Day Twenty:Anya appears to have made a friend. A short slip of a girl with red hair and a pale face full of freckles. From what I can tell, she’s around the same age, and judging by the speckling of scars up her arms, she’s also a torture victim. Those marksaren’t self-inflicted, nor are they hidden as Anya hides her own.The two sit together at meals more often than not, and a quick look into the girl determines she’s not a threat.
Day Twenty-Five:Anya talks for fifteen minutes at group therapy and cries herself to sleep afterward. She appears to have shared the reason for her place here, and her sobs look more like ones of relief than sorrow. Still, she’s given medicine to calm herself, and is told that tomorrow she will take it easy. I’ve watched as other patients have done the very same. On hard days, they’re each given time alone, and given a small TV to watch a selection of DVDs if they please.
Day Twenty-Six:She chooses to take a walk rather than lie in bed for alone time. She’s monitored by a therapist as she walks around the gated gardens, and for a moment, I think she spots me watching her. If she does, she makes no move to expose me and simply continues with her walk.
Day Thirty:More horse therapy. Anya actually sits on one this time, the one that she favored before. She lets the animal walk around with her on its back and she doesn’t appear afraid. The animal therapist tells her that they will have cats and dogs coming to visit soon and she can’t hide her excitement at the news.
Day Thirty-Three:No tears after group therapy. More letter reading and writing. She eats dessert and plays a card game with her ginger friend.
Day Thirty-Six:Cats and dogs visit the group. Anya favors the cats, and they seem to favor her too. She holds each and every one of them, petting them and kissing their heads. She’s sad when they leave but is told they will come back again.
Day Thirty-Nine:It’s one in the morning when there’s a commotion at the front gate. Three men with dusty red hair wearing ragged leather jackets and torn-up jeans bang on the locked iron while shouting at the gate guard to be let in so they can retrieve their sister. They’re denied entry, and the police are called. But the pigs don’t arrive fast enough.
While the gate guard calls his superior, my men step in, disappearing the offenders into the night. I couldn’t care less about their sister, the girl they littered with scars and then narrowly escaped being charged with the crime. But Anya has taken the girl as her friend and I won’t allow anyone to disturb Anya’s peace while she’s trying to heal. My father would be glad to hear that I cleaned up some trash while I’m away. Men who senselessly hurt women always forfeit their lives to Morettis.
Day Forty-Three:Anya shares more during group therapy, and her little friend holds her hand while she does. This time, she doesn’t spend the night crying afterward.She sits with more people during the evening meal time, and plays a board game with a group of four before bed. She smiles five times.
Day Forty-Six:She needs her inhaler after doing a yoga session. She doesn’t panic and administers it herself. She doesn’t let the incident slow down her day and participates in swim therapy—still in her street clothes.
Day Fifty:Ten days until the program ends, and Anya almost looks as if she feels at home. People smile at her and she returns it almost every time. She no longer shies away from having dessert or sharing treat-like snacks with her group. She pets all the horses now when they go visit them, and she writes her letters in the common areas rather than in her room.
Day Fifty-Three:The cats and dogs come back, and she has what seems to be her best day yet. She freely laughs and plays with the felines, carrying them around and picking out toys to exercise them with. She uses her computer time to email Matteo and expresses to him that she wants a cat when she comes home. That her therapist has agreed it’s a good idea for her to have a furry companion. Knowing my brother, he’ll be chomping at the bit to find a cat for the girl as soon as he reads the email.
I’d text him to tease him with that prediction, but then I would have to deal with him chastising me for using my binoculars to read Anya’s emails. I only do it to be sure that she’s in a good headspace. I can’t read lips or hear what she’s saying in therapy, but I can read her writing when the angle allows.
Light stalking feels appropriate when the goal is keeping her safe. I couldn’t care less about the contents of her messages as long as she doesn’t write anything concerning. I’m here to make sure she stays alive, not to pry into her diary-like thoughts.
Day Fifty-Seven:Three days left. Anya wears a long-sleeved swimsuit instead of her normal clothing into the pool. The material covers her arms, back, and chest, but the short dress-like suit leaves her legs exposed. No one balks at her scars, least of all me.I killed men for giving her those scars, and I’d kill them again if I could.
Anya’s little friend isn’t leaving as soon as she is. She signed on for an extra thirty days, apparently needing more help with her coping mechanisms than Anya. She was hurt more recently, and hasn’t had nearly as long to sit with her trauma. Anya promises to write her letters, and she promises to reply.
Day Fifty-Eight:Two days remain, and Anya begins to get excited to leave. She doesn’t express fear in any of the letters I can see, and her therapist seems to be sure that she’s ready to go. She never even suggests an extension of her time here. I don’t know Anya well, but I can see the difference in the girl just from watching her since she arrived.
Her day one and her day fifty-eight seem miles apart.
Day Fifty-Nine:They throw her a party. No one else is leaving on the same day as her, but two are leaving next week. She makes everyone share in the celebration and blow out her cake candles with her.
Anya packs her bags and goes to sleep with a smile on her face.
Day Sixty:Lev Morozov notices me and my team as he walks into the building to pick up his niece. He doesn’t scowl or alert his Pakhan brother. He nods to me instead, a silent appreciation that I doubt many men have earned from the man.
I don’t nod back. I didn’t do it for him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Matteo
Dear Anya,
This is the first letter I’ve ever actually written. That feels kind of crazy, right? I mean, I’m 21 years old and I’ve never put pen to paper to write to someone before. Though, I’ve never really needed to. Even at…we’ll call it boarding school, for the sake of anonymity. Even there we had emailers that were basically phones with only one function.
I’m not complaining, just rambling. I don’t know what to write, honestly. I asked my dad what I should write in a letter and he looked at me like I had three heads. He said I should just write what I would say if I were talking to you on the phone or in person. But honestly, I don’t know what I’m going to say half the time before the words come out.
I hope you know that I’m thinking of you, even if some of my letters end up being chaotic messes.It’s only been a day without talking to you on the phone or even just reading a text from you and I feel odd. I don’t want to be sad, because I know you’re somewhere getting the help that you need. But at the same time, I don’t want to be happy while you’re gone.
Oh, and don’t worry about me talking to my dad about you. I didn’t tell him where you were or anything. I think he might know, though. I think he’s been talking to your dad, and maybe they’re working on being friends? So, score one for us?
But yeah, I haven’t told anyone. Not even Jade. I want it to be your choice if you say anything to anyone. This is your journey, and I’m just along for the ride. I decided to tell Jade and Ana that you’re doing some wellness yoga retreat thing with your aunt, and that’s why we can’t talk as much. I hope you don’t mind? It seemed like a nice alternative to the truth. And it’s not really a full-on lie. You told me you’d be doing some yoga and this program is definitely for your wellness.
