with the braid. She leans forward to light a cigarette at the fire table.
“It’s fine.” He said, sinking into a chair beside him. “But only if you share.”
“Sure, Trinity gave them to me.” She says, holding out the pack.
“Remind me who that is again?”
“Sorry, Dr. Santos’ first name is Trinity. We do that here.”
“Huh, okay.” He didn’t know what to say. When he first arrived, he’d thought she was his doctor, all professional and welcoming. He laughed nervously. “Do the doctors here usually give their patients cancer sticks? No– Not that I’m complaining.”
“Actually… she threw them at my head after I called her something not very nice.”
“What did you call her?”
“I don’t know if I should repeat it, it doesn’t make me sound very good.”
“Well, what were you doing when you called her that?”
Mel winced. “Um. We just met.”
Frank pursed his lips. Fuck, of course she doesn’t want to tell me.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you that.” He runs his hands over his face, cigarette still between his pointer and middle fingers as he starts rambling. “I think I’m just trying to fill the time, I’m itching for something. Wait. Fuck. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that if you’re in recovery, I don’t know the rules about talking about–” He takes a huge breath in. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up drugs in case you’r–”
“Frank, I’m okay.” Mel stopped him before he could have a repeat of what happened earlier this evening. “I’m not an addict.”
“Good.” He says. “It’s miserable work.”
Mel finally lights her cigarette and takes a long draw. She never smoked until rehab, something to pass the time with Trinity when she’s on a break. Mel thought that a cigarette could make even the worst company bearable. She always thought it was ironic that nurses and doctors had smoking habits; they of all people should know it’s bad for them. Heather once told her it was okay to pick up an unhealthy habit if it replaced an unhealthier one. She briefly wonders what habit Trinity is replacing.
“When she threw these at me, she said, ‘ Go calm down somewhere else!'” Mel offers to fill the awkward silence.
Frank laughed at the mental image. “Is she always like that?”
“Oh yeah.” Mel coughed a little bit, the burn feeling good in her chest. “She’s aggressive as hell. But some people need that in recovery.”
Frank nodded and hummed in agreement.
“Besides, Heather is wonderful; she’s soft, but she doesn’t lie. Dennis is a good listener, but he’s a bother at meal time, and Trinity is– Well, they balance each other out.”
“What about Dr. Robby?”
“Robby is… interesting. Don’t get on his bad side.”
“Duly noted.” They were silent for a while, looking at the fire together. Smoke billowed between them. “Can I ask you, Mel King… doctor of?”
“Psychiatry.” She said.
“Oh, so you are a shrink, no wonder you're so good at talking. Are you gonna psychoanalyze me?”
“I’ve already psychoanalyzed you.”
“Oh yeah, your diagnosis?”
Mel leans forward and flicks her cigarette out. She stands up, tying her hair up into a messy bun with the elastic on her wrist.
“You’re lonely. You have no friends.”
“Huh? There’s no way you can know that from meeting me just today.” He huffed. His cigarette was on its last legs. He turned off the fire table and rose to stand as well.
“You must not be familiar with many people if you find conversation with me to be enjoyable.”
“Okay,” Frank scoffed. “Rude, to yourself.”
“What? Most people stop talking to me after a few days of knowing me. I think they get tired of me being so blunt.”
“How about I keep talking to you for as long as I’m here.” They began walking back towards the centre. “If you’d like. If not you can tell me to fuck off.”
“No! I think I’d like some company for a while.”