Just Us

Five

Chapter five
Isla

            I walk away, close to running but he's still trailing behind me. I don't realise I'm walking towards the secluded part of the school, my legs being too accustomed to walking me here.

            "Ty, I don't want to talk." I'm shaking as he approaches me. We went around the fencing of the field and we're now out of everyone's sight.

            My heart's pounding violently. I don't want to be alone with him. I can't be alone with him.

            "Isla, would you just listen? Please?" He sighs with frustration the more I refuse to look at him. I go quiet because I don't know if going against him is any better. "I really am sorry for whatever went down at the start of the year. I wasn't myself. You know the shit that was going on with me."

            I didn't want to hear this. For the past 8 months, all I've been hearing was how hard it has been for him with his parents splitting up and his dad's very public job promotion and then to getting expelled. How I should be more understanding and not overreact.

            Being traumatised for getting sent to the ER for something he inflicted on me wasn't an overreaction. Recovering from a few broken ribs took 2 months. I wasn't going to let the world tell me that it was nothing.

            "I loved you, you know that." And here comes the manipulating.

            I've gone to other psychiatrists before seeing Dr. Pimento. That's when I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. It took me some time to admit I was in an abusive relationship during our sessions. I felt like I couldn't label it that way since he only ever hurt me once. Physically, that is. But my psychiatrists told me that abusive relationships need not always be just physical. That it could be emotional as well and when I had gone in denial, they broke it down for me bit by bit and I realised just how much of an abuser Tyrone was.

            Even before hitting me, he always had a way of manipulating the situation. The first few months we were together were good but after a while I realised a pattern. Everything ended up being my fault.

            He kisses someone else, my fault. He gets drunk and angry, my fault. And then it ended up with him hitting me being my fault.

            I hated that I'd become a victim to him. It felt helpless and I hated it. I tried ending things the moment he began blaming me when he cheated. I didn't know he had been drinking the night I tried breaking things off and he got violent.

            It's blurry and the only memories I have of that night were flashes of his hands before my eyes and running under the rain but I have a scar on my chest to remind me just how violent he got. And now, the familiar feeling of helplessness is back and I hated it. Shaking, crying but not being able to do anything about it.

            If I ran, would he hit me again?

            "I haven't had a drink since." He tells me after I don't respond. Having a father work in the sheriff's department created loopholes for him. Getting access to alcohol since our junior year was one of them. Another one being a lighter sentence, with community service and probation instead of jail even though he had already turned 18.

            My eyes are focused on the grass, my leg hitting the huge rock behind me, reminding me where I am. "I've changed and learnt-" his words have become foggy and have drained out. I don't know if it's because I'm crying too hard.