Ten
R I V E R
WHAT THE FUCK DID I get myself into?
“I don’t want to hear any comments from you, okay?” I demand, glaring at him from my spot on the floor.
I look absolutely pathetic, I know this. But it doesn’t stop me from making my demands.
Mako stares down at me with a plethora of emotions in his eyes. Sadness and disbelief are there.
But the most dominant emotion is unbridled fury.
Me and you both, buddy.
“What… did he do?” he asks through barely contained anger. His fists are clenched so tightly, his knuckles are bleached white.
“Nothing, can you just help me, please?” I deflect, not wanting to get into what an asshole my boyfriend is. It’s embarrassing and I don’t want to hear him say I told you so. After a moment, he remembers himself and scrambles over to me.
“Careful, I—I’m not clean right now,” I say, stuttering over how to say that I pissed myself. He pays me no mind. Gently, he picks me up, but it doesn’t matter. The searing pain in my ribs is breathtaking. I gasp from pain, and he freezes.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he says. My heart drops at the endearment. Normally, the pain would distract me from his words, but instead I focus on that so I’m distracted from the pain.
Fuck you, heart. That’s what got me into this situation. Clearly, it doesn’t know what it’s talking about.
With great pain, he cradles me in his arms and carries me out to his car. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my entire life. So badly, I want to crawl out of my skin and disappear. Before I can stop it, my hands are covering my face and sobs wrack my body once more. I don’t care about the pain right now, I’m just so… angry. So hurt and embarrassed. I can’t believe Ryan left me like this. I can’t believe he hit me again.
“I got you,” he whispers in my ear. “If you’re embarrassed, I got one better. I was seventeen and just showing up for a job interview. I was so nervous that I had gas. But when I went to fart, I actually shit myself.”
Something between a shocked gasp and laugh escapes my mouth. It hurts my ribs, but I’m too
stunned to care.
“You did not!”
I’d rather not look at Mako and think about him shitting himself. He’s too hot and that story is just weird. But it seems to work long enough to cease my pity party.
“I did. I ran out immediately but not before the manager got a good look at my retreating ass.”
Another laugh escapes, completely bewildered that he’s not the least bit embarrassed about his story.
He stares down at me with a crooked smirk and a thin layer of amusement masking his true feelings.
He’s distracting himself as much as he’s distracting me.
He opens the door to his Jeep Wrangler and daintily sets me on the seat. As he’s buckling my seatbelt, he explains, “I know you’re uncomfortable, but I don’t want him to come home while I’m here. If he does, I’ll end up in prison for first degree murder. I’m going to sit you in the car and run up and grab some clothes.”
I don’t have the energy to argue, so I nod. “Panties are in the top drawer. Pajamas are in the second drawer.”
It only takes him a few moments to come back. He must’ve found the duffle bag in the closet since it’s strapped around his broad shoulder. He gets in the car, and my cheeks redden.
I’m getting his seats wet and it stinks of stale piss.
“I’m so sorry,” I choke out, staring down at my damp lap.
“Don’t be, this isn’t your fault,” he says softly, though there’s a razor-sharp edge to it. “The seats are leather and easy to clean.”
“This is still humiliating despite your shitty story, but yeah, I guess that helps,” I mutter, offering a small smile to take away any sting. I appreciated that story more than he’ll ever know.
“Will you tell me what happened?” he asks gently as he peels away from the curb and away from my worst nightmare.
I shake my head. “Not right now. I just want to get clean,” I say quietly.
“Okay, I understand.”
I’M FRESHLY SHOWERED, AND just a little high on pain killers. When Mako wasn’t looking, I popped another. I’m pissed enough that I’m cool with getting high.
I’m settled on his plush couch and Shark Week is playing on low. I don’t much like couches right now, but it’s soft and comfortable. Mako is sitting next to me, making sure my body is positioned in a way that causes me the least amount of pain.
The attention he’s giving me is… disconcerting. Ryan just plopped me on the couch and that was
that.
“Do you need any rash cream?” he asks.
Did he seriously just—I can’t believe I was just asked if I need rash cream. By a devastatingly beautiful man, nonetheless. I didn’t think I could sink any lower.
Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I cover my face with hands.
“I’m so embarrassed,” I mumble through my makeshift barrier. His fingers pick at my good hand —pulling them away one by one and shooting little currents through each finger. I don’t like the way his skin on my skin feels. It’s feels too… good.
I pull my hand from his grip, but I don’t have the lady balls to meet his eyes.
“Hey,” he murmurs, lifting my chin until I’m forced to meet his gaze. “Nothing about what
happened tonight is your fault. It doesn’t take a genius to know you were left alone and couldn’t get up.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s not humiliating,” I grumble.
He nods his head slowly. “I get it, apparently my shitty story wasn’t enough. Will it help if tell you that the smell of pee is a fetish of mine?” he asks seriously. I rear back with disgust.
“It is not! That’s repulsive.”
He cracks a smile and shrugs a shoulder. When he gets up and walks towards the kitchen without defending himself, I grow worried that he wasn’t joking. “Oh, my god, is it really a fetish?”
The living room and kitchen is an open floor plan. The house is pretty bare, but apparently, he just moved in. Even though it doesn’t look very lived in, it’s beautiful. Gray wooden floors, pale sage walls with an accented black wall, and black furniture. His coffee table looks like a large rock. His kitchen has black cabinets, a gray and white backsplash with sage accents and light gray countertops.
He’s got good taste. I dig it.
Mako is rummaging around in the fridge with his back to me, but I can see his shoulders shaking with mirth. The light glints against his tattoos. Without permission, my mouth opens, the questions resting at the tip of my tongue. So badly, I want to ask their meaning. From my spot on the couch, I can see intricate details of a red blooming rose among wilted, blackened roses. The bright light shining against the ashes. Something about it draws me in. He finishes pouring himself a glass of milk—only psycho’s drink milk—and turns to me. That one look, staring at me with emotions I won’t dare decipher, I chicken out.
Instead, “You’re laughing at me,” I deadpan.
He turns and a beautiful smile is on his face. “If it means I get to be more humiliated than you, then no, I’m not joking.”
“But… that’s… that’s not how that works,” I finally get out. What is this feeling? I’m actually touched by the notion that he’d rather demean himself just to make me feel better. Even if it’s obvious it’s a lie, it’s still kind of… cute. Oddly. I wrinkle my nose.
He pulls a serious face. “I think your pee smells like roses.”
My mouth parts in a perfect O. What the hell is wrong with this man?
Another casual should shrug. “A lot,” he answers.
I hadn’t even realized I voiced that question out loud.
“This is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had.”
“It only gets weirder from here, baby,” he chirps, pulling out a jug of orange juice. He shakes it
at me. “Want some?”
“Uhm. Sure?”
I haven’t recovered yet. From anything he just said. Including that damn endearment. I’m a little too high to correct it. Maybe later.
THIS BED IS REALLY comfortable. The only thing it’s missing is Bilby curled up by my feet. I miss that little dude, he always knew when I was down and would curl his soft little body into mine.
My hands slide across the warm grey duvet. It’s Mako’s bed, considering his spare bedroom doesn’t have a bed yet. Apparently, he doesn’t have guests very often and it wasn’t a priority. I wonder if that’s because all his ‘guests’ sleep in his bed with him. The thought causes my heart to sink. When I realize that, I reach down inside myself, yank that pesky muscle up and slam it back in its place where it belongs.
Mako’s room is bare of any personal photos except one on his nightstand. A picture of a man that looks identical to him, but older and weathered. He’s smirking at the camera, the same smug smirk on Mako’s face that I’ve wanted to both slap and kiss off his face.
Must be an uncle. I think I remember Ryan saying Matt had a couple brothers. Mako doesn’t look much like Julie or Matt, so he must’ve gotten his genes from one of Matt’s brothers.
Resisting the urge to grab the frame and look closer, I turn my eyes away.
The walls are a light gray except for the rough gray stone wall his bed is pushed up against. The black hardwood flooring contracts nicely with the walls, giving the same aura to his room the rest of the house holds. Comfortable. Safe.
A stark contrast to Ryan’s house, who built it to look modern and sterile. White everywhere save for some of the furniture and the colorful pictures hanging on the walls. Cold and sterile, just like its owner.
Mako sits places a bottle of water and my pills on the end table.
“Is there anything I can get you?” he asks softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. The soft mattress compresses deeply around his weight.
“Maybe…” I lick my lips, not sure what I’m even asking. “Maybe just talk to me?” I cringe the moment the words leave my mouth. Desperately, I want to snatch them out of the air before they reach his ears, but it’s too late. He’s already turning his head towards me, his face softened and kind. He actually looks his age when he looks at me this way. Any other time, the stress from his job ages him.
When has he ever gotten the chance to feel young? To be young?
“Tell me about yourself, Mako,” I say. “Tell me something meaningful.”
And just like Jesus shining a light down on my biggest desires, he turns his tattooed arm towards me, showcasing the beautiful design of the blooming red rose in a bed of dead roses.
“I got this when I turned eighteen. It symbolizes my life, and how I see myself. I doubt Ryan told you this, but Julie and Matt adopted me when I was thirteen.”
My mouth parts. All the strange comments Ryan would make about Mako not belonging, or him not being his real brother make perfect sense now. The picture frame on Mako’s bedside table, of him and an older replica of him. That was his father. His real father.
“Before that, I grew up in a shitty neighborhood with pretty shitty parents. My mother sold herself for money and my father was a drug runner.” My lip trembles, completely blown away by how similar Mako’s childhood was to mine. Back at the library, when I spilled my life story to Mako, he never said a thing.
“This tattoo is a reminder that despite my ugly surroundings, I was still worth something. That where I came from doesn’t taint who I am in any way.” He lifts his eyes to me, staring at me pointedly.
The weight of his words is too much. My eyes drop back down to the tattoo.
“It’s… beautiful,” I whisper. That word. I hate it. But it’s the only word that does his story justice.
“I understand you more than you think I do, River,” he says softly, his eyes still waiting for mine to join them once again. I gather my strength and answer his silent demand. His glittering emerald eyes are enrapturing, so much that my breath dissipates. “I know what it’s like to not be your parent’s first choice. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be your own first choice. Choose yourself, River. Put yourself first.”
My lip trembles. A tear sneaks past my barriers and trails down my cheek. He doesn’t shy away from the emotion, instead, lifting his hand and wiping away the drop with his thumb. His skin sliding against mine so delicately leaves a trail of fire in its wake. My breath shudders out of me, completely at a loss of what to say.
He stands and looks back at me once more. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”
Right before he walks out the door, I find my voice, albeit being thin and hoarse. “Are you sure I can’t just take the couch? I don’t want to be a hindrance. You’ve helped more than enough.”
And I mean, way more than enough. He’s helped me to the restroom, and even off the toilet at one point. He’s kept me comfortable, hydrated, and fed me healthy food. The nurse said a good diet helps heal bodies. I didn’t even know Mako was paying that close attention. He kept me entertained with his weird fetish talk—which I still one hundred percent believe he’s fibbing about—and movies.
He gave me safety and comfort, and a piece of him that I’ll treasure forever. And now he’s giving me his bed.
I’ve never been taken care of like this and I don’t know how to feel about it. Mako shouldn’t be the one doing this for me, it should be Ryan—who hasn’t even called or texted. Either he hasn’t gone
home yet, or he doesn’t give a shit.
Both make me want to kill him.
“Are you trying to wake up in more pain tomorrow?” he asks, bringing me back to the
conversation.
I frown. “Well, no.”
“Then shut your pretty mouth and get some sleep.”
The door clicks behind him before I can open my pretty mouth and tell him thank you. Maybe that’s for the best. He’s helping me, but there’s an odd part of me that feels like I’m still supposed to hate him.
More than likely, it stems from that fucked up part of me that feels loyal to Ryan. But after what he did today, I think it’s time to finally accept the fact that I’m dating a lesser version of Billy.
An absolute piece of shit.
I was so desperate for love and human connection, that I fell for all his bullshit. Even when there were people literally shoving the facts down my throat. And all I did was spit them back in their face.
God, Alison. It hurts to admit she was right, but then again, that’s only my pride. I was awful to her. Part of that was due to jealousy, the other part because of the things Ryan fed me about her.
Alison and Ryan grew up together, though Alison is my age. Their parents were best friends, and they fell into that cliché fairytale. The parents pushed them together, Ryan and Alison went along with it, dated throughout high school and almost a year of Alison’s college career before they split.
He insisted she was a crazy bitch that cheated on him constantly and stalked him when he left her. His claims never matched the Alison I interacted with, but I convinced myself it was all an act.
That she was the manipulative, lying bitch when all along, it was Ryan.
She was never mean or vindictive towards me, she was just a woman trying to help another woman.
“She was right,” I whisper aloud. “And I’m a fucking idiot.”
“RIVER, WHAT THE HELL is going on? Why the hell didn’t anyone tell me you were in the hospital? Why wouldn’t Ryan call me? And if you lie to me, you’re on diaper duty for a full week. Don’t fuck with me,” Amelia threatens through the phone. Her threat makes me smile. Diaper duty with a mini Amelia doesn’t sound so bad compared to telling the truth.
But alas. “I was jumped in Shallow Hill. I don’t know by who. And Ryan… Ryan made it
worse.”
Silence. It sounds deathly.
“What do you mean he made it worse, River?” She questions darkly. I’ve seen Amelia pissed before—it’s scary. When I don’t answer right away, she continues her threats. “Scratch that, I’ll make it a month. And I’ll wait till my six weeks are up and me and David will have sex in the next room the entire time.”
“You’re tempting me with a good time,” I reply in a bored tone, though there’s a small smile on my face. I inspect my nails. They’re broken and jagged. I wonder how many weird looks I’d get if I walked into a nail salon right now. The thought makes me want to hide and go do it all in the same breath.
Why should I hide that I was attacked? I’m a fucking survivor, right? I always have been. Maybe I should start relishing in the attention from bruises and a broken soul. Maybe I should turn it into
armor.
“…River? RIIIIVEEERR.”
Amelia’s impatient tone snaps me out of it. I clear my throat.
“He left me, Amelia. He was so angry that I put myself in that situation.”
Even now, I’m still lightening the gravity of his actions. I’m still protecting him, and I’ve no idea why. She could ask me if Jesus is a virgin and I’d have a better answer for her.
Amelia sighs. “I’m not happy that you still go there, either, River. It’s obviously dangerous, and it does nothing but cause harm. Whether its mental or physical. But despite that, you didn’t deserve a damn thing that happened to you and he has no right to treat you like that. Why don’t you come stay with us? We haven’t turned the spare into a nursery yet.”
I lick my dry lips. To tell the truth or continue to be a liar? Hmm, decisions.
“I… I kind of have a place to stay right now. I’m good, Amelia. Really.”
“Where are you staying?” Damn her nosiness. I can’t fault her. I’d ask the same. “River?” she
prompts when I don’t answer.
“His brother’s?” I said it like a question. Fuck, I said it like a damn question. Amelia pounces.
“Explain yourself. Now.”
If I didn’t feel so broken, I’d be pacing the floor right now. I never was in the habit of biting my nails before, but maybe I should start. Maybe I should make them nice and stumpy before going to the nail salon.
“He’s a detective actually. And coincidentally, I ended up in front of his house that night. He’s been helping out ever since.”
I don’t tell her about his random pop-ins when I’m leaving class. That would lead to confessing about why he felt the need to find me. And then that’ll lead to the library incident, when I felt too… free. Like I could say anything or do anything with no consequence.
“Are you comfortable there?”
I know what she’s really asking. Is Mako just like Ryan? Does he scare me too?
He does. Just not in the way she’d think.
“Yes,” I breathe. And this time, I’m telling the complete truth.
She sighs in relief. “Okay, well I have to go throw up now. But will you text me? Let me know you’re okay and if you need anything?”
I smile, more grateful than ever that Amelia’s in my life. “Of course, babe. I love you.”
“I love you too, River.”
126 MISSED CALLS.
349 UNREAD MESSAGES.
50 VOICEMAILS.
RYAN: Baby, please come home. I need you. I’m losing my fucking mind without you.
RYAN: I can’t fucking live like this, River. You’re killing me. You’re fucking killing me.
RYAN: Does this make you happy? That I want to fucking kill myself? I’ll fucking do it, River. I’ll write my suicide note and tell everyone it’s all your fault, that way when someone asks you what it’s like to murder someone, you’ll know.
RYAN: I’m staring at this gun in my hand and all I want to do is put a bullet in my brain. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself.
RYAN: I’m just so hurt by the way you’re treating me. You’re acting like I never meant anything to you.
RYAN: So much for never fucking leaving me, River. You promised you’d never leave me.
RYAN: Was everything a lie? All those times you told me you loved me. That we would be
together forever. Everything was a lie.
RYAN: I want to kill myself right now. The only thing keeping me alive is the hope that
you’ll come back to me.
RYAN: Baby PLEASE.
RYAN: Where the fuck are you, River? I’ll fucking find you if you don’t tell me.
RYAN: No one will ever keep me from finding you.
RYAN: FUCKING ANSWER ME!
RYAN: I’m coming for you.
EVERY TIME HIS NAME flashes across the screen, I want to break it. I just got this new phone, too, considering Billy smashed the other one. That entire week, I struggled with the push and pull. I’d go from seething mad to missing him and crying because of what he did to me. My fingers would hover over the keypad, desperate to respond to him. Desperate to plead for him not to kill himself. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not even when he threatened to come looking for me.
That was two days ago, and he still hasn’t found me. I assume the last place he ever expected me to be was his brother’s. Ryan doesn’t know that Mako and I have ever talked past the short encounter when I met their parents. Didn’t keep me from constantly checking out the window in fear, waiting for his car to pull up.
It’s hard to admit that the past week I’ve been here, this is the safest I’ve ever felt in… well, my entire life. I hate that. I hate that being around Ryan feels like standing next to a tornado, while his brother feels like finding safety in a storm shelter.
Another text comes through. This time it’s an image. Ryan is holding a gun to his head, the look in his eyes desperate and wild. My heart drops. Is he actually going to do it? When he threatened to kill himself, I never truly believed it, though it kept me up at night praying he wouldn’t. But this seems too real. Ryan’s not the type to hold a gun to his head.
His name flashes across my phone for the millionth time. Another incoming call. Before I can stop myself, I snatch up the phone and click the green button.
“Hello?”
A moment of silence, and then a sniffle. “I wasn’t expecting you to answer.” He sounds pitiful, his voice downtrodden and full of shame.
“I wasn’t expecting you to leave me in a puddle of piss, but I guess shit happens, Ryan. Why are you holding a fucking gun to your head? What is wrong with you?” My voice is full of anger. I didn’t expect the anger to hit me so suddenly and so hard. But the moment I heard his voice through the receiver, all I felt was raw agony from his actions.
“Because I can’t live without you, River! How many times do I have to say that? Look, I am so
sorry, River. I miss you so much, and I’m so ashamed of the way I acted. You’re injured and it wasn’t the right time.”
I smile, though not from humor. “When is the right time?”
He trips over his words. “What do you mean?”
“You said it wasn’t the right time. So, tell me Ryan, when is the right time to beat your girlfriend?”
“There is no right time, that’s not what I meant,” he snaps, growing defensive. Ah, so he doesn’t like to be called out on hitting me? And I thought I ran from my problems.
“Then what did you mean?”
“I meant, I should’ve handled it better. But, River, I was angry you put yourself in that situation.
I’ve told you to stop going there. It’s dangerous and this is what happens. Can you blame me for being upset that you continue to walk into a dangerous house every month? Where you were raped and abused? This was bound to happen. And you lied to me, and you’re still lying about who hurt you.
You’re protecting them.”
“I’m not protecting them,” I snap. “I’m protecting everyone else. You’re right, there are dangerous people in Shallow Hill. And my ghosts caught up with me, but I’m not about to let them haunt anyone else’s life.”
“My dad is a lawyer, I’m a lawyer. I could put them away for life,” he argues.
I shake my head, frustration bubbling inside me. He doesn’t understand. He won’t ever understand. He’s a privileged boy that grew up with loving parents in a beautiful house. He has
always gotten his way.
But he won’t get his way this time.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice on the edge of desperation. “I just love you so fucking much, River. More than anyone I’ve ever been with. I’ve never felt this way about any of them, so this is… this is new to me, okay? I am so fucking scared of losing you. And that night… it was like watching my worst nightmare come to life. I freaked. I treated you horribly. I fucked everything up, and I’m so fucking sorry for that.” His voice cracks at the end of his sentence, right along with my resolve.
My shoulders deflate. Why does it hurt so bad hearing him hurt? He doesn’t hurt when I hurt. I grit my hair and pull, so frustrated with the effect Ryan has on me. It’s like a riptide—every time I think I’m going to pull myself out and free myself, he’s right there to pull me back under. Drowning and suffocating me. It’s so exhausting fighting him. I just want to go back to where we were before I went to Shallow Hill. We were so fucking happy, and god, do I want that back again.
“River, can we just… can you please come home so we can talk?”
I feel myself starting to slip. He hit me. He hurt me. He left me. He did so many bad things to me.
But I think about the picture of him holding a gun to his head, the crazed gleam in his eye. He’s hurting, too. And maybe this time, he’s actually fucking sorry. I’ve never actually left him before.
Maybe this time he took me seriously and will change.
“Please?” he begs when I still don’t answer. “I just want to talk to you. See you how you’re doing and if you’re okay. I promise we’ll just talk. I won’t even touch you if you don’t want me to.”
I sigh. We do have a lot to talk about. I’ve put more effort into this relationship than I ever had with anyone else. All the other men I’ve entertained were just that—entertainment. I never felt the things Ryan makes me feel.
It’s pretty clear Ryan has issues, but maybe if he opens up to me better and we establish healthy coping mechanisms for his anger, we can fix this. That’s what I’ve learned in my studies. Coping mechanisms. Finding what triggers him and learning how to handle it in a healthy way.
Aside from that, all my belongings are there. I’ve been wearing Mako’s oversized clothes for the past week, and I’ve caught him giving me a few heated glances when he thought I wasn’t looking.
They sent a thrill straight through my bloodstream and disgusted me all at once.
“Come on, just a couple weeks ago we were so happy. The way I made you laugh. How hard I made you come—"
“Fine,” I interrupt, already feeling myself weakening to those memories. I have to admit, most of the last two years together have been absolute bliss. “I’ll come home. But if I start to feel scared in any way, I’ll have the police on speed dial.”
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize that’s a sentence I should never have to say to my boyfriend. But I don’t have fucking room to talk, though. Look at where I came from. Everyone has demons, and I love Ryan enough to try to help him fight those demons.
He sighs in a relief, and I can feel his smile through the phone. “Okay, baby. I’ll be here waiting.” That word again. Baby. It feels different coming out of Ryan’s mouth. Like familiarity and comfort. With Mako, it feels… thrilling. Like touching a livewire. I think I’ve had enough thrills to last me a lifetime, now’s the time where I settle down and relish in comfort.
I hang up the phone and immediately open up my Uber app. Mako’s at work so I don’t have to worry about sneaking out.
I dress back into my pajamas that Mako packed for me, collect the few things I had here in a grocery bag and am sliding into the back of the Uber within fifteen minutes.
The entire ride back, all I can pray for is that this doesn’t turn ugly again. I might not survive it this time.
“HEY BABY. I MISSED you,” Ryan says, standing from the couch and walking towards me. I take one step back, not quite ready for his touch. Immediately he pauses, a flash of hurt skirting across his eyes. But he steps back nonetheless. That one movement comforts me.
“I’m sorry. Can I get you anything? How are you feeling?”
“How does it look like I feel?” I still haven’t let go of my anger yet. Just because I’m here, doesn’t mean I’m not still hurting.
His eyes track over my purpled face, casted pinky finger and hunched over body. Every movement hurts my ribs, and I still have a slight limp.
He looks dejected, but anger brews in his blue eyes. “It makes me angry looking at you, River.
Because of what that son of a bitch did to you. I want to kill him.”
And apparently me too. I keep that part to myself, though.
“Please, come sit down.” I glance at the couch. Memories of lying helpless on the couch in a
puddle of pee assault me. Memories of crying and screaming for his help, while he yelled at me and
smacked me in the face.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
I take a step back.
“You’re not leaving,” he says. The words send a jolt of fear through me, like an expresso shot straight into my veins. When my eyes slide back to him, his concerned mask has fallen and a darker one has replaced it.
“I…I wasn’t going to,” I say. I hate how weak I just sounded. I lift my phone, my fingers moving towards the SOS button. The phone is ripped from my hand and thrown across the house in a matter of seconds. I flinch at the crash and sound of breaking glass. Great, there goes another one.
“You don’t need that. I just want to help you, River. You never let me help you.”
His soft tone starkly contrasts with the aggressive action. It’s honestly fucking terrifying. I bite my tongue to keep my words in, tempted to remind him we're in this situation because of the last time I asked him for help.
Subtly, I glance around the house. I know this house like the back of my hand now. I know where
all the exits are.
I know where the knives are.
I smile at him. “I’d love for you to help me.” I hold out my hand—the one without the broken pinky. “Will you help me to the couch? I’m still sore.”
His shoulders relax, a smile slides across his face and he grips my hand gently.
“See, baby? That’s all I want to do. Make you feel better. Make up for my past mistakes.”
The second my ass hits the couch, so does the reality that I made a huge mistake coming back here.
“So, let’s talk,” I breathe. I grab his hands and hold them tightly in mine. They feel cold, but familiar. I close my eyes briefly and brush my thumbs across his skin.
No tingles. No thrill. Just familiarity. Something I’ve always wanted in life. Comfort, the feeling of home, to be content. I was so tired of being touched by unfamiliar hands that I thrived off the comfort of Ryan’s hands on me. But I never realized that familiar doesn’t mean safe until now.
Billy’s hands are familiar… This was a mistake.
“I think you owe me an apology first,” he says. My eyes snap open. His dull blues bore into my golden orbs. He is one hundred percent serious.
Desperately, I try to search for the man I fell in love with, but all I see staring back at me is the face of evil. He isn’t even trying to hide it anymore.
I clear my throat.
“What would you like me to apologize for?”
Loving you despite your flaws? Thinking I could change you? Healthy coping mechanisms, my ass. He had me so fooled. I had kidded myself, thinking he was just a man with a few anger issues and little too spoiled. Now I realize I was wrong. So, so wrong.
“For going to Shallow Hill, putting yourself in a dangerous situation and letting another man touch you.” My hand trembles with the need to pull them from his. I don’t want his skin on mine, it burns like hot coals forged from Hell.
How could I when he thinks I let Billy put his hands on me? As if I had the goddamn choice.
“I’m willing to forgive you, River. I know”—he clenches his jaw— “I know another man fucked you. I’m willing to still be with you. But I want an apology.”
So many thoughts are racing through my head, I can’t pin a single one down and focus on it.
I’m sorry for being raped, Ryan. I’m sorry I was beaten half to death while my mother watched and didn’t do a damn thing to save me. I’m sorry I watched my mother being raped in return. I’m sorry that an evil man is attached to me and will do anything to hurt me. And I’m sorry you’re just like him.
“I’m sorry, Ryan,” I say softly. If I speak any louder, he might detect the emotion in my voice.
He’ll hear the anger. The disgust. The absolute shame that I’ll never learn. I always come crawling back to him.
His fingers brush a stray strand of hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear. I shiver beneath his touch.
He thinks it’s because he excites me. I think it’s because he disgusts me.
“I forgive you, baby. We all make mistakes. But just because I forgive you, that doesn’t mean I will ever forget. Do you understand that?” he asks, his voice quiet and steady. Sinister and
unforgiving.
“I understand.”
He smiles, his perfect teeth poking through. He doesn’t have sharp canines like Mako does. His two front teeth aren’t a tad longer than the rest. They look like veneers. What did his teeth look like before a dentist made them perfect little squares in his lying mouth?
“I’m sorry I hit you, River. I’m sorry I yelled at you. And I’m sorry that I didn’t come get you before you embarrassed yourself all over my couch.” I nearly see red by the time the last words slip past his stupid fake teeth. “And I’m sorry I fucked my secretary.”
The red bleeds into an icy blue as my blood runs cold. “You… you fucked someone else?”
He scoffs. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t after you let someone else inside you? Come on, River. It was only fair I got even. And now that I have, we can be happy again. You won't go to Shallow Hill
anymore, and I'll fire that slut.”
Oh, sweet Ryan, yes you will.
“Okay,” I whisper. I look into his eyes and force a brittle smile. “That’s fair.”
The smile he returns can only be called evil. Just like him.
Good thing I can be, too.
THE SHRILL RING FROM my phone startles me. I drop the coffee mug I’m washing, and it shatters into the sink. Ryan liked that mug. Anxiety rushes through me as I try to figure out how I’m going to explain how it broke. Maybe he won’t notice.
Stupid.
He uses this mug every day.
My hands shake as I wipe my hands on a dish towel quickly and answer the phone without
looking who it is. “Hello?”
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Where are you?”
I close my eyes and release a weighted sigh. It’s only been two days since I came back to Ryan.
Mako called me both days and it’s been absolute hell trying to hide them from Ryan. I also skipped class so he couldn’t find me there. I’m hiding from Mako, and he knows it. He knows exactly where I
am.
“You can’t just call me, Mako.”
Good thing I never saved his phone number in my phone. I deleted all evidence of him.
Surprisingly, Ryan hasn’t asked where I stayed during the week apart. I know he went looking for me at Amelia’s. She told me he showed up, and she slammed the door in his face, not confirming nor denying if I was there. I think he just assumed I was.
That’s where I wish I would’ve gone.
“Why? Because you’re back with him?”
The sound of water splashing on the tiled floor filters through my racing thoughts. I whip my head to see the sink overflowing with water.
“Shit,” I mutter as I rush over to turn off the spout. I scramble for the dish towel to mop up the water on the floor, nearly crying aloud when my ribs protest. My heart is racing, and I’m not even
sure why at this point.
“River?”
“Just…just hold on, okay?” I snap. I finish soaking up the water. Thankfully, I caught it before it made it huge mess. I trap the phone between my ear and shoulder and wring out the dish towel in the sink.
I stick my hand into the sink so I can drain it and right as I grab onto the stopper, I feel a sharp sting on my finger. Flinching in pain, bite my lip and rip the plug out of the sink. I cut my self on the broken glass.
“River?” Mako says again, sounding impatient.
“What? What do you want, Mako?” I return his impatience tenfold.
My finger is bleeding, my hands are still shaking, and I’m on the verge of tears.
“You left without a word and haven’t answered my calls for the past two days. Did you think I wouldn’t be worried?”
“Yes, actually. I did. Rest assured, I’m fine.”
He sighs. I ignore it as I rush to the bathroom to find the peroxide and a band-aid. I pour peroxide on it and inspect the wound. It’s pretty superficial, but deep enough to cause a scar. Now I definitely won’t be able to hide my mistake from Ryan.
I rinse off the blood and wrap a band-aid around it tightly.
“You don’t sound fine.” I pause, watching the last of my blood circle down the drain.
“I was fine until you called.” Truth.
Ryan has reverted back to his old self. Loving. Sweet. Thoughtful. And my fear of him is tentatively retreating. He hasn’t shown his dark side to me since the day I came home, and it’s to the point where I’m questioning myself—thinking maybe I just overreacted. It’s hard to picture in my head when he’s being so loving now.
He bought me yet another new phone, fired the secretary he cheated on me with and brought home champagne to celebrate. I nearly drank the whole bottle and let him fuck me in the ass that night, despite my bruised and broken body. I covered my ashamed tears with the symphony of his snoring.
Regardless, we're on our way back to being happy again. Or something like that. I’m still healing, and he’s taken good care of me so far. He’s made it clear as long as I’m a good girl and don’t fuck up, he’ll continue to take good care of me. He promised.
“I’m just worried about you, River,” he says lowly. His deep voice resonates through me.
“Well do us both a favor and stop.” I hang up and immediately delete the call from my log.
Then, I go and grab some super glue. Maybe he’ll appreciate the effort to fix my mistake.
THE MUG RESEMBLES JAGGED rocks smashed together like crooked teeth; the ragged edges held together with shitty glue that will melt in the dishwasher within seconds. It resembles me. Just a bunch of mismatched pieces barely holding it together.
This mug can never go in the dishwasher again. I should’ve put it in there in the first place, but cleaning helps me calm my mind. Dusting the ceiling fan blades would’ve been less risky, but the dust makes me sneeze, and fuck it, who cares if I sneeze because pretty soon I’ll be trying to keep the blood from coming out of my nose instead.
And worst of all, now I'm doomed to a lifetime of hand washing it. It's a guarantee that I'll break it again. The broken pieces will break into tinier pieces over and over until eventually, it'll be too far gone to piece back together again.
I might as well be staring into a crystal fucking ball.
I sigh and carefully set the mug on the dinner table. My hand shakes from the anxiety blooming inside me. Ryan’s going to kill me. If he tries, I’ll flick the cup and it’ll fall back apart, then stab him in the jugular with his favorite mug. Poetic.
Maybe I should just let him kill me. Though the bastard will surely make me suffer first. Can’t be much worse than what Billy has already done to me. And those will be my last words too. He wasn't the one to truly break me.
The door opens and I hear Ryan's feet shuffling across the gray hardwood floors.
“Babe?” he calls from the living room.
He sounds like he's in a good mood. Maybe he won't be mad.
My body knows I’m telling myself lies and the anxiety worsens.
“In here,” I answer, the tremble in my voice prominent. Damn it.
With each footstep, my hands tremble harder and grow warmer with sweat. I sit on my hands to abate the shaking.
He walks in the dining room, his face pinched in confusion.
“Why are you in he—” he pauses when he sees my crime in front of me. And the murder weapons are nestled nicely under my ass cheeks.
His face blanks, straightening into a perfectly calm mask. The scariest one of all.
“What happened?” he asks, his voice devoid of emotion.
I blow out a shaky breath. “I was washing it and it slipped from my hands,” I explain quietly. A wobbly, uneven smile skitters across my face. “It adds character, don’t ya’ think?”
He stares at the mug. My heart drops when a smile spreads across his face. I don’t know what that smile means.
“You went through the trouble of gluing it back together again?” he asks, his darkened eyes lifting to meet mine. A tremble rocks through my body.
“Yes.”
“How long did it take you?” he asks.
Why, is that how long you’ll torture me for, sweet Ryan?
I shrug a shoulder. “A couple hours.”
He walks over to me and leans over slowly. I feel his lips press against the top of my head. I hadn’t realized my shoulders were to my ears until I force them to drop. I’d rather not show how nervous I am. Men like Ryan feed off fear like sharks in a tank full of blood.
His hands slide up my back and to my shoulders. He starts to massage them and a groan releases from my throat before I can stop it.
“Hey,” he whispers soothingly. “It’s okay. Accidents happen. I think it’s cute that you put in the effort to fix it.” He ends the sentence with a short laugh and drags his fingers over the jagged edges.
“Honestly, it makes me so happy you went through the trouble. I didn’t think I could love you more.”
I want to cry. Here I was, building myself up for a beating, so sure he’d hit me. Instead, I was just being dramatic. If he’s not mad over his favorite mug being broken, then I hadn’t been giving him enough credit.
Deep down, I believe Ryan does love me. Love is something otherworldly. Something entirely potent and powerful that it makes you do crazy things. Like hit them. And stay when you’re hit. It’s an emotion that no one person will ever be able to define. There’s no saying how love should be. One person thinks loving someone means accepting their flaws while another might think loving someone means trying to help them change for the better. Who’s to say who’s right?
All the problems we’ve had has been partially my fault. He’s not the only one to blame. Clearly, looking at the eyesore of a mug in front of me proves that.
“I felt so bad,” I say, nestling my head into his stomach. His spine straightens as he lifts his hands from my shoulders to my head, gripping me tightly into his body.
“You should,” he whispers. My throat dries. “But you tried to fix it. That’s what matters.”
A tear slips from my eye. I nod my head and squeeze my eyes shut so no more mistakes slip through. I don’t want him to see me so weak.
“Is dinner made?” he asks.
My eyes snap open, widening into discs. Oh my god. I spent so much time trying to fix the goddamn mug, I forgot about dinner. He always comes home to dinner. He looks forward to it every night after working at the firm all day.
I clear my throat. “I figured we could do pizza tonight since I got sidetracked.”
Ryan’s hand tightens in my hair, tighter and tighter until strands begin to break away. Stabbing little pinpricks bloom throughout my scalp. I bite my lip to hold in the whimper.
Just as suddenly, he releases me, leaving my head spinning and my stomach in knots. “Sounds good, baby. Let me know when it’s here.”
He walks away without another look back, his body moving languidly out of the kitchen as if he’s going on a midnight stroll on the beach.
Another tear slips through. I wipe it away quickly and pick up my phone.
I’m ordering fucking cinnamon sticks now, too.
