“I could grab some toast.”
Dan straightens and leans closer. “You don’t have time, Ruby.”
Tonight I need to ask Dan about Friday—whether I’m allowed to go to the next gig. If Dan can’t come with me, I won’t be permitted. I need to keep Dan calm, be who he wants me to be, and hopefully, he’ll say yes.
“Okay, is there anything special you want?” I ask.
“Yeah, but I’m stuck with you.”
The way Dan looks at me, as if I’m an annoying insect he wants to squash, hurts. He’s not stuck with me; he could let me go. I could move on. Iwouldmove on if I could seize back the control over my life that Dan took.
Three years ago, when he helped me out of the abuse I’d stuck with too long, I let him take over. Dan told me if he looked after everything – money, housing, me – I’d be safe because nobody could take that away and threaten my future. That Dan was a different man, one who saved me from the gathering nightmares. But I soon learned that I’d moved from one bad dream to a new one. Dan wanted someone he could control. Own. He chose me.
Now I have new plans, once I find the courage and means to see them through. My last attempt at leaving a couple of months ago failed. When his screaming abuse and attempt to shut me in the lounge room didn’t work, Dan sat against the front door so I couldn’t escape. I don’t have a key to our tiny backyard or the windows.
I was trapped.
I’m still trapped.