Good Girl Bad (30)

But now I think I know the pattern. I’ve even tested it a bit. Seen her getting agitated, and said exactly the thing that I think will tip her over the edge, and it’s worked every time.

Leroy has a heart attack, poor soul. He can see what I’m doing, even if my mother can’t.

But because I can see it coming, it doesn’t knock the wind out of me. It’s almost funny. I feel like I’m in control now. It’s always been her, controlling me, and I’ve jumped through every damn hoop she’s held up to me, like a stupid little lapdog. Jump, jump, jump. When I think about it now, it seems crazy. It’s not like she ever hit me. What was I so afraid of?

Well, it’s me holding the hoops up now. I’ve finally grown up. I’ve found someone who loves me, who doesn’t try to control me, and we’re going to be together. He just has to tie up a few loose ends. The way he looks at me makes my insides go crazy. I’ll never get tired of kissing him. And he worships me. The way he touches me. Ohhhhh. It makes Trent stupid Witherall seem like a robot. I never dreamed I could be this happy. And I feel bad about…well. It doesn’t matter. It’s worth it for this kind of love. I can leave here. I can make my own decisions.

She thinks back to the first time they were together.

The tenth of June.

She’d been upset about another fight. It was so hard to explain to people. All they see is this successful, charming, empathic woman. They see her showering Tabby with love and gifts. And she tries to say—it’s after a fight. She buys me things after a fight. And they ask what they fight about, and Tabby feels so stupid and small. Like that time Freddy came over and Tabby took her straight to her room, and didn’t stop to say hello to Rebecca. And Rebecca had popped her head in later, and said, “I didn’t know Freddy was here, Tabby. Why are you keeping her all to yourself, not sharing her with the rest of us?” And it had been so jokey. Joke, joke, joke. But Tabby could hear the edge in her voice. And she’d smiled uneasily, thinking, she won’t yell with Freddy here. Because she never yelled in front of other people. Not even Leroy.

Leroy had never seen Rebecca out of control.

He’d seen Tabby’s distress. But it was always after the event, not during.

Later, when Freddy had gone home and Tabby was cleaning her teeth, her mother had stopped at the bathroom door, her eyes on Tabby, something flashing across her face, and Tabby braced herself, because she already knew what was coming. She could feel it underneath the jokes.

Earlier, Freddy had glowed a little bit, because everyone loved being noticed by Rebecca. Everyone loved the feel of her affection and admiration falling on them. Even Tabby still glowed when that warmth was directed at her. No matter how much she knew, no matter how many times it happened, she still fell for it every time Rebecca extended her love. Like this time it might really be better.

This time it might last.

She yearned toward Rebecca like a stupid moth to a stupid light.

It was never better, though. When Rebecca loved her, she leaned into it, giddy with relief. And then it was withdrawn, and the violence of it took her breath away. Shocked her, every time.

Idiot.

That night, cleaning her teeth, she was beginning to turn a corner, beginning to realize it was a cycle and it was never going to change.

But she could leave.

She could leave, with him.

And it would all be better.

Rebecca’s words had hurt her a little less, for the first time. But what she did remember was how no one understood. No one believed her. She had tried to tell Freddy about it: “She was mad I didn’t share you with her the other night. She came into the bathroom, and I could see the rage on her face. And it only settles after she’s been cruel.”

Freddy had looked shocked. “What did she do?”

“She said ‘Freddy comes to me when you two fight, you know. She knows you’re the one with the shitty temper, not me. We sit and have cake and talk about how mean you can be.’”

Freddy had looked embarrassed, and dubious. “Once. I was upset and spoke to her once, after—” She doesn’t finish the sentence. She does think that was a shitty thing of Mrs. G to tell Tabby, but her thoughts are clouded by her own sense of betrayal about the context of that conversation. “Well, that is a shitty thing to say to you. But it doesn’t sound like something worth getting upset over, does it? She was sad that you two were fighting more. Maybe she just lashed out a little bit, maybe she wants you to talk to her like I do. Did. Just that once.” Freddy looks embarrassed, and Tabby feels exhausted.

“But it’s—” Tabby doesn’t finish the sentence either. It’s hard to find words to express the violence underneath it. It’s not just Rebecca ganging up on Tabby with her best friend. It’s showing Tabby how powerful she is. That she can shape what other people think. That she can make sure they know that it’s Tabby who’s behaving badly, even when it’s her, Rebecca. Trying to make sense of it makes Tabby squirm, it’s so hard to pin down. It makes her doubt her own sanity. She just needs someone to say, “Yes. I see that. I see what she’s doing there to you.” But it sounds so trite, like Tabby is so sensitive. She can’t manage to convey the look on her mother’s face. The hatred. The fury. And something in her shies away from making it too clear. Like there’s something wrong with her, Tabby, because perhaps she is unlovable.