Shallow River

The old librarian took care of me and loved me in a way that I had never experienced before. That year, when I was only thirteen, she looked into adopting me. It had been the happiest I had ever been. I was sure Barbie would’ve loved to hand me over. But before she could, she suffered from a severe stroke and passed away.

That was the saddest I had ever been. It’s also when I started prostituting myself for basic needs to keep me alive.

My body sways as memories rush over me. I’m so lost in them; I don’t register the soft touch of a hand on my hip at first.

I still, and reality comes rushing back. I jerk away from his touch, and hiss in pain when the pain in my hip flares hot.

“It’s purple.”

I don’t ask, and he doesn’t explain. We both know what he means. My university t-shirt rode up, exposing the deep purple bruise on my hip. I knew I should’ve worn an oversized shirt today. This one is loose-fitting and up to my neck but it’s not big enough to fall past my hips. I fix it hastily, my cheeks running hot from embarrassment. The last thing I need is judgment from Mako. He has no idea what he’s talking about when it comes to mine and Ryan’s relationship.

“I fell.”

His face flattens.

It’s not a lie.

“I know. Typical answer. But it’s true, honestly.”

“You fell,” he repeats dryly. “But were you pushed?”

“No.”

Now I’m a liar, liar.

I don’t know why I’m trying to convince him. Mako’s eyes drop back down to my hip. Now that he knows it’s there, he stares as if he has x-ray vision and can see through the soft cotton. The silence grows uncomfortable.

“Can I show you something?” My voice raises his darkened green eyes back to mine. They’re nearly black with rage. His large hands are curled tightly into fists, and the muscle in his jaw is pulsing, like a wild horse trapped in a cage.

He nods once, sharply. I’ll never know what possessed me, but I grab his hand and lead him to my favorite spot in the far corner of the library. It’s not a big building, but it had a lot of gem alcoves.

Camilla trusted me with the library’s biggest secret.

The rare books, so old, they would crumble if they hadn’t been taken care of so well.

They’re no longer here, but the room is. The door is triggered by a trap in one of the shelves. A book didn’t trigger the lock, but a shelf. If lifted just high enough to engage the mechanism and unlock the door.

It’s one room that’s been kept safe from the squatters and shitty teenagers. I lift the shelf and open the bookcase.

No amount of dust could keep from my lungs from inhaling deeply. The room is small, and smells of moth balls and musk, but it brings me peace anyway. There are two small windows in here, allowing sunlight to stream through. Dust mites dance in the rays as I make my way in.

Mako has to hunch down a little to get through, and I have the insane urge to giggle at watching him finesse his body through the opening. I turn away before I give in to that urge.

“Where are we?” Mako questions, wonderment in his voice as he looks around the small room.

“Where childhood dreams live,” I reply cryptically.

This is where I made my plans on how to get out of Shallow Hill. I was twelve years old with a pack of crayons and a piece of paper and a shoddy outline of my future. I did the math on what my paychecks would look like making minimum wage, planned my savings, what age I’d be eligible for a better job and a credit card, and adjusted accordingly. Camilla would help me with a lot of it, explaining all the adult-things like credit and how important it is.

I didn’t have typical childhood dreams of meeting Prince Charming and falling in love. Or becoming an astronaut or discovering the cure for cancer.

I just wanted out of Shallow Hill. Everything after that would come later when I accomplished my goal—one that seemed so impossible at the time.

“Do yours still live here? he asks, wandering around the room.

“No, they’ve come true already.” His eyes slide to mine. I feel pinned to the spot, like invisible hands are holding me in place. He looks away, and I can breathe again.

“What were they?”