Page 47 of Matlock
I should have left sooner, but I fell for the trap. I fell for the love-bombing and the apologies. I fell for the gaslighting and the manipulation.
I fell for the lies.
Like so many other women, I stayed because I let myself believe I couldn’t do better. Let myself believe I didn’t deserve better. Alan was to blame for the abuse, but I was the one who stayed.
I made the choice to allow it to continue.
I could make all the excuses I wanted: I loved him; he said he loved me; I pushed his buttons; I had nowhere to go. But the truth was, I had choices; I just didn’t like them, or I didn’t want to make them because it was hard.
I had more options than most women who foundthemselves in similar situations. I could have let Simon help. I could have let the club help. Instead, I let myself be a victim because I was weak.
I could admit that I stayed because when he wasn’t hitting me or telling me how pathetic I was, he was everything I thought I wanted. I accepted the bad times for the few good times because I wanted to be loved. I wanted to be worshipped.
I wanted to be seen as someone other than Simon’s little sister.
Seen as someone other than the fat girl who did hair.
Because even now as I stood naked in my motel room, even though I saw the hunger in Billy’s eyes, saw the bulge he didn’t even try to hide in his jeans, I was still the fat girl.
That was who I would always be.
I’d tried diets—all of them. They worked for a while, but I hated being miserable. I wanted to be happy. I wanted to enjoy life, enjoy food. Alan had made me happy at first.
When we first started dating, he didn’t talk about my weight unless it was to compliment my curves. He didn’t disparage my eating choices unless it was to talk about my health. He made me believe he loved me for who I was, not what I looked like.
Until he reeled me in completely.
Then there were little comments about a pair of jeans being too tight, or a top being too low-cut. Then he mentioned my health, but not in the ‘I don’t want to lose you’way. It was more the ‘why can’t you control yourself’way.
He used to tell me I needed to take pride in my appearance but then get angry if I took too long getting ready. If his friends flirted with me, he called me a whore, but if I was too quiet, he called me an embarrassment.
The knock on the door startled me out of my ramblings.
“Are you dressed, Sadie?”
“Almost,” I called back.
I scrambled to my suitcase and dug for my pajamas. It was late, and I was planning to go to bed. I didn’t know why Billywas here, but I was glad. I needed to know about Simon.
I needed to know that he was okay, and Billy would have that information. I didn’t care what he wanted, as long as he told me Simon was okay.
Once I was dressed, I yanked the door open and Billy pushed his way through, barely looking at me.
“Do you have a fucking robe?” His voice was angry.
“No,” I said, grabbing the blanket and sitting on the bed. “I wasn’t expecting company.” I pulled the blanket over my legs and tugged it up over my chest.
Billy groaned, but he sat against the desk on the other side of the room. “Why did you run?”
“Simon told me to.”
Billy stood up straight, his gaze piercing as he walked closer to the bed where I sat in my pajamas, covered up because I needed a barrier. A cover over my body because I wasn’t sure if Billy was angry or horny when he looked at me.
“Explain,” he growled.
I didn’t know why I was so forthcoming. Maybe because it was Billy. Or maybe because my soul was dying. I should have done things differently. I should have called the club instead of calling my brother, but I thought, given his relationship with Matlock, he would call the club.
I mean, yes, their relationship was secret, and no one knew about it but me, but I just assumed Simon would call them. But if Billy was here looking for me, something had gone wrong.
