Shallow River

“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 o

vershadowed 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.