Page 7 of Filthy and Dirty with the Bikers

Holden: That too, lol. It’s nearly dark. He said he’s meeting you at sundown. Did you prep like we planned?

Why are we moving on from Holden being a biker and coincidently friends with Rhett so quickly? This is kind of big news. I mean, how well do they know each other, and for how long? Not to mention,Holden rides a motorcycle?My thighs ache as my mind draws a picture of him outside of his office. A big, strong man covered in ink, climbing onto his bike. I wonder if he takes his tie off to ride, or if he tucks it into his button-down, rolls up his sleeves, and rides like a professional badass.

Dear God, what am I doing? I shake my head and stare down at my phone, typing out a response.

Me: Yeah, I’m ready. Just writing my note now.

When I first started meeting with Holden, we went over the basics of leaving a toxic relationship. First and foremost, I’m not to tell my abuser that I’m leaving. I’m supposed to write a short note that offers closure but lacks too much emotion. I should leave the note in a general area of the house, then leave undetected to avoid any blowback.

Holden: Good girl.

Good girl.There it is again. My body heats with some kind of feeling I’ve never felt before. I read the text again and again. That can’t be in the code of ethics for therapy, right?

I put this into Google as well but there’s not as much on this topic, instead, just a bunch of Reddit forums with opinion pieces. As fascinating as it is, I’m not interested in a fourteen-year-old’s opinion on how ‘good girl’is anti-feminist. I, in fact, like being told what a‘good girl’I am, even in this clearly, non-sexual way.

Why is that?

I ask Google.

Why do I like being called a good girl?

The results are clear. The term ‘good girl’ taps into feelings of validation and affirmation which lead to a feeling of connection, recognition, and intimacy.

Makes sense.

Me: Well, I appreciate the extra mile. I’m not sure I’d be leaving today if he hadn’t threatened to carry me out of here.

Holden: I wish I could do it myself.

There’s that twinge again. The one where my heart flips and my soul twists all at once.

Holden: You’ll be safe with Rhett. He’s a good guy. Just trust him, okay? I know it’s going to be hard for you to trust for a while, but he’s a good one.

Me: I know… and so are you.

Three dots dance across the bottom line for what seems like forever. I’m not sure what I meant by what I just said, but I’m sure it was platonic. I’m not the kind of girl that comes on to her therapist thirty minutes before she leaves an abusive relationship. No, that’s not me, though waiting for his reply is torture.

Finally, the message comes through.

Holden: Call me the second you get somewhere safe.

I blow out a heavy breath and smack my phone against my face. I can’t believe how dumb I am. Why did I tell him he’s special? He’s a therapist. It’s his job to check in with me. I respond with an okay, then toss the phone onto the bed beside me.

Dear God, I hope it’s not really this hard on the outside.

My note to Tyler is short and sweet, mostly because whatever I say usually goes in one ear and out the other anyway. I don’t think he’s ever truly cared about me or my feelings. I think he just went through the motions because dealing with me created an outcome he desired. A partner who, despite her pain, will still provide sex, income, and a sense of belonging.

It was all manipulation. I hate myself for letting him touch me. I hate myself for believing the good was real. I hate myself for trusting he felt anything for me… ever.

I shake my head as I scratch down the words.

‘I’ve tried for so long, but I think it’s time we see what else is out there. I truly do only wish you the best.’

It’s true, I do. Even after all the bullshit, I still hope that whatever it is he’s hiding, whatever life throws at him, I hope it’s kind. Deep down, we’re all people trying to make things work, and I know Tyler’s childhood set him up for darkness way before he had a chance to choose it.

The dishes stop clanking and heavy footsteps rattle the pictures in the hallway before Tyler pushes open the bedroom door with a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries in his hand. “Hey, babe. You’ve been so quiet today. You okay?”

The love bomb. He must sense that something is off. I can’t fall back into the trap. I tell myself that over and over again, but like a broken machine, my brain wants to believe he’s genuinely changed.

---