Sam flew with me from California to the Denver airport the next day. He'd booked the tickets, so of course we travelled in the luxury of first class. We rented a car and he drove me the three hours into the mountains to my recovery center. I'd reserved a spot before I even read my paper at school. It didn't matter if I had to ask Sam or even beg my mother and her husband for money, I was willing to do whatever it took to pay for it. It was time to ask for help.
I watched out the window as we climbed higher into the mountains. Colorado was truly stunning—stone mountains erupting from the ground with green trees everywhere. Nature had a healing aspect of its own, and the beautiful landscape surrounding me helped me breathe just a little easier. I'd read online that we'd take daily nature walks, and I looked forward to it.
The center was a large, beautiful building nestled next to a lake. It looked like some sort of resort. As I climbed out of the car, I was again struck by the stunning view around me, even with the nerves.
Sam came around the back of the car once we got out, towing my luggage with him. Sensing how anxious I was, he pulled me into his arms, letting me rest there as long as I needed. "This is going to help," he reminded me. "It is going to be okay."
"They're going to make me talk about it," I mumbled into his shirt.
"I know."
"I don't want to."
"I know. But it is going to help."
I sighed. "I know it is."
I took another steading breath and a few more moments in Sam's arms before gaining the courage to walk in.
A tall woman in a green dress met us just inside the front doors, putting her arms out in welcome. "Welcome, Abby. We're so glad you're here. I'm Jenny." She was the woman I'd talked with on the phone when I set up my reservation.
"Yeah," I replied weakly before turning to Sam and introducing him to her.
Sam shook the woman's hand politely. "It is nice to meet you."
She smiled again and said, "We're going to take good care of your girlfriend, I promise."
I inhaled deeply before letting it out again in a sigh. "I hope so."
"Come on," she said, "let me show you around."
The place was large without being intimidating. There were rooms for recreation, a cozy cafeteria, private offices, and rooms for classes and group gatherings. The rooms were dappled in sunshine and painted in calming colors. There were eight bedrooms, each allotted two women, as well as staff bedrooms down the hall. The best part, however, was the outside.
A broad porch was lined with couches and rocking chairs, overlooking a crystal clear lake. There were trails around it and in the sparse woods at the water's edges. The view was stunning and instantly relaxing. I couldn't wait to spend more time there.
All in all, it was a beautiful place for healing, and though I was nervous, I felt comforted by the environment.
As we came to the part of the tour where Sam was supposed to leave, though, I turned to him nervously. I wasn't quite ready to let go of him yet, but I knew I needed to.
"You'll call me?" I asked.
He smiled, squeezing my hands. "As often as they will let me."
"Okay."
He pulled me to him, resting his cheek on my head. "I love you so much," he told me.
I pulled back and gave him a teary smile. "I love you, too, Sam."
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The work I put in at the center was grueling. There were times I wanted to quit and go home, there were breakdowns and tears and fits of anger as I processed what had been done to me. I was petulant at times, not wanting to do the work, but eventually I moved past it and accepted the hard work before me. I needed to do it, or else I'd spend the rest of my life drowning.
I couldn't let Eric win. I wouldn't.
There was group therapy and individual talk therapy. There was art therapy, massage therapy, movement therapy, and daily nature walks. There were enjoyable activities planned each day to keep our spirits high, including karaoke and dance classes and board game battles. There were trips to town and restaurants. I was surrounded by support and activity, even on my darkest of days.
Talk therapy was rough. I had to talk about what happened to me, the aftermath, and the things I'd done with Tristan. There were breakdowns and lots of anger. It was good though, the therapists encouraged me. It was part of the process.
Surprisingly, doing it in a group was cathartic. It was scary at first, but as I learned the other women's stories, I felt a comradery with them. We all had this one thing in common that bound us together, and there was no judgement as I recounted what I'd been through. I felt supported. I felt part of something larger than myself, and it helped. It really helped.
Sam called every few days during my allotted phone time. He listened to my tantrums and breakdowns and reassured me I was doing the right thing. I inexplicitly resented him for a little bit, too. No reason other than he was a man and he wanted sex from me. No matter that he had never asked me for it since he knew I wasn't ready, that he was more than willing to wait for me, just the idea that he wanted it made me mad. I refused to answer his call for a few days before my therapist helped me work through it.
Eventually, the place started to work its magic on me, and I calmed down and started to accept the process. I wasn't happy per say, but compliant and willing to participate.
It was working.