The entire ride back, all I can pray for is that this doesn’t turn ugly again. I might not survive it this time.
“HEY BABY. I MISSED you,” Ryan says, standing from the couch and walking towards me. I take one step back, not quite ready for his touch. Immediately he pauses, a flash of hurt skirting across his eyes. But he steps back nonetheless. That one movement comforts me.
“I’m sorry. Can I get you anything? How are you feeling?”
“How does it look like I feel?” I still haven’t let go of my anger yet. Just because I’m here, doesn’t mean I’m not still hurting.
His eyes track over my purpled face, casted pinky finger and hunched over body. Every movement hurts my ribs, and I still have a slight limp.
He looks dejected, but anger brews in his blue eyes. “It makes me angry looking at you, River. Because of what that son of a bitch did to you. I want to kill him.”
And apparently me too. I keep that part to myself, though.
“Please, come sit down.” I glance at the couch. Memories of lying helpless on the couch in a puddle of pee assault me. Memories of crying and screaming for his help, while he yelled at me and smacked me in the face.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
I take a step back.
“You’re not leaving,” he says. The words send a jolt of fear through me, like an expresso shot straight into my veins. When my eyes slide back to him, his concerned mask has fallen and a darker one has replaced it.
“I…I wasn’t going to,” I say. I hate how weak I just sounded. I lift my phone, my fingers moving towards the SOS button. The phone is ripped from my hand and thrown across the house in a matter of seconds. I flinch at the crash and sound of breaking glass. Great, there goes another one.
“You don’t need that. I just want to help you, River. You never let me help you.”
His soft tone starkly contrasts with the aggressive action. It’s honestly fucking terrifying. I bite my tongue to keep my words in, tempted to remind him we're in this situation because of the last time I asked him for help.
Subtly, I glance around the house. I know this house like the back of my hand now. I know where all the exits are.
I know where the knives are.
I smile at him. “I’d love for you to help me.” I hold out my hand—the one without the broken pinky. “Will you help me to the couch? I’m still sore.”
His shoulders relax, a smile slides across his face and he grips my hand gently.
“See, baby? That’s all I want to do. Make you feel better. Make up for my past mistakes.”
The second my ass hits the couch, so does the reality that I made a huge mistake coming back here.
“So, let’s talk,” I breathe. I grab his hands and hold them tightly in mine. They feel cold, but familiar. I close my eyes briefly and brush my thumbs across his skin.
No tingles. No thrill. Just familiarity. Something I’ve always wanted in life. Comfort, the feeling of home, to be content. I was so tired of being touched by unfamiliar hands that I thrived off the comfort of Ryan’s hands on me. But I never realized that familiar doesn’t mean safe until now.
Billy’s hands are familiar…
This was a mistake.
“I think you owe me an apology first,” he says. My eyes snap open. His dull blues bore into my golden orbs. He is one hundred percent serious.
Desperately, I try to search for the man I fell in love with, but all I see staring back at me is the face of evil. He isn’t even trying to hide it anymore.
I clear my throat.
“What would you like me to apologize for?”
Loving you despite your flaws? Thinking I could change you? Healthy coping mechanisms, my ass. He had me so fooled. I had kidded myself, thinking he was just a man with a few anger issues and little too spoiled. Now I realize I was wrong. So, so wrong.
“For going to Shallow Hill, putting yourself in a dangerous situation and letting another man touch you.” My hand trembles with the need to pull them from his. I don’t want his skin on mine, it burns like hot coals forged from Hell.