Content warning: Domestic violence, verbal and physical abuse, language warning
“Cheers to our children’s 3 year anniversary!” Sadie’s mother raised up her glass, beaming with joy in her eyes. Sadie watched as they all raised their cups, their parents looking to Jayson with utter approval. She faded them out as her eyes locked onto Jayson, he looked so proud, confident and self-assured. He didn’t look at her, he was soaking up the moment of attention. She felt like they were celebrating him, not them. An eerie feeling in her stomach grew, her posture loosening and slumping down. She was just his shadow, his accomplishment and achievement. She wasn’t a girlfriend, just a reflection of the man everyone knew him as. Everyone’s cups clinked together, the echoing of the glass ringing in her ear as she tried her hardest to grin.
“Thank you for putting up with her.” Her mother joked.
He sat tall, his arm going around her, gripping her shoulder, “She’s perfect.” He said with a smile, still not looking at Sadie. Everyone found it adorable, then moved on with the conversation. Sadie looked down to her shoes, feeling insecure. His nails dug into her shoulder, pinning her in that moment.
“Smile more, what’s wrong with you?” He whispered, his teeth gritting.
“Sorry.” she mumbled, making him roll his eyes and drop his arm.
“Don’t be sorry, be better.” He quietly spoke, angrily, “We spoke about how you are to act.”. She nodded, remembering his harsh words. Smile, don’t say anything about us unless he nods, act happy.
It wasn’t long before her parents left, thanking his parents for the meal then heading out the door. Her chance at freedom closed. She wished she had gone with them. Sadie thanked Jayson’s parents for dinner too, before heading upstairs to his bedroom where he had retreated sometime ago.
Walking up the hallway felt like walking into her own trap, alone upstairs where his parents’ TV blared from below, drowning out all noise. She slowly entered his room, seeing that he’d sat himself at his gaming computer and was consumed in a combat game. His head didn’t turn at the sound of the door opening and closing. She sat down on the stiff bed, looking around his room. It was so empty and plain. The only sign of personality was a photo of him and his dad fishing from when he was 7.
Looking at the photo made her hopeful. He appeared genuine in that photo. Just a sweet young boy. It reminded her of how he was at the start of their relationship. He was always smiling and joking around, constantly absorbed in different hobbies and bringing her along with him to everything. They were a pair, Jayson and Sadie. Overtime, he stopped caring for quality time and memories, he stopped caring for emotions at all. He had gotten a taste of another mentality and devoured it. He grew angry, cold and bitter.
That’s what she often told herself because being honest and accepting that that’s just who he is, was a much harder pill to swallow. Understanding that the kind version of him was just a front to suck her in drove her insane. All this time, she’d been chasing that person again, that rush of serotonin and dopamine that she was bombarded with at the start.
Sadie couldn’t help but crave it. That’s why she stayed.
“Could we please talk now?” she asked him gently, her voice weary. The sounds of the keyboard clicking viciously came to a halt, his chair turned around at her and his eyes met hers. His body language already expressed how this was going to go, his fists were in a ball and his eyebrows aggressively furrowed.
“Did I say we could speak?” He looked at her with pure disgust and disappointment as his words spat out, stabbing at her throat and making her go silent. “I asked you a question, Sadie.” He growled, lifting himself up and standing over her. she shook my head quickly, peering up at him with fear.
“You have a fucking voice, use it.” His tone got louder and more violent, he stepped closer and grabbed her chin, a tight hold of her face. It was in these moments where he seemed to thrive best, the power trip and adrenaline rush.
Sadie still didn’t open her mouth, it felt like she couldn’t. “So much you’ve done wrong today.” He tusked, “What are you even wearing? What the fuck is that?” He jerked her neck to the side, staring at her eyeliner that she had recently started to try out. It made her feel pretty. “That’s gross, wipe it off.” Every single word was drenched in vitriol, created to tear down any remaining confidence she had left. He was poisoned, laced with pure cruelty and betrayal.
“I can’t.” Sadie choked out, “I don’t have any wipes.” Sadie struggled to breathe, fear gripping her throat as every gulp of air she took carried the risk of enraging him. His eyes became two voids, lacking humanity. That sinful gaze felt like it was stripping her of all her worth, leaving Sadie as just the shell of a person. He didn’t reply, instead she watched his right hand draw back, like an archer and his bow, and then release. Launching right into her face, thrashing into her like a rough current.
“Your tears can clean it then.” He chuckled, watching Sadie’s eyes fill up with water. She couldn’t do anything but cry, it was all she could do, acceptance of defeat from a girl who had once dreamt of being loved but had been given fear. It wasn’t the pain from his punch that hurt, it was the pain in holding out for him for so long and being let down again. She tried to be quiet, used to silence being safer, but she couldn’t help but sob.
Jayson threw his arms around her, pulling her in and rubbing her back, “It’s okay.” He told her softly in her ear, “I’m sorry for hitting you.” He sighed, “You disappointed me today and you made it worse by trying out this new ugly stuff, ask me first.” He added, erasing the apology as he replaced it with blame. She closed her eyes and tried to capture the moment, his gentle touch and soft spoken nature. The glimpse of the guy she’s been chasing. She wished she could feel like this permanently. Loved.
She tells herself he is her security, all she’s known for so long, representing her teenage years. She believes he will change, especially by the way he caresses her face and kisses her forehead. She pities him, sympathises with his behaviour.
Denial sits on her shoulder, shielding her like armour from the unbearable weight of the truth. Resistance reaches out for her hand, subtle but persistent to be seen. To hold it’s hand would be to finally unravel her story, the story that leaks through in the flickers of pain when her mask slips. She felt it, touched it, wanted to fight, wanted to leave.
Her hand brushed it away as denial fought into her ear.
“It’s okay, I'm sorry too.” She sniffled.