Shallow River

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.