The words stuck to her heart like a magnet. Years had passed and every single word that he uttered - false, degrading, poisonous - were still deeply rooted within her. Like a wounded animal, trapped and broken, her mind could not get past this. As much as she tried to believe that all the insults and side eyes were beneath her, this was the norm. It had been since she was a child. With no one else to defend her. To tell her, No, this is not who you are. To look her in the eye and promise that she was not like this.
But in the mirror, that was all she saw. A weakling who could not survive without his help. The training - under the guise of top-ranked boarding schools and complicated lectures - was her guidebook. Her mission was to be his pride and joy. Which in turn, resulted in only being used to bring down leaders, and men who could not think past their primal urges.
To ask for help was a crime. To express her feelings was shameful. No one did that. Not in her circles. The word "therapy" was a curse word. Something we don't do. Being vulnerable was not an option. When asked, she'd snarl and get defensive. Protect the person who she had no business protecting. In spite of herself, she'd spew the lies that were given to her. Disguised as truth. Her truth.
Now, she was damaged. Always fearing her actions would disappoint. Knowing she was not worthy of anyone's love and care. So, she couldn't give her all. Every man who looked at her, was only seeing a facade. An award-winning act that had been created, displayed, and revised for decades. Friends could tell she wasn't herself, but instead of releasing grief in the form of tears or confessions, she'd pour another glass for them to drink, so that they could share and shift the conversation.
Every night, whether she was alone, or in the arms of one who truly did love her, the thoughts lingered. Pain could be dulled, but it was still there. Even when his hands would try to heal, comforting her, speaking bold promises of love, and even going beyond what was necessary to show her. It still wasn't enough to prove that she was worth the love she needed. The darkness was still taking over time and again.
What had she become? A powerful woman who could bring others to their knees in submission. Demand respect in the position she held. But when the white hat was tossed off of her head and she was stripped of the strong suit of power, she couldn't receive that courtesy. She wouldn't allow that courtesy to be given. It was obvious she was being abused and humiliated. And she wouldn't speak. When she tried, the opportunity would be shoved in her face and she'd shrink within herself. Others would try to break through the prison walls of her soul, but she would push them away. Every time. Knowing that it was worth something - being the martyr would elevate everyone else and she'd still win.
But until she could see that living outside under his watchful eye was possible, she would always lose. Until she scrubbed herself clean of the mess that was her father, she would never gain anything. The people she loved, the honor she deserved. The freedom to be herself.