Shallow River

by H. D. Carlton

  Ten

  River

  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.”