“I should’ve aborted you,” she mutters, her beady little eyes glaring holes into me.
“Oh, look. We can agree on something,” I answer, emotionless as ever. “Do you have the goddamn money or what?”
She reaches into her dirty nightgown pocket and pulls out a few wadded up bills.
Dollar bills, to be precise.
“Please tell me you’re fucking joking.”
An evil grin slides across her face. Some of the crust cracks and flutters to her lap. I can hardly feel disgust.
“That’s all you deserve.”
I roll my eyes. If this waste of flesh had it her way, she wouldn’t even give me half a penny. Not that the woman would put any effort into sawing the penny in half anyway—not when she has to save her energy for fucking men for drugs.
“What I deserve and what you’re required to do are two different things, Barbie,” I retort, trying to keep my cool and failing. I’m not even angry she doesn’t have my money. I expected it actually. But fuck, having to be in this woman’s vicinity more than what’s absolutely necessary does strike irritation in my soul. Barbie not having all the money means I have to come back.
She isn’t used to our new arrangement yet, but she has no choice but to get intimate with this new relationship between us.
“Where’s the rest?” I ask while simultaneously begging Jesus for patience. And maybe some divine intervention. If a tree is struck by lightning and falls directly onto the house exactly where she’s standing, I’d become a nun.
“In my veins,” she snips, turning to open the fridge. I curl my lip when mold wafts from the old thing. The fridge was broken when I still lived here, and Lord knows she can’t afford a new one when she snorts or injects all the money she’s not forking over to me.
She pulls out a half empty water bottle.
I never was a half-glass-full type of chick.
I snort when I glimpse the utter emptiness in the fridge before the door swings shut behind her. Which means that mold has been there for a while, and she just never cleaned it. All cleaning ceased to exist the moment I moved out.
Figures.
“Let me guess: didn’t get enough clients? Has your moneymaker finally dried up from all the STD-ridden dicks you stick inside of it?”
“Fuck you, River,” she hisses, throwing the now empty bottle at me. It falls short and thuds uselessly to the ground. How poetic.
“That was just embarrassing to watch,” I say, smiling at her anger. She looks tempted to charge at me, but we both know I’d knock her out easily.
I picked enough fights in my childhood to breed myself into a scrappy bitch. Not that I need to know how to fight when it comes to a half-dead wraith like her trying to hurt me. Those fights were lessons, and they wouldn’t have been as vital as oxygen in my lungs if it wasn’t because of her and her clients. It’s something I’ll never say thank you for, but she can thank herself if she ever has the misfortune of running into my fist.
“I should’ve—”
“We are both well aware of the things you should’ve done, Barbie. But alas, that doesn’t change the fact that you don’t have my fucking money,” I snap, finally becoming fed up with this merry-go-round we constantly find ourselves on.
She opens her mouth to spew more poisonous words my way, but a knock on the front door cuts her off. Her lip curls.
“Get out, I have a client.”
I throw the useless dollar bills back at her, the crumpled paper balls falling at her feet.
“Work extra hard tonight. I want my money by Tuesday.”
Three days should be plenty for a whore like her.
Two
River
PRESENT- TWO YEARS LATER
I SLIDE IN THE car with a bright smile on my face, my eyes already pinned to my boyfriend. Dark blonde hair swept to the side, a maroon sweater with a collared flannel peaking around his neckline and wrists, pressed khakis, loafers and a wristwatch. He drips elegance and class.
Normally, the pretty boy get-up isn’t my type. Ryan’s different, though. He carries himself with such confidence and ease—in a way that suggests he’s not scared of anything. That drew me in so deeply.
If nothing could scare him, then surely the monsters hiding in my head wouldn’t, either.
Ryan’s eyes meet mine, the dull blue swirling with secrets and something dark that drew me in like a moth to a flame. After almost two years together, I feel like I’ve only scratched the surface with him.
And finally, I’m meeting his parents. For so long, he held off, claiming he didn’t want to introduce another girl to his parents until he was sure it was the girl he’s going to marry. The day he told me he wanted me to meet them was one of the happiest days of my life.
He says they’ll love me. I say they’ll love me, too.
Parents usually do.
“You’re wearing a lot of makeup,” he comments. The smile melts of my face like butter in a frying pan.
I blink.
“No more than usual,” I argue gently. I don’t look away as I slide my seatbelt on.
He turns away from me anyway, putting his BMW in drive and lurching ahead with ease. I tuck a strand of my curly black hair behind my ear, suddenly self-conscious. Did I go too heavy on the foundation? Does my face look like a dimpled cake? Maybe I should’ve gone without the eyeliner.
“Maybe it’ll turn out,” Ryan says after several minutes of silence. My eyes slide towards him again. Sometimes it feels like getting too close to a black hole. He sucks you in, body and soul, no chance of escape while he destroys every last bit of you.
“How so?”
“It’ll be sexy to see it running down your face after you suck my cock.” He says it casually, but with just enough darkness creeping in.
My perfectly sculpted brows pull into a small V. He’s still looking ahead, one hand on the wheel, another resting casually on the gearshift. The picture of sexiness and strength. A small smirk pulls at the corner of his thin lips. That’s his tell. He’s feeling particularly savage tonight.
“You mean after dinner?” I clarify, hoping I’m right.
He spares a small glance from the corner of his eye, his smirk tightening.
“Right now, River.”
Hope—what a useless emotion.
He’s punishing me for wearing too much makeup. He says I’m a natural beauty and makeup makes me look like a whore. But I’ve always loved dressing my face up with colors. I make sure to not go too heavy, but it doesn’t matter to Ryan. Intensifying my beauty means intensifying stares from other men. He’s possessive and gets territorial when other men hit on me. He hasn’t worn me down from wearing it yet.
Sometimes I like it when he tries. And sometimes I don’t.
His cock is already hard, straining against his khakis. He’s an average guy, but he uses it like it’s a weapon.
“Ryan…” His eyebrow quirks in challenge at my hesitance, daring me to defy him. I lick my lips as a sick feeling builds in my chest. How can I get out of this without upsetting him? If I refuse, it’ll disappoint him, and that’s the last thing I want.
“I’m meeting your parents for the first time. I need to make a good first impression.” My argument is valid. But yet it comes out weak. Why is that? It sounds like I’m saying that my breath smells bad so I can’t suck his dick right now.
Normally, I’d be all over the opportunity. There’s always a healthy dose of trepidation when it comes to sex with Ryan. He has a strange appetite and I’m still learning how to handle it. All I want is to satisfy him. Make him happy. Give him something no other woman has before me.
Striving for Ryan’s approval has been my number one priority since the day I kicked a girl out of her seat next to Ryan and replaced her. His flavor of the week didn’t appreciate it, and I promptly told her to fuck off. He looked at me as if he was seeing a real woman for the first time. Awe, admiration, and a whole lot of need.
It sparked something inside o
f me. Actually, it lit an entire inferno. From that day forward, I wanted Ryan to look at me like that every day. Like every day is a new discovery.
Ryan liked my shamelessness at the time. But now he likes me docile. Makeup running down my face isn’t a maybe—it’s a promise. One that he’d no doubt go out of his way to make happen. Yet, my body betrays me, the heat between my legs growing damp.
I’m disappointed in myself. Disappointed that even though I genuinely don’t want to do this, my body says the opposite.
Ryan knows it, too. I deflate. I’m not going to pull that look out of Ryan if I refuse him.
“You have ten minutes until we’re there,” he says icily. He doesn’t even bother unbuttoning for me. He’d rather I waste time.
Anxiety infiltrates my nerves. My hands shake and fumble with his button, pulling a cruel snicker from his throat. Tears prick at my eyes, feeling embarrassed. Ryan is so experienced, and it always makes me feel like a virgin.
I do as he says. And he keeps his word, too. He pushes my head down until I’m choking and gasping. And just when I think I’ll pass out; he pushes my head down harder. Tears leak out of my eyes, snot down my nose and slobber rims my mouth.
It takes the asshole nine minutes to come.
I’m heaving in air when we pull into the driveway. Pulling down the visor, I survey the damage.
I’m an absolute fucking mess.
I wipe the evidence away as best as I can, but I don’t look as pretty as I did when I got in the car. I think he likes me ugly.
“Make sure you look presentable,” he orders. A growl works its way up my throat and tears spring to my eyes anew, this time with frustration. Why does he need to dig the knife in deeper? He got what he wanted. And obviously, I need to look presentable. For my own dignity, not his. Despite my anger, I don’t say this out loud. It might make him angry at me, and I’m already exhausted.
Ryan’s relaxed now, his muscles languid as he watches me clean up. Thankfully, spare essential makeup is in my purse. I powder my face. Glide a tube of red lipstick across my plump lips just to spite him. And use a Q-tip to remove the rest of the eyeliner without mussing up anything else.
Q-tips are life.
His hand gently caresses my cheek when I’m finished, though a spark of derision flashes in his eyes when he notes the red lipstick.
“I love you,” he murmurs.
He looks at me like I’m a possession. I like being possessed by him. Those three words wipe away any lingering anger or embarrassment. I’m fucking pathetic.
“I love you, too,” I say, that lost smile found again and adorning my face once more. I’m ready to meet his parents now. Maybe one day, they’ll become my in-laws. They’ll be the first parents I’ve ever had.
Ryan met my mother three weeks ago. It was everything you could expect when walking into a viper’s pit. She sneered at him with disdain. He tipped his chin and look down upon her in equal measure while I shifted nervously from foot to foot. When he ordered me to keep still, asserting his dominance over me, I listened. Barbie snarled and called me weak. Part of me had to agree with her.
Growing up in a shitty town, in a shitty house with an even shittier mother teaches you to be independent. Shallow Hill is a breeding ground for gangs, prostitutes and the homeless. I’ve learned to survive. But I’m bereft of human connection. Sometimes it feels like Ryan takes that pathetic need inside of me and wields it to his advantage.
While Barbie lives amongst the cockroaches, the Fitzgerald’s live in comfort and style. Ryan’s childhood home is a three-story gray house, accented stone walls, and a stone entrance way. Cute light posts line the walkway leading up the bright red front door. Warm glowing light breeches the windows, inviting anyone into its warmth.
And there’s grass. Green grass, to be precise. With a white picket fence surrounding it. My house never had grass that green. Just overgrown tufts of brown, brittle blades, beaten down by random junk littering the yard.
The door opens right as our feet hit the first step. The first thing that assaults my senses is the smell of homemade apple pie. It smells absolutely divine, nearly causing my eyes to roll to the back of my head, much like Ryan’s were just a few minutes ago. A glowing, smiling face greets us next.
Ryan’s mother is stunning. Blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and subtle laugh lines that curl around a sincere smile. She radiates pure positive energy—something I’ve never quite experienced before. I could wrap myself around her in a warm hug and it would feel like coming home.
Yeah.
She could be my mom.
“Welcome home, honey,” she says to Ryan first, jutting her cheek out to accept a chaste kiss. Turning to me, she gushes, “Oh, aren’t you beautiful. My name is Julie, please come in.”
Beautiful.
The word makes me shudder. Too many times has the word tumbled out of cracked lips, yellowed jagged teeth, and accompanied by rancid breath. I don’t let the word falter my smile. Perseverance.
“It’s so wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Fitzgerald. Thank you for having me,” I say politely, a beaming smile chasing my words.
“Oh, please, call me Julie,” she corrects, waving a hand at my greeting.
“I think I can handle that.” I add in a cute wink. When she laughs, we collectively melt at each other’s fingertips. Instantly, I feel a bond with her that reminds me so much of Camilla.
Ryan surveys the interaction with a keen eye. When my golden eyes clash with his, he gives me a nod of approval. I didn’t need his reassurance—I already knew I have Julie’s approval. But his praise sends pride through my veins like a dose of morphine.
Mr. Fitzgerald is a tall, plump man with deep laugh lines, sparkling brown eyes and a gentle hand when he engulfs my dainty hand in his. He introduces himself as Matt. His energy is on the same wavelength as Julie’s. Warm and safe.
“I’m River, it’s so nice to meet you.”
“What an interesting name,” he comments lightly.
“It’s where I was born,” I shrug. His eyebrows skyrocket in question, his attention now piqued.
Not very many people are born in rivers. It’s quite unsanitary. But that word sums up the entirety of Shallow Hill.
“But that’s a story for another day,” I laugh, hoping—praying—he’ll move on. He does with a tinge of reluctance, the unusual birthplace intriguing to him. I haven’t even told Ryan that story yet. Not that he’s ever asked.
It’s not a happy story anyway. Maybe he assumes that and doesn’t want to hear about my suffering because he loves me.
Or he’s just a dick and I’m delusional.
Just as I relax, a god walks through the foyer. At first, I’m convinced I’m the only one who sees him. Certainly, pointing out that Zeus’ evil, sexier twin is walking around in the human realm would make me sound crazy.
But then Ryan tenses into solid stone next to me. Maybe he has Medusa’s powers?
Julie ushers the man forward, encouraging an introduction.
Please don’t.
He’s tall—over six feet, but I’ve never been good at guessing heights. Ink black hair, a little longer on top than the sides, vivid green eyes that rival the grass outside, and tattoos. Tattoos everywhere.
“Are you his brother?” The question is out before I can stop it. I carefully arrange my face into innocent curiosity. Ryan’s stone limbs unhinge long enough to turn his head to glare at me. The approval disappears like smoke in the wind.
Strike two, River. Clearly, there’s strife between the two.
The man’s plump lips glide into a smirk. One that tells me he knows I never knew of his existence until now. That smirk may cause a visceral reaction inside of me I refuse to name or acknowledge, but too bad for him. He may be hot, but I’m in love with Ryan.
“I am,” he answers shortly. I’m rocked to the core when he speaks. His voice is as deep as the ocean, but smooth and creamy. He’s too perfect. One of the reasons why Ryan hates him. It hasn’t be
en said aloud. After all, I didn’t even know he existed until two minutes ago. But Ryan and I are attuned to each other now. I can feel what he feels. And hatred is rolling off him in waves.
A good girlfriend would hate him too, purely by association. Surely, there’s a good reason why Ryan hates him.
I hum, arranging my face into a blank expression. I won’t be outwardly rude to him in front of Julie and Matt, but I won’t make the mistake of being nice, either.
Julie’s delicate hand lands on his boulder of a bicep, a red tinge brightening her cheeks. “River, this is my other son, Mako. Mako, this is Ryan’s girlfriend, River,” Julie introduces, noting the lack of introduction her sons offered and eyeing them both with disapproval.
I offer a polite, “Nice to meet you, Mako.”
What a stupid name.
Again, he quirks that stupid brow like he knows what I’m thinking. And when he answers, it feels like he’s responding to my thought. “Likewise.”
Ryan subtly shifts his body in front of me. Stupid boy. He just gave away his insecurity.
I like that he’s insecure when it comes to me.
Mako notices, and his brow quirks higher. He doesn’t smirk. Or consider it a challenge. He just shakes his head and walks away.
Odd.
“You didn’t tell me you had a brother,” I whisper accusingly when Julie and Matt follow Mako towards the dining room.
“I don’t,” he clips before storming off after them.
You do, liar.
JULIE AND MATTHEW HAVE a house straight out of a Home Improvement magazine. The whole design is a rustic atmosphere, with exposed wooden beams, various stains of wood and soft light throughout the house that brings you comfort and warmth. Everything about this house screams homey, despite its enormous size. It’s hard pulling my eyes away from every detail when all I can wonder is what my life would be like if I grew up in a house like this.
Can’t imagine I would be as bitter as the two grown men sitting at the table, one spewing hateful glares and the other ignoring his existence entirely. Mako will only look or interact with his parents, but when he does, his expression is full of warmth and respect. Whereas Ryan eats his dinner like a spoiled child forced to eat his greens.
Shallow River Page 2