Chapter 25 #2
“I…I might want to fall in love. To do all the things I used to dream about as a girl. I think I could get there some day if we kept going as we are, but I don’t want to wait for someday anymore.
I want to chase it down and make it come sooner.
I want to feel like Anya again, not Anya the girl who was raped. ”
He doesn’t balk at the word, but his eyes…a father’s eyes can never truly lie. I see the despair in them. The pain he feels about what happened to me. Sometimes I think he feels just as much as I do.
“Okay, moya devochka. Whatever you need,” Dad says.
And it quickly becomes clear that he means it.
When planning with Tiffany and my father has finally come to an end, I have a deep understanding of how the program runs and what my life will look like for the next two months. But there’s still a couple things I have left to do before I’m ready to go. And calling Matteo is at the top of my list.
He picks up on the second ring, despite the fact that I didn’t text him beforehand. If I texted and asked for a call, he might assume I mean a video one. And I don’t think it’s possible for me to say what I need to say while looking at him.
“Hey, Anya,” he answers happily. “This is a nice surprise.”
“Hi,” I reply, feeling his warm greeting wrap around me like a hug. “I’m sorry, but it might not be a nice surprise after you hear what I’m going to say.”
The air around me goes tense and it’s as if I can see his face drop.
“Is everything okay?”
“It will be.”
“Anya?” he asks, confused.
“I…I’m going to do an inpatient PTSD and OCD recovery program.”
Silence.
“It’s sixty days, and I won’t have my phone.”
A short breath.
“Matteo?”
“Was it something I did?”
I breathe out, relieved that he hasn’t hung up on me.
“No. God, no,” I promise. “It’s the opposite, really. Being with you made me wish that I was more well-adjusted than I am. It’s been three years and I’m still living my life on edge and I feel like I’m moving so slowly. I need something to push me further and faster.”
“Are you sure, Anya?” He sounds worried. “There’s no rush—”
“There is,” I disagree. “I’m tired of being in this limbo of better but not as good as I could be. I want to have more normal days. I want to not wake up and think about how much easier it would be if I didn’t.”
He sucks in a breath. “You still think about that?”
“Not in a way that should make you worry,” I say hesitantly.
I’d reluctantly told Matteo weeks ago about my deep depression days and he took it very well.
Likely only because I made sure to be clear that I hadn’t wanted to end my life for a very long time now.
“I want to live, I really do. It’s just very hard sometimes, living this way.
It’s beginning to be tiring, and I’m ready to make it stop. The right way.”
“So…inpatient,” he gathers, recognizing my reasoning. “For two months? When are you going?”
“I’ll check in in two days,” I admit. “I didn’t want to give myself time to get scared and change my mind.
If I have to leave when I get there, I’ll be able to.
But I’m going to try like hell to make it through.
My therapist runs the program, and she’s had great success with it.
I’m her only patient she works with who isn’t in the program, actually. ”
“Two days, fuck,” he says, almost sounding like he’s in pain. “And we won’t be able to talk?”
“Well, we won’t be able to text or call,” I tell him remorsefully. “But um, you can send letters to me. You don’t have to but—”
“I will,” he interrupts. “I’m going to send you so many letters you don’t even know, Anya.”
Relief swarms me and my smile spreads, though he can’t see it. “You can email me too, but I’m only allowed like an hour of email time. I think there’s two days every week we can check for emails and write back. You just can’t send me pictures or write about anything troubling, whatever that means.”
“I can do that,” he vows, his tone going decidedly serious. “I…fuck, I’m going to miss you but I’m so happy for you. You’re doing this for yourself and you’re so fucking brave for taking this step, you know?”
Swallowing hard, I shake my head. “I’m trying to be. It’s not easy.”
“I’m here for you, okay? Whatever you need, I’ll be here. I’m going to come see you as soon as you’re done. If you want me to.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I reply, biting down a smile. “Oh, and can I ask you a favor?”
He doesn’t hesitate to answer. “Anything.”
“I’ll text you for it,” I tell him. “I have to go now, but we’ll talk again before I go, I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” he echoes.
Not even ten minutes later, I’ve mustered up the courage to make another call. This one takes more than four rings before it’s answered.
“Who’s this?”
“Nico?” I ask, surprised by how groggy his voice sounds despite it being close to mid-day. “It’s Anya. Um, Anya Morozov?”
He grunts in recognition. “How did you get my phone number?”
“Um, I told Matteo that my Uncle Lev wanted it so he could talk to you about enforcer things. He texted it to me.”
“So why are you calling me and he isn’t? Did you lie to him, Anya? My, my, that wasn’t very nice of you.”
“I had a good reason,” I defend, despite his teasing tone.
“I’m sure you did.” He sighs and it sounds like he ruffles around with something nearby, inaudible noises coming over the line. “Am I the second Moretti you’ve ever spoken to? Seems like a fucking odd choice on your part. Couldn’t you have sought out one of the nice ones?”
My nose wrinkles at his self-deprecation. “Matteo trusts you. I remember you watching us at the wedding. He talks about you sometimes, too. I don’t need you to be nice.”
“Oh? And what do you need from me, then?”
I bite my lip, asking, “Can I ask you for a favor?”
Nico only takes a moment to respond. “You can ask, I can’t say whether or not I’ll agree to it.”
Fair.
Here goes nothing.
“Could you keep an eye on your brother for the next eight weeks?”
“My brother?”
“Matteo.”
“And why are you asking me to spy on Matteo?”
“What?” I ask, frowning in confusion. “I don’t want you to spy on him. Just like, check in on him—making sure he’s okay and stuff.”
He grunts again. “You break up with him or something?”
My face flames and I’m glad this is over the phone so he can’t see it. “We’re not dating.”
He laughs shortly. “Sure you aren’t.”
“We aren’t—” I cut myself off, shaking my head and exhaling slowly.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m going into a care program for the next sixty days and I would just feel better knowing that he isn’t sad or worried or I don’t know.
I just thought it would be nice if you could make sure he’s okay while I’m trying to go and make myself okay. ”
“What program?” he asks in a snap, startling me with the force of his voice. “Where is it? Who runs it?”
“Um, whoa.”
“Is it guarded? How far away is it from your father and his men?”
My head is spinning, hearing the sharp questions lashing over the phone.
“It’s perfectly safe, my therapist owns it. And it isn’t far away. Look, I didn’t call to talk about me. I wanted to talk about Matteo. Will you look after him or not?”
“The quiet one has claws, does she?”
“What?”
“Matteo will be fine. I’ll take care of you,” he says, his voice determined and true.
“You mean you’ll take care of it?”
“You heard me.”
The line goes dead and I drop my phone, utterly baffled.
What the heck just happened?