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“Can you get a duvet too? I’ve never had one.”
“So you’ll let me do a complete makeover?”
“Yeah?” He smiled. “I’ll pay.”
“No. I’ll pay. We live together, don’t we?”
I meant it as a joke. But the smile on his face was definitely no joke. And I shoved an entire piece of toast in my mouth as he just laughed.
Hugo
Icouldn’t remember the last time I’d been inside a big shop and not had to walk out with my heart in my throat. I hated shopping, especially for clothes. I hated the looks I got, people staring and shop assistants sniggering at me as I bought clothes in the completely wrong size. The last time I’d bought myself clothes had been from the supermarket—generic tracksuits that my dad had helped me pick out—yet here I was, standing in a large, fashionable department store with the menswearright in front of me. I really wanted to turn around and walk out. Honestly, I wanted to scream.
I’d never looked like any of these mannequins. Jackets never hung like that on my thin frame. I shouldn’t even think these thoughts, but it was the truth. I was thin. My muscle tone was non-existent, but I wasn’t allowed anywhere near a gym. My heart would always be weak, and my psychiatrist said there was a risk of me getting obsessed with exercise. I had to smile at that. I may have been consumed by the ten thousand steps a day thing, but I’d never been obsessed with actual exercise and doubted I ever would be. I had plenty of other compulsions that were just as destructive for me. The difference was, I used to go straight for the XL sizes, but I knew now I wasn’t an XL. Clothes were made in my size, and my size was fine.
I swallowed, walking towards a rack of hoodies. Thick, soft hoodies that were baggy and bulky, like something Ben would wear. To be honest, I’d rather wear his. They were like a big, warm hug and…
Breaths. Deep breaths out.
In my stupid youth, I’d become obsessed with measuring myself and rejoiced every time the tape showed less than before. I’d been thin, really thin, and I recognised that and all its symptoms now. I would always be in recovery. I would always have to think carefully about everything I did. Every piece of food I put in my mouth was a gesture of kindness. I was in control, not of starving myself to death but of nourishing myself. Being good to myself. Allowing myself to love this rattled old skinny body of mine.
I’d once wanted to look like a supermodel. I’d once believed what other people said.Ugly. Fat. Unattractive. No good.Now, the more grown-up me recognised myself for what I was. I was just me, and I would always look like this. I was trying, and after the morning I’d had, I’d eaten both mysnack and cereal bar followed by Ben’s lunch, which had made my stomach feel awfully full, but at the same time? I was feeling surprisingly proud of myself.
I secretly loved that he looked after me. I also secretly loved that I could see it in the way he looked at me, the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled. It was like he radiated warmth over me until I overheated on the inside, and all of a sudden my shirt collar would be far too tight and my cheeks would be flaming.
He liked me. That was a weird feeling.
Lewis had never liked me like that.
I hated that I still thought ofhim. I had nightmares of him turning up and making me go back to him. I would be kicking and screaming in my head and wake up in a total panic, but in my dreams I still did everything he asked me to do. I left Ben, went back to him and sat in that sterile flat, feeling the fear engulf me.
I didn’t want to go back there, ever, and I also felt an enormous amount of pride for being aware of who I’d once been and realising that I’d grown. I’d thought I’d been in control back then, when I’d been totally out of control.
Remembering how that had felt, I had to bow my head, bury my face into the inside of my coat and try to regroup. I was ashamed of who I’d been, and that was really hard to swallow.
I wondered if I needed to go back to therapy, try to make sense of all the new stuff I was adding to my repertoire of madness. Things I’d never acknowledged to myself were now clear in my head. The absolutely terrifying fear I’d lived with for longer than I wanted to admit.
I’d known what would have happened had I stayed with Lewis, continued to live in that flat while my entire income drained into his account. I knew now, with an absolute certainty, what my fate would have been. Lewis thought he was smart, but he was actually bluntly stupid. If I’d stayed, he would eventually have got me exactly where he wanted me. Submissive, broke, terrified, used and abused by the people he sometimes brought home—the ones who looked at me and laughed. I’d known that had been his plan, and that a time would come when I’d be lost to his horrible ideas. Why I hadn’t left earlier now seemed slightly insane to me.
Lewis had a violent, disturbed personality, and I doubted he was any better with me out of his life. He’d been getting deeper and deeper into darker things—things I’d refused to acknowledge—drugs, loans, the people he associated with.
That he only got turned on when he was beating me into a pulp.
The truth was, we were both insane. I was just better at dealing with it. Better than Lewis—
I needed to stop thinking about him. It pulled me back, every time, and made me sad and frightened. London was home to over nine million people, and the chances I would ever run into him were slim, but he knew where I worked. His parents were influential. One phone call and some thumbscrews and Lewis would be at Ben’s door and my small oasis of safety would be blown.
At the same time, there was a constant thread of guilt in my head that I’d abandoned him instead of trying to help him.
My body shuddered just thinking that, but I pulled myself together and stomped up the glitzy escalators to the home department. I couldn’t help him. My therapist had made that very clear. I didn’t have enough spoonsin my drawer to help Lewis. I could barely help myself. But there it was. More clarity in my head as I confidently strode up to a sales assistant, a girl, younger than me, but she was dressed neatly and gave me a warm smile.
“I need bedding, pillows, smart-looking scatter cushions and a duvet cover that will create a warm, homey feel,” I said in one solid breath, then added, “Please.” I did have manners. Honestly.
“Oh! I love these kind of things!” she enthused. “Have you got a colour scheme in mind or can I go totally wild with ideas?”
“Go wild!” I grinned, following her across the shop floor. She’d taken me at my word, too, showing me different set-ups and colour schemes and letting me bounce ideas as we talked about textures. I had no clue about textures, but there we were. It was…fun. I was having fun all on my own. Another therapy goal checked off the list.
I left an hour later, laden with bags I could barely carry. The sales assistant laughed at me trying to stand sideways on the escalator and waved cheerfully as I rode out of her sight and headed…home.
