Shallow River

by H.D. Carlton

“You saved yourself, Alison, not me. I just gave you the push to do it. You were the one in the relationship, and you were the only one who was able to claw your way out of it. That was all you.”

Abusers don’t only manipulate their victims, but they get off on making other’s believe that they’re upstanding people. They trick them into thinking that they would never hurt a fly, so when accusations come to the surface, they’re considered outrageous.

“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.”

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.

“Then give that privilege to a man who deserves it. If you want a man to own you, then let him. But that’s not something he has a right to without your consent,”

“The only way I want to own a woman is by owning her pleasure. I want her body to sing for me—a tune that only I can hear. I want her body to gravitate towards mine like a moth to a flame. And I want her to grow to dislike the feeling of being so empty when my cock isn’t inside of her.”

“I know what it’s like not to be your parent’s first choice. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be your own first choice. Choose yourself, River. Put yourself first.”

Why should I hide that I was attacked? I’m a fucking survivor, right? I always have been. Maybe I should start relishing in the attention from bruises and a broken soul. Maybe I should turn it into armor.

It’s like a riptide—every time I think I’m going to pull myself out and get free, he’s right there to pull me back under. Drowning and suffocating me.

I’ve put more effort into this relationship than I ever had with anyone else. All the other men I’ve entertained were just that—entertainment. I never felt the things Ryan makes me feel.

It’s pretty clear Ryan has issues, but maybe if he opens up to me better and we establish healthy coping mechanisms for his anger, we can fix this. That’s what I’ve learned in my studies. Coping mechanisms. Finding what triggers him and learning how to handle it in a healthy way.

“I’ll come home. But if I start to feel scared in any way, I’ll have the police on speed dial.” Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize that’s a sentence I should never have to say to my boyfriend. But I don’t have fucking room to talk, though. Look at where I came from. Everyone has demons, and I love Ryan enough to try to help him fight those demons.

I still haven’t let go of my anger yet. Just because I’m here, doesn’t mean I’m not still hurting.

The second my ass hits the couch, so does the reality that I made a huge mistake coming back here.

The absolute shame that I’ll never learn. I always come crawling back to him.

He hasn’t shown his dark side to me since the day I came home, and it’s to the point where I’m questioning myself—thinking maybe I just overreacted.

Love is something otherworldly. Something entirely potent and powerful that makes you do crazy things. Like, hit them. And stay when you’re hit. It’s an emotion that no one person will ever be able to define. There’s no saying how love should be. One person thinks loving someone means accepting their flaws, while another might think loving someone means trying to help them change for the better. Who’s to say who’s right?

That’s what everyone always says, right? I’d never let a man hit me. You don’t even realize that’s what has happened until it’s too late.

The biggest misconception with survivors of abuse is that they’re choosing to stay. Anyone in our situation would leave if it were that easy. But when someone is threatening your life daily, sometimes staying seems like the safer choice. Even if you know, it’ll kill you one day.

The unpredictable abuse is still predictable, and that can be a little less scary than trying to rebuild a life on your own with the constant fear that this person will come after you and snatch it away. All that hard work—gone. And sometimes your life, too.

This devil of man built me up just to destroy me. Made me love him and told me the lies of loving me back.

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’m stained. I’m also other things too. Broken. Scarred. Traumatized. Strong. Fierce. Vengeful…

My confidence was something I always held onto tightly. It was my armor, and it prevented me from feeling anything but sure of myself when in the same room with a man I wanted.

With just a simple demand from her lips, I’ll be a slave to every one of her desires.

“Because I’ve waited my whole life for someone like you. And now that I finally found it, I’m fucking terrified of losing it.”

Her eyes widen when she gets a taste of his voice. Deep—so fucking deep, especially when he’s saying the dirtiest things in your ear while at least nine inches deep inside you. I shiver at the memory.

“Lick. My. Pussy,” I growl, my hand sliding into his hair roughly and tugging hard. I feel the smile against my neck.

“Good girl,” he praises. He kisses my neck softly before he trails those kisses down my chest. Stopping at my breast, he wraps his hot mouth around my nipple. My head falls back, and my hips start rotating once more as he continues to plunge the knife inside me.