Shallow River

by H. D. Carlton

  Before I came up here, I snuck into his office and cut the internet. He’s been raging about it ever since, on the phone with the cable company, having not yet figured out the internet isn’t going to come back on until the cable company sends a guy out. The security cameras are linked to the WiFi, which means the recordings won’t be saved to our Cloud.

  Ryan’s been watching me through the cameras obsessively, even when he’s home with me. I’ll be doing something mundane and Ryan will come out and point out something I did wrong while he was in office, watching me. So, with no WiFi, he can’t watch me on his phone, and as long as he can see me, there’s no escaping.

  I scroll through my contacts and pause on the one person I could call right now. I really don’t fucking want to, but she would understand my situation better than most. I click the call button before I can change my mind and bring the shaking phone to my ear.

  “Hello?”

  God, Alison sounds so damn sweet. I cringe away from her voice.

  “It’s me,” I choke out.

  “Where are you?” she asks instantly, her voice hardening into steel.

  I drop my head into my hand, not caring that any contact with the burns sends fire racing through my flesh. The fact that she knew without me having to say anything is a testament to what she’s dealt with for years. There’s no way I could’ve stuck around as long as she did. Not because I’m stronger than her, but because I’m weaker and would’ve offed myself. I already want to after only two years.

  “At his house. I can meet you on the corner of the street though,” I whisper.

  “I’ll be there in ten.”

  My finger smashes the red button before I can tell her not to come. Heart racing, I stand on wobbling legs, grab a bag and start stuffing clothing in the bag. The closet has become my safe space from Ryan, and for the most part, he’s let me have it.

  A cupboard slams from the kitchen below me. There’s no way I can sneak out of the house without him seeing me if he’s in the kitchen. It’s down the hall from the foyer and the psycho will be watching that front door like a hawk. I tried to leave a few days ago without his permission and it ended in me getting tied up to the bed for the night.

  My wrists still ache and the lesions around them haven’t healed yet.

  I slip on a pair of sneakers, quietly open the closet door and peek around. He’s still downstairs. Each step is amplified by my racing heart as I make my way over to the window. There’s a roof right outside the window, and on the side of the house is a lattice covered in vines and pretty flowers I don’t know the name of. Never cared to learn.

  Biting my lip, I gently raise the window. To me, it sounds like I’m clawing a chalkboard with a nail, but in reality, it hardly makes a noise. Tentatively, I step out. The first breath of fresh air is exciting and terrifying at the same time. Like if I don’t hurry, I won’t ever get the pleasure of experiencing fresh air again. Right when I go to close the window behind me, Ryan bursts into the room. I freeze. He freezes. We both stare at each other in shock.

  In tandem, we both bust into action. He guns for the window while I run towards the edge of the house.

  “River, get back here,” he growls. His voice isn’t raised high enough to call attention to us. There’s only a few houses close by, but they’re close enough to hear loud commotion.

  I make it to the edge of the house and run along the edge until I get to the terrace. Just as I step my foot down, a steel hand is wrapping around my bicep and pulling me back up. I scream, but it’s immediately cut off by Ryan’s hand.

  “You fucking bitch!” he howls when I bite down on his hand. Before I can scream again, his fist is slamming into the side of my temple. Darkness threatens to overtake me. Stars explode in my vision as he slides me across the rough asphalt on the roof towards the window, muttering expletives under his breath.

  If he takes me back in there, he’s going to kill me. Eyes wide and dazed, I struggle and fight as hard as I can. I can’t let him take me back in there. I can’t.

  We make it back to the window. My phone in my back pocket buzzes, and it makes me want to die inside. Alison is here, at the end of the street where she can’t see me. I was so fucking close to freedom.

  Ryan puts one leg in the window, slides his torso through with his arms still holding onto my struggling body, and in one rough swoop, he pulls me inside. I grapple for the sides of the window, but my fingers slip before I can fully grasp onto it. My vision teeter-totters and I’m grappling for balance before I’m thrown on the hardwood floor. The monster before me slams the window closed. He looks at me, his face tomato red and his eyes nearly black from rage. I’ve never seen something so terrifying in my life.

  When I was child, those men weren’t out to kill me as much as they were to use my body. But Ryan? Ryan wants to kill me. Even though it’s useless now, I scream as loud as I can.

  He charges towards me. I kick my feet, trying to gain traction so I can get away from him.

  “Get the fuck back here! You thought you could run away from me, huh? You little bitch, I’ve given you everything!”

  A hand is wrapping in him hair and dragging me up.

  “I’m sorry!” I yell. I don’t even know why the hell I said it. I’m not sorry. I’m not fucking sorry at all. But my survival instincts are persevering.

  “Oh, you’re going to be fucking sorry,” he mutters, dragging me into the bathroom. I’ve no idea what he has planned for me, but fuck if I’m going to let it happen.

  “Fuck you,” I spit. My body goes completely limp, becoming dead weight on his arms. The sudden weight is unexpected, causing him to stumble. Before he can continue pulling me, I twirl around, ripping out hair in the process and kick him in his balls. I always thought it’d be Mako on the receiving end of that one, but once again, I was proven wrong when it comes to that man.

  “Bitch!” he screams, immediately hunching over and wheezing out a harsh breath. My foot snaps up and I kick him in the forehead, snapping his head backwards. He grunts and falls to the floor. Heart pounding, I scramble to my feet and run for the stairs. The adrenaline rushing through my veins is reaching toxic levels, leaving me breathless.

  “Get back here!” he yells, his voice gargled and crazed. Too scared to look back, I keep running, reaching the stairs and nearly throwing myself down them. Ryan’s heavy footfalls sound from behind me. He’s close. Too fucking close. The kitchen is closer than the front door and he’s right on my heels. It’ll take too long to open the door. Pivoting quickly, I careen towards the kitchen at full speed. As I turn into the kitchen, Ryan’s hand whispers across my arm, barely missing me.

  I head straight for the knives. I’ve been planning for this moment, just not like this. This was supposed to happen when he was sleeping, and I had the advantage. But I’m not about to fucking let this moment go to waste. Not when I can finally get my revenge.

  I reach the knives right as Ryan’s arms circle around my waist and yanks me back. My fingers are already closed around the handle, causing the drawer to rip out of the slot with him. Silverware and knives scatter across the floor. A spike of excitement ignites inside of me when I see all of the things I could use to kill him, only an arm’s length away.

  So close.

  The monster behind me lifts my body up, my stomach plummeting from the weightlessness, and then slams me onto the floor, the back of my head smacking off the tiled floor. Everything in my seizes. My breath, my heart and my vision.

  I’m frozen on the floor as I slowly try to regain my breath. My vision creeps back in, revealing Ryan standing over me, heaving for breath like a pissed off bull with a rider on its back. His fists curl and uncurl, in and out, seemingly trying to reign in some semblance of control.

  My eyes slide to his, and I can only imagine how I look to him. “Are you going to kill me Ryan?” I taunt through gritted teeth, glaring at him intensely. I’ve never hated anyone so much in my life.

  Fuck Barbie, or Billy, or an
y of the slimy men that took advantage of my innocent body. Those men owed me nothing. And at least Barbie never made me love her. At least she never gave me any semblance of hope that she’d love me.

  This devil of man built me up just to destroy me. Make me love him and tell me lies of loving me back. Give me a comfortable life where I could want for nothing. Tell me he wants a future with the rundown girl from Shallow Hill with baggage strapped to her back and a jaded attitude.

  He reached his hand into my chest cavity, pulled out my heart and ate it for dinner. This was fucking personal.

  Spiders of black ink slowly bleed into his eyes until I’m staring at a man possessed by a demon. His top lip curls into a snarl and he studies me like a lion would a gazelle.

  “I haven’t decided what I want to do with you yet,” he says, eyeing my body up and down as if he’s cataloging exactly where and how he’s going to inflict pain.

  I lift up on my elbows, meeting his eyes despite the fact that I’m dizzy and on the verge of blacking out. Even with everything closing in on me, I refuse to cower. “Are you mapping out where you’re going to hurt me?” I push, baring my teeth. “There’s not an inch of my body you haven’t already damaged.”

  Narrowing his eyes, he bends over and heaves me up by my biceps. My body is dead weight, making it more difficult to lift me effortlessly like he planned. This only enrages him more, which in turn, gives me more satisfaction. I spit in his face, and the moment he flinches away and lifts his hands to wipe it away, I headbutt him.

  I’ve no fucking idea how to properly headbutt, but assuming because my adrenaline has risen to dangerous levels, I hardly feel it. His head snaps back, blood spurts from his nose and across my cheek, and it feels like I’ve won the fucking lottery. High off his pain, I kick in his kneecap before he can regain composure.

  When he falls to his knees with a grunt, a rush of calmness settles over me. It feels like my whole life has led me to this moment. All the abuse, all the men acting like they own my body, has finally come to fruition.

  Ryan’s pain-filled cursing and threats fade to the background, becoming white noise. I become weightless, my body floating through the air. With serenity, I bend over and flutter my hand over the assortment of knives on the ground, taunting him on which knife I’m going to pick. Finally, my hand settles over the biggest knife. When he sees the knife I chose, his eyes widen comically.

  I laugh, enjoying his fright.

  Scrambling to his feet, he charges towards me, assuming he’ll get the upper hand. Like a movie in slow motion, I watch my hand whip out in a perfect arc, the knife sliding across his cheek. I watch as the skin breaks beneath the sharp blade, the blood blooming from the wound and down his face, and I just smile.

  He yells, absolutely enraged.

  Oh, no. What will he do now that his perfect face has been tarnished forever?

  And all I can do is smile.

  Shock has frozen him, but the delight keeps my limps languid and free. I slash the knife once more, the tip of the blade skating across his chest, stopping him in his tracks. He looks down at disbelief, the pain not yet overshadowing the pure shock filtering through his system.

  Ever so slowly, his eyes rise to meet mine while his mouth hangs open. I’m not sure I can describe the look that passes on his face. Something akin to what-have-I-gotten-myself-into.

  I give him a wicked little smile. “It’s my turn to be the punisher.”

  DRAGGING RYAN’S DEADWIGHT UP several flights of stairs is something I never prepared for. Working out in the gym would feel like floating in water compared to this. Heaving—and quite embarrassingly—I finally get him into the attic. There are plenty of exposed beams to choose from with this being the only part of the house unfinished.

  I loop a thick rope around the rafter, tie it to Ryan’s wrist and use it like a pulley system. Ryan’s body lifts until the tips of his toes touch the ground. Sweat drains from my pores profusely as I tie the rope to another wooden beam five feet away. I test the strength of the rope, satisfied when it holds firmly.

  I work quickly, covering the area beneath Ryan in towels. Later, I’ll have to go to the store for plastic. Unfortunately, we don’t keep serial killer-ready items in our house. If there’s too much blood, it’ll soak through and stain the wood. Removing blood from untreated wood would be… yeah, let’s just not get to that point.

  My teeth sink into a strip of duct tape, ripping off a few pieces and slapping each one onto the slash in Ryan’s chest. I don’t know much about the human body, but it doesn’t look too deep. Enough that he’d need stitches, not enough to open any vital organs or veins.

  Blood drips on the towels slowly. The sight makes me nervous. I wasn’t prepared for this yet, but I have no choice now. It’s Friday night, I have until Monday morning to figure out what the hell I’m going to do.

  Now that I got him here in front of me, helpless and hurt, there’s no stopping me now.

  FOR THE SECOND TIME, I’m staring at my phone and contemplating who the hell to call. Only a few short hours ago, I was wondering the same exact thing, but in completely different circumstances. It feels like a lifetime ago since Ryan attacked me and I strung him up to die.

  Once again, I run through my very short list of options. Amelia is out of the question. Mako is a goddamn detective, it’d be laughable to call a cop. I have no other friends or family. No one else to turn to. Except…

  Dialing the number before I can change my mind, I repeat history. This time, I’m not sobbing pathetically on my closet floor, naked and afraid. Now I’m freshly showered, still battered but no longer defeated.

  “River?! Oh my God, are you okay?” Alison’s frantic voice fills my ear. I smile at her concern. Sweet Alison.

  “I’m okay,” I assure. Though being “okay” is subjective, I suppose. Am I okay with doing what I just did? I haven’t figured that out yet. I was at the time, but now that I’m coming down the from adrenaline rush, panic is starting to set in a little.

  But did you die, River? No. Can’t say I did.

  “Where are you? Did he hurt you? Let me come get you.” She’s nearly hysterical, and I almost forget myself and ask why. While I know Alison endured years of abuse at the hands of Ryan, it didn’t occur to me until now that she might’ve had to fight for her life.

  Like I just did.

  “How about I come to you?” I suggest instead. I don’t want to spend another minute in this house right now. It’s too loud in here. Sitting alone with my thoughts as I process what the hell I just did will only cause a mental breakdown. I need to decompress and step away from the situation so I can figure out what hell I’m going to do.

  She pauses, seemingly thrown off by my tranquility and having the option to leave. When with Ryan, there’s no options. No, no. There’s only listening to instructions.

  “Y-yeah,” she stutters, after leaving the question hang a bit too long die to shock.

  “I’ll be there soon,” I say, hanging up before she can say or ask anything else. I’ve no idea what the hell I’m going to tell Alison. She’s certainly going to ask questions. Obviously, she’s going to ask a lot of fucking questions. Last time she heard from me, I was sobbing in the phone, pleading for her to come save me.

  Stupid, River.

  I don’t know what I was thinking.

  I don’t need saving. I never did.

  Eighteen

  River

  “I’M SORRY I CALLED you a bitch.”

  Alison looks up at me, her brow puckered with confusion. We’re sitting on her guest bed, facing each other and stewing in awkward silence. Neither of us knew what to say. I got out of my car and met her at her front door, quiet and reserved but no worse for wear. I don’t think she knows how to act.

  Attempting to escape from Ryan isn’t something you just… walk away from. Maybe limp or crawl, but certainly not walk. And you sure as hell aren’t going to do it as if you’re a model walking down the runway.

 
; “When did you call me a bitch?”

  “In my head.” I pause. “Several times.”

  Her lush mouth curves into a smile, and she shakes her head with amusement. “It’s okay, I was defensive over him too, even up until I finally got away.”

  I shrug a shoulder, not accepting the out she’s giving me. “You were trying to help, and I convinced myself you were the villain. Worst of all, you repeatedly told me about your own pain with him, and I chose not to believe you. There’s enough victim blaming in this world, and I’m sorry I became one of those people.”

  Something like gratitude fills Alison’s eyes. I look away, not knowing how to even process that response. It makes me uncomfortable. This whole situation does, matter of fact. Never in my life have I run to anyone for help—not until Ryan came into my life. I’ve broken the unspoken promise to myself several times. Starting with Mako when Billy nearly killed me, and now with Alison, where I… I can’t think about that right now.

  “So, what about Ryan?” she asks, noting my discomfort. “He doesn’t let go easily. The only reason I got away was because he thought me and Mako were sleeping together.”

  My world pauses on its axis, and my heart stutters like a stubborn engine finally dying. “You and Mako were sleeping together?”

  Her eyes widen and she waves her hands in front of her in a backup motion. “No, no, not at all. Mako helped me get away from Ryan. At one point, I had wanted to… but Mako didn’t return those feelings and I’m honestly glad for it. Being removed from Ryan’s life completely is exactly what I needed to heal.”

  What, does this man have some fucking hero savior complex?

  “I’m glad he helped get you away,” I say sincerely. Really, I am. There’s not a lot of men in this world who would go to the lengths Mako does to get them away from an abusive relationship.