Shallow River

“Say it again.” The growled words radiate through my ear, down my spine and straight to where we’re connected.

“Mako,” I grit hoarsely, the name punctuated by a sharp gasp when his cock slides deep inside me. I squeeze my eyes shut, desperate to come but just as desperate for the moment to never end.

His hands slide down my thighs, one hand leaving a trail of blood. The sight sends a spike of pleasure to my core. Something about the wrongness of it turns me on that much more. Gripping my hips, he forces my body towards him as he begins to drive into me fast and hard.

His grunts join my loud screams, the pitch of our voices and the joining of our bodies becoming a loud crescendo. The familiar tightening in my stomach warns me of the orgasm that’s surely going to devastate me.

“Fuck, River, I need to fill you up. Come on my cock now,” he demands harshly. Just as simple as stroking a key on a piano, his demand has immediate results. The coil snaps and I fall over the edge once more.

I can't breathe. My eyes roll and body convulses around him. Mako’s loud grunt is my only warning before he slams inside me a few more times and then stills. Hot spurts of cum fill me up, so much of it that it leaks past his dick.

“Fuuuuck, River,” he groans, long and hard.

Our breathing is heavy and choppy. It feels like all the bones from my body have been extracted, making me feel like a melting skin bag.

“I think that worked. Knives are my new favorite thing.”

“THE GHOST KILLER’S MOST recent victim, River McAllister, rebuilding her life after tragic kidnapping.”

Red bleeds into my vision. Victim. That’s what I’m known for. Not someone who survived. Just someone who was victimized. I crumple the paper in my fist and throw the stupid newspaper across the living room. Mako’s eyes turn to me, a brow raised in question.

“Who even reads the goddamn newspaper anymore?” I mutter, my cheeks flushing red with lingering

anger and embarrassment.

“Apparently you,” he states bluntly.

I sniff. “Well, not anymore.”

“You’re still reading those articles?”

“They’re everywhere!” I explode, tossing my hands in the air with frustration. “The Ghost Killer’s victim does this, the victim does that. When are they going to stop referring to me as a victim and not a goddamn survivor?”

Mako opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “Matter of fact, when are they just going to leave me the fuck alone? Whether I’m a victim or a survivor, reminding me of my trauma isn’t healing for me!”

The investigation was closed fairly quickly after Billy’s death. With Amar and Mako’s statement supporting mine, they deemed it case closed. The Ghost Killer was officially off the streets, that’s all they really cared about anyway.

I decided it was best to get myself into therapy. It’d be awfully hypocritical of me to become a therapist but refuse the service for myself. It’s been helping, but I’ll never be able to talk about the real truth. What I did to Ryan and Billy, and how I killed them so callously. Only a few people know the truth, but Mako is the only one that truly knows the details of what happened on both those days. It’s something that’s deepened our connection tremendously.

Some nights, we stay up until dawn, talking through my feelings and thoughts on the matter while he just listens. I’ve already concluded I’m not entirely sane due to the years of abuse and trauma. Certain things are triggering for me, even something as small as Mako raising his hands towards my face.

I’ve also concluded Mako isn’t sane, either. Purely because he’s okay with staying with a lunatic like me. He loves my crazy, and accepts every single part of me, including the dark, murderous side. Even now, I haven’t fully accepted that yet. There’s a small part of me that’s waiting for Mako to turn on me and become a familiar monster. But every day, he proves he’s the furthest thing from a monster, and more like the knight in shining armor I never wanted him to be.

Mako sets down his phone and scoots across the couch until he’s huddled around me.

“I can’t tell you why they choose to see you as a victim and not a survivor, and I can’t tell you why they choose to see you as a story and not a person, but what I can tell you is the people who matter do see you as those things. You’re right that it’s not healing for you, so maybe its best you just stop reading the articles.”

I sigh, my shoulders drooping.

“I just want the rest of the world to move on like I’m trying to do. I don’t want to be known as Ryan Fitzgerald’s late girlfriend anymore. Or the Ghost Killer’s victim. I just want to be me and the rest of world goes back to not knowing who I am.”

He turns my body and scoops me up under my butt and settles me onto his lap. My legs circle around his waist. Calmness washes over me with his presence enveloping me. As much as my inner badass hates to admit it, this is where I feel safest. In Mako’s arms.

My life was so bleak before he came into my life. I was constantly surrounded by the evil of the world that sucked all the good things out of life from me and left me with nothing but the will to die. Now, I have all those things back. All the good things. Hope. Love. Safety. A real future. And the will to live. Mako handed those things back to me like he was picking them out of the Lost and Found bin and handing them back to their rightful owner.

“It’s impossible for people to forget about you, baby. All you can do is show them who you are. What they take from it is no concern to you. Other people’s thoughts and opinions won’t change you.”

I lean in and place a soft kiss on his lips.