I eventually find a social media page for the station, which leads me to a website. It’s basic as hell. Maybe I can talk to Brent to see if I can tweak it a little. Put my marketing degree to use. Because I’m definitely not made for this much physical labour.
But the physical labour is helping keep my mind busy, so it can’t be that bad? While I’m looking through the website, I do find my mind starts to wander, and in the wrong direction. I don’t want to think of him anymore. I want to be free of him. Truly free. It feels like I never will.
When I feel myself being dragged into a memory of pain and torment, I get up and search for my sketchpad. Flipping through the pages, I find myself racing my own thoughts. The memory starts to close in just as I find a clean page. Images of his angry pursed lips, his eyes flashing withhate, then his hand cocked back ready to swing. I can feel the sting of the impact as if he is here.
Picking up a random pencil, I draw a clean line down the page. Purple, I picked up purple. I zone into what I am drawing. Line here, shading there. As my mind busies with the image forming in front of me, the memory fades.
I hadn’t realised my heart was racing, until now that it’s slowing down. My breathing is even. I won this round, but as the last part of memory fades, it promises to return.
Sitting back, I look down at the drawing and take in what I just drew. And staying on a cattle station has already warped my subconscious because I am staring down at a cow skull. The point of the horns. The long stretch of the face. Every break and dent highlighted. The deep lines of purple tapering off to soft shading. For something that was a source of distraction, to ward off dark memories, I’m proud of the result.
I hold it up and examine it closer, “Could be better, maybe, if I?—”
“Could be better? That’s amazing Morgan.”
“What are you doing?”
“I just saw you take control of whatever was trying to take hold of you.” There is pride in Rhys’s voice.
“You’re spying on me?”
“What? No! I heard noises coming from your room, and thought I’d see if you were okay. And you were, I watched those ghosts fade. I watched you fight them.”
I sigh. “They’ll be back.”
Rhys steps into my room and I don’t protest. Feeling raw and exposed, the memory and feeling of panic lingers. “Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Ok.” And he turns to leave.
But I think I want company, even if it’s fucking Rhys. Beggars can’t be choosers.
“Wait...”
He stops and looks at me. His eyes follow as I stand and walk past him into the loungeroom, hoping he will follow. I flop on the couch and wait for Rhys. The couch dips and I take a deep breath and, “He still plagues my mind.”
Rhys doesn’t say anything, I look at him, and he gives me a small nod, encouraging me to carry on.
“He didn’t start off like this. He was so sweet in school. Holding the door open for me. Walking me to classes. He always saved me from the shit at home and never talked about it unless I brought it up. I thought I was going to marry this man.”
I let out a dry chuckle. How naïve was I?
“Even when we moved to Sydney, he was still sweet. But looking back on it, things started to change slowly. Just small things. Things I didn’t notice until it was too late. I was doing everything. Studying, working, cooking, and cleaning. When I asked for help, he’d turn it around on me. If I tried to express how I was feeling, he’d get defensive. Then the criticism started. Followed by the belittling. I never did anything right, always doing it wrong. But then our final scores came in. We both passed, both getting our degrees, but I scored higher. That was the first time he hit me.”
I take in a shaky breath and risk looking at Rhys who hasn’t spoken or moved. When I look at him, he is tense, jaw clenched and working overtime.
“Carry on.”
I don’t know if I should. He looks like he’s about to snap.I hesitate. I want to purge all this out, but not if he is going to react like this.
How can I minimise this? How can I tell him without being blamed?
He must see me worry or hear my thoughts. “You don’t have to explain anything you don’t want to, but I think it’ll be good for you. Get it all off your chest.”
And with that, I take a deep breath, and I purge myself. The first black eye up to the last blooded lip. Everything. Well, almost everything.
When I finish, the tears I was holding back finally fall, and Rhys wraps me in his arms. Feeling safe, my cries turn into heavy sobs. Crying for the girl I used to me, and for the girl he created. I can’t and won’t let him define me.
