Five
R I V E R
“RIDDLE ME THIS, RIVER . How much force does it take before a bone breaks?” a voice says from behind me. Chills rush over my skin when that deep voice infiltrates my ears. I pause mid-step, nearly tripping over my feet when my foot comes back down clumsily. Immediately, I’m frustrated. I hate that he caught me off guard and I hate that he now knows he did.
Reluctantly and with a massive amount of irritation, I turn to find Mako, which only heightens my bad mood when I see how sinfully delicious he looks. He’s dressed in black jeans and a black tee shirt, brightening his colorful tattoos. I want to study them closer, ask why he got each and every one of them. You can learn a lot about a person just from their tattoos. But I would never ask—I have as much interest in getting to know Mako as I do getting to know the shark. They’re both perfectly capable of eating me alive.
The gears in my head are turning overtime as I try to figure out how the hell he found me and why he found me. There’s no way Mako goes to school here. He looks too old—definitely older than Ryan.
The stalker raises an eyebrow when I continue to stare dumbly. Shaking myself, I feel blood rise to my cheeks.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my tone accusing and harsh now that he caught me checking him out.
Who am I kidding, it would’ve been harsh regardless.
I had just walked out of my psych class and was heading towards my favorite donut shop. I’m only a block away. It’s not good for my body, and Ryan would be pissed if I gained weight, but I’m especially hungry today.
At least until Mako showed up. Now, my appetite has vanished completely. Actually, I feel a
little sick.
He smiles. “Getting a donut.”
Without my permission, my eyes track down his body. He doesn’t look like he eats donuts.
“Right,” I say doubtfully, and then turn to walk towards the donut shop. I eat donuts. I’m not a liar like he is.
He falls in step behind me, and my blood heats and chills all at once. A cold, nervous sweat breaks across my brow, even though it’s eighty degrees out.
What if Ryan sees us? He could easily drive by. The donut shop is only a few blocks from his work. If Ryan spotted Mako walking next to me, there’s no telling how he’d react. He loves me and doesn’t want me around bad influences. One look at Mako, and it’s easy to see he falls under that category.
“You can’t walk next to me,” I snap, rushing my steps forward. His long legs eat up the little distance I gained in a matter of seconds.
“Why not?” he asks, though it sounds like he already knows the answer. It sounds like he’s
testing me.
“Because I don’t like you.”
He hums. “So, are you going to answer me? How much force does it take before a bone breaks?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to stalk someone with an anatomy degree,” I answer briskly, still attempting to quicken my pace. All I’m accomplishing is getting a workout in before I gorge on sugar and calories.
“I’ll tell you the answer. It’s not about the force, it’s about their angle of attack. If you’re smart and have a good angle, you can break someone without any effort at all.”
I stop, and Mako doesn’t miss a beat. He stops next to me, his heat crowding in on me until I’m in danger of a heat stroke. His energy feels like I’m being attacked by a solar flare.
I turn to him, my eyes narrowed. Anger pulses through me in bright heat waves. If he looked close enough, he’d see it thrumming in my neck.
“I know what you’re insinuating. Ryan loves me,” I say.
Why did I sound like a child right there? Instead of smiling in triumph, he frowns.
“Do you really believe that?” he asks seriously.
“I do,” I answer with conviction.
He looks disappointed. Why would he even care? I’m disappointed I care why he cares. Slowly, he nods his head, as if he’s accepting something he just realized.
“He’s good, I’ll give him that.” When I frown, he clarifies, “He’s broken you so effortlessly, the pain hasn’t even hit you yet.”
IT’S DATE NIGHT, AND I’ve just spent two hours getting ready. I put on minimal makeup this time and decided to let my outfit do all the shining. I’m wearing a royal blue satin dress, with silver pumps. It makes my golden eyes shine, appearing almost unnatural. I’m quite proud of the invention I’ve made out of myself.
Ryan’s been sitting on the couch, impatiently waiting for me. I can feel the negative energy through the walls. He’s taking me to an elite restaurant two towns over. Reputation only. Because only people with high social standing get in with a reservation. Anyone off the streets are put on a list, and constantly overshadowed by the people of high importance.
Ryan’s father is one of the best lawyers in the country. Ryan is set to take over Matt’s law firm— even though he’s only twenty-five. No one would dare turn down the only person capable of getting you out of anything. I don’t know how Matt’s carefree personality translates to a fierce lawyer, but somehow, he’s managed to hang onto his morality.
Ryan, not so much.
I walk down the grand staircase, veins of black and gold in the pristine marble. Ryan’s waiting
in the foyer, the extravagant chandelier hanging above him shrouding him shadows in the otherwise dark house. When he sees me, his eyes slowly rake down my body. A chill works its way down my spine. His stare rivals a vampire’s when they get that first whiff of fresh blood.
“You look beautiful,” he says softly. An emotion I can’t name flickers in his eyes, gone too
quickly before I can figure it out.
There’s that word again. Beautiful.
Despite his word choice, my heart flutters, and the biggest smile breaks out across my face. He returns my smile with a sinister grin and holds out a hand for me. I take it without reservation, my excitement growing. He squeezes my hand and leads me to the car.
The ride there is silent, and a little stiff. I shift, racking my brain for something to say. I hate the mundane talk, but sometimes, I don’t know what else to say. Comfortable silences between Ryan and I are nonexistent lately. Usually when he’s silent, he’s brooding or upset and fills the space with uneasiness. I know I took a little longer than I should’ve getting ready, but I’d hoped he’d think it was worth it after seeing how good I look.
“I hope you’re hungry. This place has the best food in town,” Ryan announces, though his voice is missing the upbeat excitement it had when he first told me where he was taking me two days ago.
I sigh dreamily at the mention of food. “I’m starving. The only thing I ate today was a donut,” I say.
Ryan shoots me a weird look. “I hope you don’t eat that stuff all the time, River. You’re going to get fat.”
“I’m not going to get fat,” I protest, laughing and smacking his arm in an attempt at humor.
My laughter fades when he pins me with a dark look. “Why? Because you want men to lust after you? Don’t act like such a whore, River.”
I tighten my lips, my heart dropping into the pit of my stomach at his words. I hate when he says things like that to me. “Stop calling me a whore, Ryan. I’m dating you, aren’t I?” I snap, growing irritated at his name-calling.
He chuckles without humor. “Then stop acting like one. That’s why you’re dressed the way you are. To show off your hot little body like it’s your right.”
I feel myself sinking quickly, circling into a deep hole I’m digging myself. I don’t know what to say. When I try to stand up for myself, it only makes things worse. It never puts him in his place, nor does he bother apologizing. It seems it doesn’t matter anymore—they’ll never be the right words.
Fighting with a lawyer has got to be the most frustrating thing I’ve ever experienced.
After a moment of silence, I question hesitantly, “Do you want me to get fat?”
It sounds like he’s almost bitter about my body. I have curves in the right places, an overly generous ass and perky tits—I know that and have used it to my advantage during my party days before Ryan. He could say yes and expect me to gain weight. The thought sends a shot of fear in my veins. My beauty used to be a curse, attracting men long before I was old enough, but now that I’m older and feel more in control of who’s allowed to touch me, I like who I am and how I look. I like myself and I don’t want to change for anyone.
He scoffs. “Don’t be stupid. I wouldn’t date you if you were above a size five.”
My mouth drops in shock. Five? That’s an obscenely low number. Does he not realize a woman can be any size and still have a flat stomach? And so what if they don’t? Why do men always chalk women’s worth up to the shape of their body, and how they look? It makes no fucking sense to me when our bodies are all going to go to hell when we get old anyways.
With effort, I snap my mouth shut and contemplate how the hell to approach this. I need to do it in
a way that won’t cause a fight.
“What if I am a size six?” The snarky question slips out before I can stop it. I close my eyes in resignation. That’s probably going to stir him up.
He chuckles. “You’re not. I check your clothing.”
Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out.
“Why?” I whisper.
“You affect my image, River. I can’t risk that when I’m trying to earn my way to the top.”
He’s already graduated law school and gaining a clientele at his father’s firm. Still, I’m not sure how a woman wearing above a size five has anything to do with that. If I get in an argument about the woman’s body, he’ll turn us around and won’t let me eat for the rest of the night. Desperately, I want to argue about how wrong it is to consider any woman above five fat and how obtuse he’s acting, but I don’t want to ruin our date before it’s even started.
Furthermore, I’m fucking hungry.
I clear my throat and force a smile. “I won’t gain any more weight, don’t worry. I’ve been a size five since I was seventeen.” Actually, I was a size zero because of malnourishment, but I don’t mention that.
I’m not in Shallow Hill anymore. I’ve risen above that, and at a healthy weight. I watch my diet for the most part and exercise weekly. My time in Shallow Hill isn’t something I’m willing to dwell on.
We arrive at a four Michelin star restaurant named Rosebud. I’d obviously never been, though I had heard the food here is absolutely divine. When we walk in, wonder seizes my entire being. The restaurant is decorated with shades of white and blue, with grand arches in each entryway and carefully styled plants and pricy art decorating the place. It’s quiet in here, the customers speaking in low tones and holding their knives and forks daintily. It’s a little posh for my taste, but I’m sure I
could get used to it.
Hopefully.
A beautiful fountain the size of my house in Shallow Hill is in the entrance where the hostess awaits for guests. When she spots us, she immediately recognizes Ryan. A bright smile stretches across her face petite face, and a low heat simmers in her brown eyes. She’s pretty. And she’s looking at my boyfriend like she knows more about him than she should.
“Good evening Mr. Fitzgerald. Please follow me, your table is ready.”
The woman leads us back to a separate room that overlooks the lake. The sun is already beginning to set, its fingers stretching across the sparkling water. Reds, purples and pinks burst from the sun, painting the sky with cotton candy watercolors.
Ryan pulls my chair out for me, before sitting in his own. The woman walks away, shooting one last lustful glance at Ryan before our waiter approaches.
If it were the other way around, Ryan would have already called me a whore for attracting attention. Maybe I should do the same.
“Would you like a bottle of wine, Mr. Fitzgerald?” the waiter asks, his tone respectful.
“Bring the Chateau Petrus Pomerol,” he says. The waiter dips his head and rushes off to grab the bottle. I don’t know much about wine, but I can guess it’s damn expensive.
I look over the menu, the options limited but still overwhelming. Everything sounds good, and to my embarrassment, my stomach rumbles as I consider my options.
The waiter comes back, promptly pouring Ryan and I a glass of wine, before setting the bottle in a bucket of ice to chill. He then reads off the specials.
Ryan lets me order my food first, and then his own. When the waiter leaves with our order, I take a sip of the wine, and nearly fall out of my chair.
“This is delicious,” I rave, taking another sip. Ryan smiles, pleased by my reaction.
“I’m glad you like it, babe,” he says, studying me closely as I take another sip. I set the glass down before I start guzzling it. Somehow, I doubt Ryan would appreciate it.
Since I affect his image apparently.
“I have to make an appearance at a charity event in September. You’ll be my date, right, baby?”
My heart melts at his boyish tone.
“Of course. I’ll start looking for a dress now.”
“Don’t worry about that, I’ll find you a dress,” he says, taking a sip of his own wine. I cover my frown with my glass.
“You don’t want me to pick out my own dress?”
He sighs with impatience, seemingly becoming fed up with me. I don’t know why. “Why do you always make me out to be the bad guy? Have you considered that maybe I just want to treat you? Take some stress off your shoulders so you don’t have to worry about it?”
I deflate, disappointed in myself.
“You’re right, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to seem ungrateful. You know I appreciate you.”
His shoulders relax, but his eyes still glean with anger. My heart plummets and a sick feeling begins to swirl in my stomach.
I’m ruining this entire night. It seems since the moment I got in the car, I keep saying the wrong thing.
The waiter delivers our meals while Ryan and I attempt small talk. It smells absolutely divine, the different spices wafting from our dishes and intimately mingling in my nose. Ryan ordered a caramelized beef fillet with foie gras, parsley purée and madeira sauce, complimented by black pudding and baby beets. And I ordered crab-stuffed filet mignon with whiskey peppercorn sauce, grilled asparagus and a side of spinach strawberry salad. The meat is tender and falls apart in my mouth. I moan around my first bite, my eyes rolling to the back of my head.
Ryan’s freezes, his fork paused midair as his eyes bore into me, flaring with ire. His face reddens, but he doesn’t say anything, instead slowly bringing the fork the rest of the way to his mouth and taking a bite of his food. He chews slowly, the flames in his eyes growing stronger.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize quietly, embarrassed by my reaction. “I’ve never had food like this before.” A quick glance around confirms that no one seemed to notice. The people I can see are too consumed in their own conversations.
He smiles, though it seems tight and doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Get used to it, baby. This is
your life.”
Well, that sounded fucking ominous.
“YOU KNOW THAT I love you, right?” Ryan asks, his eyes trapping mine in an intense dance of willpower. He’s asserting his dominance, and I don’t want to let him have it.
I close my eyes tightly, desperate to block out the scene before me. I nod my head, though it’s stilted. Ryan’s hand is gripping my jaw too tightly, minimalizing my movements.
“Do you know that I’m the only one who does, River? I’m all you have. No one else will ever love you like I do. And you make me do these things, and I hate it,” he whispers. His hand tightens, and my jaw screams. I squeal, rising on my toes to abate the pain. He follows my movements. My cheeks are beginning to pinch in my teeth. Copper blooms in my mouth and I don’t have enough movement to swallow it.
He drops my jaw long enough to wrap his hands around my arms and shake me roughly.
“Why do you make me do this to you?” he shouts, tightening his hands around my arms.
“What did I do?” I cry, tears burning my eyes.
“You dress like a whore, moan in the restaurant like a whore. Do you want men to take you from me? How am I supposed to protect you if you invite men to fuck you?”
A tear slips out of my eye.
“I’m sor—” My apology is cut off from another brutal shake. He grits his teeth, bringing his demonic face close to mine.
“Sorry doesn’t keep men from wanting to fuck you!” he roars. I crumple in on myself. The only thing keeping me upright is Ryan’s unforgiving hands around my arms.
It hurts. It hurts so bad.
“Did you not see all those men staring at you? I bet you liked it, huh?”
I shake my head desperately.
“You did,” he accuses roughly. “Look at yourself—look at yourself now!”
My head drops as I look down at my form-fitting dress. It stops a few inches above my knees.
My ample cleavage is peeking through the slouched neckline, and back of the dress plunges low, baring my skin completely save for a few strings crisscrossing my back.
He’s right, it is a sexy dress. And I did catch a few men’s interested eyes.
Tears blur my vision, distorting Ryan’s angry face. It only accomplishes in making him more terrifying. He growls and pushes me away with all his strength. I fall backwards and land awkwardly on my hip. My head smacks against the floor, causing stars to explode in my vision.
I lie there for a minute as he storms off, completely shocked by Ryan’s visceral reaction. He’s never laid his hands on me like that before. Sure, I fell that one time after I met his parents, but he didn’t aggressively throw me the way he just did. I breathe heavily, afraid to move and in shock by how quickly this date went downhill. After the conversation about the charity event, I thought we were having such a good time. He smiled at me and joked with me, complimented me a few more times with that ugly word—beautiful. I beamed at him like the word doesn’t make me feel like millions of ants are crawling under my skin and made sure to tell him how thankful I was for him taking me to such a gorgeous restaurant.
Then, we got in the car and he forced his cock into my throat again until I couldn’t breathe. I moaned and acted like I was enjoying, even though I wasn’t. Sometimes I think that’s the only thing that gets him off anymore.
Tears continue to flood my eyes until it feels like I’m drowning in them. I sob quietly and lift
myself off the floor, feeling pretty fucking pathetic. I don’t know where Ryan disappeared off to in this large house, but I can only pray he’s not in our room.
My hip smarts when I pull myself off the ground. Limping the entire way, I drag myself up the stairs and down the long hallway. Pictures on the walls scrutinize my walk of shame, his parents taunting me with their smiling faces and stupid fucking façade of a perfect family.
With the help from the walls, I reach our bedroom and breathe a sigh of relief when Ryan is nowhere to be found. I lock myself in the bathroom, and slide down the door slowly, the weight on my hip becoming too much.
After a few moments of pitiful crying, I inspect my body. Handprint bruises are already forming around both biceps. A bruise blooms across my hip, too. Luckily, my head isn’t bleeding, though it does feel like a drum line is practicing inside my head.
I sniffle and pick myself up off the floor once more, and I tear my dress off my body aggressively, despite my sore body protesting. Angrily, I glare at the offending dress.
He’s right. This dress did make me look like a whore. Men were looking at me with hunger in their eyes. What did I expect wearing a dress like this? This is all my fault. I ruined a perfectly good night.
I tear at the dress in a fit of rage. The ripping noise echoes in the bathroom as I continue to shred it to pieces. Dark blue glints in the overhead light as pieces of satin fall to the stone tile like forgotten dreams. I’m only satisfied when the dress is nothing but shredded fabric.
I pick the pieces up, ignoring the flare in my hip—I deserve that pain—and toss the pieces into the trashcan next to the toilet.
I walk back to the mirror and view my tarnished body. Mascara runs down my face, making me look like the dirty whore that I am. I can still feel all of them men’s eyes that roved over my body at the restaurant. They’re perversions have tainted my skin, blemishing it darker than the phantom hands wrapped around my biceps.
My fist collides with the mirror, sending spiderwebs of cracks throughout the glass, distorting my face. An imprint of blood stains the mirror and drips down, getting lost in the fissures. I inspect my still curled fist, detecting tiny pieces of glass lodged into my flesh. Blood trails down my fingers and drips on the floor, joining the rest of the shattered glass.
I walk over the shower, ignoring the slices of sharp pain as glass sticks into the bottoms of my feet. I turn the water as hot as my skin can handle, and I scrub at my body, desperate to cleanse my body.
Stupid, stupid, stupid River. Fucking stupid whore.
You deserved that.
