Shallow River

by H. D. Carlton

  My head is whipping to the side as an explosion of pain blooms across my cheek. My ears are ringing as Ryan gets in my face. The fucker slapped me.

  “You don’t get to tell me no. I’m your fiancé which means I get to touch you and fuck you whenever the hell I please.”

  My cheek is on fire. Tears prick at my eyes, and it only angers me. I swear this man gets off on my tears and pain.

  He steps back, his arms spread out with an aghast expression on his face.

  “We just got engaged. I thought you’d be excited, River. Most girls would be ripping their fiance’s clothes off right now. I don’t get it.”

  Cue the manipulation. How have I never seen it before? Anytime I’d get angry enough to realize I’m dating the biggest asshole next to Hitler, and he’d find a way to pull me back in with his manipulation and sweet words.

  “You said you’d stop hitting me,” I say instead. His face contorts into anger.

  “Really, River? I think I’m the victim here. I just put myself out there, made myself vulnerable to you, and did something I’ve never done for any other girl, and you have the nerve to reject me.”

  “I didn’t reject you, Ryan. I said yes,” I say calmly. He looks at me like I’m stupid.

  “You’re rejecting me right now,” he speaks through gritted teeth. This is a losing battle, and I can feel the helplessness crawling in. Is this what made me so compliant? That maybe if I went along with things, I wouldn’t get yelled at or hit?

  No one can deny that Ryan’s love is safer than his anger. But what he tries to hide is that there’s no such thing as loving you without him being angry at you for it.

  I nod once. “I am.”

  His face turns red, his wrath becoming an entirely different entity.

  “Do you enjoy pissing me off, River? You know what happens when I get pissed.”

  There are so many ways I can answer that question. You hit, you rage, you rape…

  In that moment, Bilby skitters by, sensing the growing tension in the room. It happens in slow motion. I watch Ryan’s eyes drop to my cat and witness the moment the idea strikes him. His eyes turn glacial, and an evil smirk slides across his face. I lurch forward as Ryan picks Bilby up by the scruff of his neck, eliciting a pained cry from him.

  “Let him go!” I shout, charging towards him.

  No, no. Not my cat. Anything but my cat.

  He swings Bilby out of my reach, ignoring the innocent little cat’s hissing and loud cries.

  “Apparently I need to teach you a lesson. If you disobey me, then you don’t get to have nice things. Including your filthy fucking animal. I’ll fucking kill him, River,” he screams, shaking my baby in his grips.

  “Stop!” I cry hysterically, once more reaching for my cat. “I’ll do whatever you want, Ryan. Please, just let him go. Please, please, please!” I beg hysterically, panic taking over. I can’t look away from Bilby. Tears stream down my face as complete and utter desperation takes over.

  I’ve never felt desperation like this before. Not when I was being raped as little girl. Not as I was being beaten within an inch of my life. Not by Billy or Ryan.

  He stares at me for a solid ten seconds before he drops Bilby. In tandem, my sigh of relief releases along with my cat from Ryan’s harsh grip. I cry harder, now from sheer relief that he didn’t seriously hurt my baby. Bilby skitters off, his angry hissing in his wake.

  Just as I step forward, ready to crush his goddamn skull in, he’s seizing me by the arms and dragging me up the stairs while I fight and scream. When I manage to dislodge myself from his grip and try to run back down them, he pushes me hard. My knees give and I go flying down the stairs.

  A cry escapes, my arms taking the brunt of my fall. I flip over, ass overhead, my tailbone landing painfully on the edge of the step. Another cry is ripped from my throat, my eyes widening from the excruciating pain.

  His hand is in my hair the next second, and with each step, he drags me up the stairs by my hair. The strands are ripping out of my scalp. I buck against him, trying to find purchase with my feet on the steps to stop him, but he only yanks harder. When he has to grab my hair again because he’s ripped out so much hair, I give up with that tactic, grab his wrist and lift myself, trying my best to alleviate some of the pain.

  Finally, we reach the bedroom. He tosses me on the ground forcefully, causing my forehead to slam into the wooden floor. In the midst, I wish for carpet in the bedroom. I’d take rug burn over bumps and bruises from the unforgiving floor.

  His hands grab the front of my dress, and one swoop, he rips the dress completely down the middle, leaving me in nothing but my thong. Another tug and those are ripped from my battered body as well.

  It doesn’t take long before he’s forcefully pushing himself inside me. It feels like I’m tearing from the inside out. I rage at him and use my nails to scratch at him. He slaps my hands away, and then slaps me across the face so hard, I nearly black out. Stars dot my vision as he continues to use my body for his own pleasure.

  My heart is pounding, my body is aching, and my mind is in full-blown panic as he rapes me.

  I never stop fighting, though. Even after the moment he finishes inside of me.

  When he pulls out, I drag myself up on the edge of the bed and curl into a pathetic little ball. All I can do is cry. Cry, and cry, and cry. Cry for Bilby. Cry for myself.

  This is all your fault, River. You should’ve just let him fuck you. Bilby would’ve never gotten hurt if you had.

  “Just so you know, I’ve been spiking your drinks with antibiotics. You should be pregnant by now,” he says casually. My eyes pop open in horror, a different kind of panic nearly choking me.

  He’s lying. He has to be. God, please tell me he’s fucking lying.

  “And if you ever try to leave, especially with my baby, I will find you. No amount of police will ever keep me from finding you, River. And when I do, I will kill you.”

  Sixteen

  River

  “DO YOU NEED ME to come get you?” the baritone voice says as a greeting through the speaker on my phone. I close my eyes, the temptation taking over.

  Say yes, River. Say yes.

  “No,” I sigh. My lip finds itself my between my teeth as I gear myself up for what I’m about to ask of him. “I need you to take Bilby.”

  Mako’s silent on the other end, ramping up my heart faster. What if he says no? Where would Bilby go? Amelia’s severely allergic to cats, and there’s absolutely no way I’m keeping him in the same house as Ryan anymore. Not after last night. I refuse to put my cat in danger. He means everything to me, and I would never forgive myself if he ended up dead because of my bad choices.

  “Bilby?” he repeats finally, confused.

  “My cat.”

  More silence.

  “Did Ryan hurt the cat?”

  My eyes close again, embarrassed by the words about to come out of my mouth. “Yes. I can’t endanger his life.”

  “But you can your own?” I grit my teeth. Doesn’t matter that I had prepared myself for that before he even said it, it still pisses me off.

  “Mako, please,” I say instead, the same desperation from last night creeping in. “I’m not calling you to talk about me. I… I just need Bilby safe right now. Please.”

  His low sigh filters through. “Do I need to come get him?”

  “No. No, I’ll drop him off before class today.”

  “I’ll be there.” My lips curl as tears burn my eyes. I’m not even sure why exactly I’m crying, but the urge is becoming overwhelming. Maybe because I have to give up my cat—temporarily—because he’s no longer safe in the home I brought him into. I feel so ashamed. This is something I’ll never forgive myself for.

  “Mako?”

  “Yeah, River?”

  “Thank you. So much.”

  TWO BEADY EYES INSPECT me from head-to-toe.

  “Looks like you’re finally getting what you deserve,” Barbie comments, before curling h
er wrinkled lips around a cigarette. I ignore her comment considering I’d already wrapped myself in armor to deflect her nasty comments and smugness. Only Barbie would be smug that her daughter is being abused. Especially when this is the life she’s always wanted for me, and I was stupid enough to believe I was getting something she never did—safety.

  I glance at the near empty pack resting on the table. Right now, I don’t give a fuck about germs.

  “Give me one,” I say instead, nodding my head towards the cigarettes. Surprisingly, she pushes the pack over, along with the lighter. From one abused woman to another, sometimes all we need is a cigarette.

  I slide out a cancer stick, light it up and suck greedily.

  I’ve no idea if Ryan actually did spike my drinks. Maybe I am pregnant, but right now, I hurt too badly to stop puffing on the cigarette. It’s been a week since he proposed, nearly killed my cat and then promptly beat the shit out of me—again—and he hasn’t let me out of his sight once, until tonight. Thankfully, I’ve shown no signs of pregnancy yet, so I’m beginning to doubt his threat.

  “Did you know Billy was killing people all across the city?” I start. Barbie half-laughs, half-scoffs, the sound filled with flem.

  “Whatever gave you the impression that he wasn’t killing people?” she asks with condescension.

  I shake my head. “This is different. Billy is smart enough to cover up his murders. He’s deliberately leaving them across town, apparently for the last year. He’s considered a serial killer—they’ve even dubbed him the Ghost Killer.”

  Barbie outright laughs, mirth shining in her lifeless eyes. Barbie’s been exposed to several dead bodies across her lifetime. Mostly from overdosing, but I can bet she’s witnessed murders, too. Probably from cracked out drug addicts having mental breakdowns and going into psychotic rages. And I’m positive Billy has made an example of a couple people to make sure Barbie stayed in her place.

  “That’s too funny,” she says around her laugh, ashing her cigarette in an empty beer can. She used to keep glass ashtrays around until she broke all of them over the heads of her clients. Now it’s just simpler to use trash. There’s a fuck ton of it lying around, after all.

  I roll my eyes at her classiness.

  “You know that’s not normal for Billy. He’s under the radar, Barbie, and you know it. Why would he be leaving bodies around town?”

  Her eyes shift, and something like fear flashes in her eyes. It’s gone before I can tell for sure.

  “He’s been getting hooked on meth again,” she says casually. But it’s not casual at all, we both know this. It’s been over fifteen years since Billy got hooked on his own product and started killing off all of his men. He’d storm the house, raging that he has no one left that he can trust because all of them are dead.

  Barbie was smart enough not to ask questions. The woman couldn’t tell you what eight times nine is, but she hasn’t lived this long dealing with someone like Billy just by dumb luck. She’s incredibly street smart, even when she’s high off her rocker. So many times, I’ve wondered if Barbie is much wiser than she lets on.

  So, Barbie would keep her trap shut, I’d listen through the door, and Billy would vent his frustrations on how all his men kept fucking the little girls he traffics and ruining their value. Or they’d be stealing his drugs or money for themselves. Or they’d give him a look he didn’t like.

  Whatever the case, he killed them all. That got Billy in quite the predicament when he had essentially no one to do his bidding. He quit the drugs, rebuilt his empire and stayed clean since.

  “I don’t understand. He knows what happened last time.”

  Barbie tightens her lips, shrugs a thin shoulder and lights another cigarette. I do the same. I’m gonna need it for this conversation. Billy on meth is… evil incarnate. It’s the reckoning. He’s the third antichrist Nostradamus predicted.

  “I don’t know what happened,” she finally says. “Explains why he popped up out of the blue and beat us both silly.”

  Both of our wounds from that night have healed, only to be replaced by more. She may cackle and laugh at the sight of me, but she doesn’t look any better. Only difference is, Barbie has never not sported any bruises. That’s her normal. At this point, every part of me has endured some sort of trauma that I’m not sure I know how to feel pain anymore. Guess we’re turning out to be two peas in a fucking pod.

  I look down at my hand, with an ugly cast and an uglier ring. I don’t even know why I’m still wearing the damn thing.

  “He could come back around at any time,” she continues, snapping me out of my dark thoughts. Her eyes slide towards me with clear warning. Barbie never warns me about anything except Billy. Especially Billy on drugs. I don’t let it go to my head and think it’s because she actually gives a shit about me. But if I die, this house will be auctioned off and we all know Barbie doesn’t have the funds to buy it back.

  As much as she hates it, I’m keeping her safe from the streets. If anyone could survive it, it would be Barbie. She’s like a goddamn cockroach, the bitch could survive the apocalypse. Doesn’t mean she wants to, though.

  “Has he been coming around often?” I ask, though I can feel my heart kickstart. I’m under no illusion that I’m safe here. That Billy coming around won’t ever happen again. But I’d hoped he’d be too busy killing off his men rather than coming to see Barbie’s washed up ass.

  She sucks on her cigarette, delaying an answer I’d really like to know. If he’s coming around often, then I’m in more danger than I’d realized.

  Finally, she answers. “About once a week. He was just here last night.”

  The sudden urge to run from this house nearly cripples me. I got my answers. Or at least as much of an answer as I’m going to get when it comes to the devil. Time to go.

  “Then I guess it’s time for me to leave.”

  Barbie smirks. I said it casually, but again, this isn’t a casual conversation. She enjoys the fact that Billy scares me. The only good thing about Billy beating me half to death is its less time he’s beating Barbie. As long as he refrains from completely killing me, Barbie couldn’t care less.

  “Have fun with your Billy 2.0 at home,” she says, cackling around her cigarette. I stand up and look down at her. She looks and smells like expired milk. How could her words ever hurt me?

  Yet they stir something in me anyway. Not hurt. But something like determination.

  “Oh, I will.”

  “WHAT IN THE EVER-LOVING fuck happened to you?” Amelia roars, her face the perfect picture of rage and shock. I could photograph that picture and it’d sell for millions. The amount of emotion conveyed on her face is actually quite beautiful.

  “Would you believe me if I said I fell?”

  “He’s hitting you?!” she screeches, her little hands reaching up to cup my face. I’m a good few inches taller than Amelia, but her motherly instincts have always made her seem bigger than me. She’s going to be an amazing mother.

  “What brought you to that conclusion?” I deflect, deftly removing my face from her warm hands and turning to walk towards my car.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” she says, running past me and stopping right in my path. She puts her hands on her hips, her protruding stomach emphasized by her tiny hands, and stares at me with impatience and barely contained rage. Can’t really blame her. I’d kill anyone that did this to Amelia.

  I sigh, my shoulders dropping in defeat. “You can’t say anything, Amelia. I… I got him handled.”

  Her eyes widen like balloons overflowing with helium. Soon they’re going to pop. That can’t be good for the baby.

  “Please don’t take this the wrong way, River, but it sure as hell looks like you’re the only one being handled,” she replies, her voice significantly gentler. I nod my head because she’s right. It doesn’t look like I have Ryan handled at all.

  “I have to play this smart,” I say. She bites her lip, seeming to contemplate something.

&nb
sp; “I want you to stay with me. You can’t go back to that house.”

  I’ve been pretty good at avoiding Ryan since the night he proposed, threatened to kill my cat and raped me within hours of each other. What was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, turned to the darkest far before Ryan got down on one knee.

  I bet he’s fucking his secretary as we speak.

  “And I plan on doing that… eventually,” I tack on with a pained look. “It’s a delicate situation that needs be handled as such. I don’t want to drag you into this, Amelia. I would rather die than involve you and your unborn baby in any type of danger.”

  Amelia chews on her lips some more, looking even more distraught by the second.

  She shakes her head. “No. I’m sorry, but I’m not allowing this. There’s no way in fucking hell that I will let you continue to put your life in danger. If you go back, he’ll kill you. And then I’ll be pregnant in prison.”

  I crack a small smile.

  “He won’t kill me,” I whisper. I won’t let him. Ryan had to wear a turtleneck to work the last week from how deep and red my marks were from when he raped me. Once they fade, he’ll just spin it to a night of wild sex and orgasms I clearly couldn’t handle.

  “Of course, he won’t. I’ll kill him first,” a deep voice says from behind me. I freeze, which just makes every ache and pain in my body flare to life. My breath shortens, and I swear it’s only because it’s hotter outside than an athlete’s balls after practice.

  Amelia’s brows plummet and she bends her torso to the side to see Mako better. “Who are you?” she asks, her voice pitched high. If I didn’t feel like such shit, I’d almost laugh.

  Mako steps around me, his massive body dwarfing Amelia’s. She looks up at him awe, her little mouth open in perfect O. Her eyes slowly peruse his incredibly fit body, the tattoos coloring both arms down to his wrists and the pure sexual tension he radiates. I’d be jealous if I knew she wasn’t madly in love with David and carrying his child. I also am not keen on admitting that I’d be jealous.