Matilda | Harry Styles

FORTY-TWO

His eyes were like I'd never seen them. His eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes softer than I'd ever seen, with his lips parted in what looked like shock. I'd never felt so much from seeing an expression on somebody else's face - but I'd never told these stories, and I'd never felt for somebody like I did for him. Whenever Grace had heard, at the time, what would've happened - she'd only bite her lip and draw me into her arms, refusing to let me see her react; that was, if I even told her. There came a point where I didn't have to - she just knew, like it was routine.

I almost wanted to reach over and see if he was okay, then, but I realised I wasn't even half finished. I needed to get this out, whilst I had the courage. I'd never found it before, and I wasn't sure I'd ever find it again.

I could trust him, I knew that I could. I always could; I'd seen it in his eyes from the moment I'd met him, but my past was begging for me not to be naïve, and to let him know too much - but it was a little late, for that, now. I had to see this through.

I went through waves of believing what my parents had always told me. I knew, deep down, that nobody deserved the way I'd spent years being treated - but, equally, it was impossible to prevent their words from resonating when I heard them so often. If you're told you're stupid enough, you become stupid to yourself; if you're convinced that you're worthless, or insufficient, or if you're told you're unloveable enough, then it's impossible to believe otherwise. There were parts of me that would always carry the labels that they'd plastered onto me - but there were other parts; parts I'd spent years suppressing, losing, and destroying, that believed I deserved better. In meeting Harry, I'd been reminded that those parts existed; it was when I saw the shock in his expression if I'd ever make a self-deprecating comment, or undermine my ability, or my appearance, or my worth. It was shock - pure, genuine confusion and bewilderment. I'd never understood it - he'd always said he wished I could see what he saw, just as I'd always known that I'd never be able to. 

"It was like that until he got sick," I said, "our house was quiet - permanently quiet. Nobody said a word unless he told you to, and nobody did a thing without him authorising it. No TV... no games..."

"That's why you had to sneak the DVD player home," he said, softly, catching me by surprise. His eyes searched my face, and I felt a pang in my chest as I thought back to the night I'd told him that, by accident, at the hotel bar. "With your two movies."

"Yeah," I said, equally soft. I looked at him, biting my lip, feeling how my heart twisted and thumped just at the sight of him across from me, diligently piecing together tiny pieces of information that I'd let slip over the previous months. We hadn't even been together when I'd told him that. It was sort of ironic - I'd feared, that night, that I'd told him far too much, and here we were, now - turning every single stone. I was shocked I'd even gotten any words out to this point, but I couldn't stop now; I had to keep going.

"My mother - she used to just," I paused, pressing my lips together, finding the correct words, "she'd just sort of stand behind him. Agreeing with everything he said, and did. There were times she'd make up stories about us to tell him when he got home from work, so that she could watch him hurt us. It was like some kind of thrill thing for her." 

My mother's face flashed into my mind, and so did my father's. My entire life, all I'd wanted was for them to love me. Even to like me, may have been enough - but as long as I breathed, I'd never have been what they wanted me to be. I knew it was wrong. I knew the way I'd been ruined by them wasn't my fault, but it often felt like it was. Because why else? What could I have done for them to hate me so much?

"He broke my wrist, once," I said, then. It was all flooding back. I hadn't even thought about that, for years - it was one of so many incidences; but it was coming to the surface, now. "Dragging me along the floor. He grabbed it, and twisted it, and it just kind of... broke." Harry's expression was unreadable, his lips pursed as he watched me.