Page 62 of Tough Love
Her eyes widen. “I didn’t mean it like that. Like, I’m not saying I don’t want to hear what you have to say.” She sighs, exasperated. “Ugh. I meant, mine’s boring, you know? I’ve got no reason to share the inane details of my past with you, but you’ve got history that’s obviously troubling you, so it makes sense to share.” She closes her eyes and frowns. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
“It’s okay.” I chuckle. “I know what you’re trying to say.”
“Good. Because I really had no idea how to salvage that if you didn’t.” She chuckles, and then jams the rest of the babies in her gob in one go, chewing with her cheeks puffed out like a squirrel.
The silence hangs between us, and I contemplate picking up the bowl of strawberries and cream lollies for a distraction. But if I do that, I’ll end up eating them in one sitting and not saying a thing.
Damn, this shit is hard.
I hate sharing my past. Not because I’m ashamed of what happened to me, but I’m embarrassed about how it turned out in the end. I’m embarrassed that I chose to walk away like a coward. I’m embarrassed that I let a spiteful, abusive arsehole ruin my life. And I guess perhaps I am ashamed a little. Ashamed that he played me so effortlessly, that he managed to manipulate and destroy me without the least bit of resistance.
Everyone always knows best, passing judgement with their “If I were you…” comments. But unless you were actually there, in that situation, you just don’t know for sure what would have happened.
Physical abuse is one thing, but mental manipulation is an entirely different kettle of fish.
By the time you realise what you’ve gotten yourself into, the roots of the lies have grown so deep you find yourself being the one who twists everything in the abuser’s favour, telling yourself that your fears are unjustified, that your concerns are invalid.
By the time you wake up in the war, the enemy’s already won.
“When I was fifteen, my sister, Kath, started dating this guy who was older than her. He’d left school early, but he was like twenty or something when she hooked up with him.” I take a deep breath, staring down at the strip of carpet between the sofa and the table.
Jess reaches out for another handful of lollies, relaxing sideways into her seat to hear me out.
“He saw me being bullied one day—which happened a lot—and stepped in. Took me home, and then told Kath he’d pick us both up from school every day so I wouldn’t get harassed again.” I laugh bitterly, thinking about how easily he manipulated us from the start. “Mum and Dad thought it was a great idea too; they’d seen how affected I was by the bullying, and anything that dragged me out of it was an option for them.”
“I bet Kath thought he was sweet for doing it, too.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “She thought he was totally misunderstood. He was a bit of an outcast, one of the rougher guys in the community. He’d been in and out of juvie and narrowly missed prison already. Had people convinced it was all a misunderstanding, but that was just him, great at making people think what he wanted them to.”
“Classic bad boy.”
“Yeah.” I reach out and snag a handful of sweets. “He picked us up without any issues for a while, waiting a few months before he made his first pass at me.”
“Creep.” She chomps extra hard on the jelly baby, as though it’s Tristan.
“I knew something wasn’t right, but I’d never had a guy interested in me so I just convinced myself it was all in my head.”
“Oh, babe.”
I accept her outstretched hand with my free one and continue. “He started with mind games, convincing me Kath had said one thing, when she’d really said another. Telling me people were doing things they weren’t. In hindsight, I think it was how he gauged how easy I’d be to manipulate as a target.”
Jess squeezes my hand at the same time as Briar cries out from upstairs. Broken from the trance I’d had myself in, reliving the past, I drop my sweets on the table and head up to check on him.
“Be right back.”
He’s sitting upright, sobbing quietly. The moment he sees me at the head of the stairs, he reaches out for me. This kid … I’d walk over a bed of glass to bring him comfort.
“Hey, buddy.” I seat myself on the side of his bed and pull him against my side. “What’s the matter?”
“I had a bad dream.” Distressed hums come from him as he tucks himself tighter.
“Shh, it’s okay now.” I stroke his hair, soothing him, reminding him that it was just a dream and listing a bunch of nice things he could think about instead. “Think of something good that always makes you happy when you try to go to sleep again, okay?”
He nods, crawling away from me to settle himself in bed again. “Like my picture I drew today?”
“What picture’s that?” He never showed it to me.
Briar points to his school bag propped in the corner of the room. I cross over and pick it up, bringing it back to the nightlight so I can see what I’m doing. Sure enough, folded at the bottom under his spare change of clothes is a picture.