Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Anya
Matteo video-chatted me with the twins for almost a full hour last night, but we didn’t say goodbye.
He played with the babies while talking to them and me, sharing stories and giggles for as long as they would stay entertained.
It was more for me than it was for them.
For me to memorize their little faces and the sweet sound of their laughter.
Today, though—today is just for us. No matter how little time we have.
We’ve been on the phone for ten minutes, and I only have ten more minutes before it’s time for me to go.
It’s early for Matteo, but when I told him what time I would be leaving for the care center, he promised he would wake up to have one last conversation with me before I left.
As the minutes start to feel like they’re ticking down faster, my eyes feel watery and I’m glad I asked for a phone call rather than a video one. If I had to see him face to face, I might break down and decide to stay.
“Anya?” Matteo asks, voice soft. “You there?”
“Sorry,” I answer, standing up to walk around my room to distract myself. “I got lost in my thoughts for a second.”
“Good thoughts or bad ones?”
“Both, maybe,” I reply, swallowing. “I don’t know. I’m kind of scared.”
“Of course you are,” he says, breathing out. “But you’re so brave, Anya. You’re going to do so well. I already know it.”
“I don’t feel brave,” I argue, hugging my stomach with my free hand. “I feel like I could throw up, honestly.”
“But you’re still going, aren’t you?”
“Y-yeah.”
“Then you’re brave,” Matteo declares. “Brave people feel fear, they just don’t let it stop them. Nothing is stopping you from doing this, Anya. You made up your mind because you know deep down that this is what you want and what you feel you need. You’re going to crush it.”
“Sometimes I think you’re too nice to me,” I tell him, feeling a stray tear leak from the corner of my eye. “I never have to give you pep talks or help you solve any of your problems. It doesn’t feel fair.”
“You told me I didn’t have to be nice to you at Jade’s wedding.
” He almost chuckles, making a huffing sort of amused noise.
“I told you then and I’ll tell you now, I don’t lie about pretty girls—and I definitely don’t lie to my best friend.
Being nice to you is no burden, Anya. It’s the best part of my day. ”
“It’s the best part of my day too,” I reply almost shyly. My alarm beeps quietly and I frown. “I have to go now. I…I can’t wait to read your letters. If you still want to send them—”
“I’m going to start my first one as soon as we hang up,” he interrupts. “Try not to miss me or anyone else too much, okay? Focus on yourself and we’ll all be waiting for you.”
“O-okay.” I nod to myself and quickly add, “Don’t say goodbye.”
“Not goodbye,” he agrees. “I’ll talk to you later, meraviglia.”
“Talk to you later, Matteo.”
I leave my room as soon as our call ends, refusing to let myself be caught up in the moment.
My father is going to drive me to my home for the next two months, and I want to spend the car ride talking with him.
I want to share words with the man who’s made all this possible, and to tell him that I’ll miss him without bursting into tears.
And that’s exactly what I do.
Things move very quickly after that.
My first day at the facility is eventful, despite very little actually happening.
Dad isn’t allowed to see me into my room, but he’s able to give me a hug goodbye in their receiving area.
Families are only permitted to stay in the designated space so that other patients don’t see an unfamiliar face and become anxious or worried about what the stranger may do.
It makes sense, but part of me wishes I could have my dad with me, at least for the first night. I know I need to do this alone, but I’ll miss him. I just got used to being close with him again, and now we’ll be almost a half hour apart at all times.
Once he leaves, Tiffany gives me a tour of her facility herself.
She says that typically another staff member would, but that she made time in her schedule for me and would make it a point to be extra available during my stay.
Other therapists work with her and her patients, but she would be my only one-on-one doctor.
She shows me my room last. A plain but not cold and unwelcoming space. I have my own bed, desk, chair, dresser, and small bathroom. She goes through my bag, checking for any contraband as protocol dictates. But when she finds nothing, she also helps me make my bed.
I can’t put into words how much her commitment to making me comfortable while also helping me take this leap means to me. I’ve silently thanked my father every day for the past few days just for finding her. I have a feeling that this program really will bring me into the next phase of healing.
The second day is easy. I have my meals in the shared dining space, and two sessions with Tiffany to make sure that I manage well on the different menu.
She gave me the option to have separate food prepared so that I can stick to my routine, at least for the first couple days, but she requested that I try eating the provided meal options first, noting that my personal menu was built to take the burden of decisions away from me.
I agreed to try, and it was odd trying something new after so long of eating the same food weekly, but not unsettling.
The food was good, and a mix between healthy and indulgent options.
I didn’t need to eat anything that looked unappetizing, and there were enough readily available choices that it didn’t feel like a true decision to make.
I just gravitated toward what looked good and it ended up being fine.
Three days in, I hear so many stories during my first group session that make my stomach hurt. The one that stands out the most comes from a ginger-haired girl called Rory. She’s twenty, and not even three months ago she was captured and tortured by three of her half brothers.
Her father’s family runs a failing biker club, and her mother wanted nothing to do with it.
She’d disappeared into the night at age three with her mom, and it had taken them seventeen years to find her.
They tortured the two of them for hours and eventually killed her mom.
They left Rory alive to live in fear and with the many marks they’d given her.
She doesn’t hide hers like I hide mine, but they also never touched Rory in the way I’d been touched.
She didn’t have to feel the same sort of dirty shame that clung to some women after sexual assault. She had sadness and pain like me, but she also had anger. She didn’t want to hide her marks because she didn’t want her half brothers to believe they’d broken her.
So, though I’m still uncomfortable in my new environment, I feel drawn to the girl.
In some ways, we’re the same, and in others, we couldn’t be more different.
It’s nice to see someone who’s so obviously hurting but who’s also confident.
She doesn’t shy away from talking to anyone or make herself small in a room full of people.
Rory is physically tiny, but inside, I think she’s dauntless.
It’s six days in when I finally get mail.
Apparently it arrived on day three, but protocol dictates I’m given almost a week to settle in before I receive it.
I want to be upset that my letters were withheld, but I’m too excited to see Matteo’s name to put up a fuss.
He wrote me the most lovely letter and told me that he would be sending me emails as well.
He warned me that there would be so many that I didn’t need to worry about reading or replying to every single one. But of course, I do.
Day ten, I meet the horses. They’re large, almost daunting creatures when you first approach them.
But their strength and appearance is quickly soothed by their gentle presence.
The black mare called Charon becomes my personal favorite, and I think she likes me too.
Maybe because I sneak her two extra sugar cubes before the instructor can see.
Rory notices, though. She winks at me and puts a finger to her lips, silently vowing to keep my secret. She likes the horses as well but tells everyone that she would prefer to be inside. The California sun has never been her friend, her pale skin going pink in nearly every season.
On day thirteen, I have cake for the first time in three years. It’s marble with both chocolate and vanilla. The frosting and sprinkles are sweet, and I don’t feel anything other than happy while eating it.
Sixteen days in, Tiffany convinces me to try a water therapy session with a few other patients.
She promises no one will care if I swim while fully covered, and she’s right.
No one bats an eye as I float around the pool in leggings and a long shirt.
The water is refreshing and reminds me of how much I used to enjoy swimming at our pool, as well as the beach.
Tiffany says I could make it a goal to visit my once-beloved sandy paradise, or even simply promise myself to swim more at home. She says both targets are something to look forward to, and I can’t find a reason to disagree.
It only makes me wonder if Matteo likes the beach.
Twenty days in, Rory becomes a friend. She’s been slowly giving me space by not pressuring me into long conversations or joining her in the common room for games, while also greeting me every day and offering kind smiles.
I think she may have been my friend for several days before I truly noticed and accepted the fact.
We hang out and eat together, and we get to know each other.
She’s funny and bold. She swears more than some of my father’s men, and she says that she plans to buy herself an ice cream cake and eat the whole thing on her own when she gets out of here.
She tells me that she received a grant to attend this place, and that she could never afford to otherwise.
Rory tells me that she can tell I come from money, but that it doesn’t bother her like it might have once upon a time.
She says that we’re both here, so money might have kept me from struggling with basic necessities, but we still both ended up being changed forever.
Money couldn’t save either of us, so she decided to stop resenting when people had more of it than she did.
I tell her that I wouldn’t blame her if she resented anyone or anything. Money may not have prevented what happened to me, but it likely kept me from dying after the fact. If my father weren’t wealthy, he wouldn’t have had the best doctors in the country to keep me alive.
I confide in Rory a day before I tell my story in group. She hugs me and tells me that she’ll sit by my side and hurt anyone who even looks at me funny while I take my turn to share.
I talk about what happened to me in front of Tiffany and ten other people.
I leave out some of the more gory bits so that I don’t trigger anyone accidentally.
I feel a sort of relief getting the words out, but I also feel sadness.
Sadness that such horrible things happened to such a young girl.
It may be the first time I truly feel sympathy for the girl I used to be, rather than the girl I am today.
I’m starting to see them as separate people, and I can’t deny that it’s a relief.
Day thirty, I ride a horse, and Rory rides one too.
Six days later, cats come to visit the facility. They steal my heart and I almost cry when they have to go. I start counting down the days until they’re coming back, rather than counting down the days until I get to go home.
I feel myself changing in so many ways, and I hope every single day that my progress isn’t exclusive to being here. I hope that when I do leave, I leave feeling confident that this new Anya is here to stay.
Rory tells me that she will be.
And I have to believe her.