Follow the River

I give her a hard stare. “Who are you? You speak about her as if you know her.”

A grimace mars Erica’s face. “Your mother and I…? We knew each other. Quite well at one point in our lives, until she married Ted and I moved out here. When she found out you were coming to Colorado, she contacted me. Begged me to help you out, if only to give you someone to talk to once she heard your own voice recounting all the things he did to you on those tapes.” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “Once she sent the tapes into the FBI, she called me and told me everything. She wanted to be sure you were okay, but no one had heard from you. The media doesn’t know this, but Ted is missing. He fled Pe

My brain gets stuck on those last words. We don’t know where he is.

Which means, he could be anywhere.

He could be here.

I clamp my hands behind my head and focus on inhaling deep, steady breaths like my first therapist taught me when panic starts to set in.

And that’s what I’m doing. Full-bown fucking panicking.

The good doctor must notice my agitation rising again, because she watches me carefully as I work through my self-soothing methods. “That’s it, Ciaráin,” Doctor Fulton praises from her seat. “Keep breathing.”

Her words are knives being driven through my eardrums, so I tell her just fucking that, all while counting back from one hundred in my head.

Three times.

And I’m still not calm.

Five more minutes later and I’m still not.

My mind is ru

Where is Ted? What is his next move? Is he going to out me for that night he erased from history like he threatened before I left for college? Does he plan to eliminate me entirely?

Does he know about River?

Fuck, River.

My brain latches onto thoughts of him again, using them as an anchor to hold me steady, keep me grounded.

His aqua eyes and chocolate hair. A sleepy smile, the kind he only gives me first thing in the morning when he wakes up. The weird musical tapping fixation of his I’ve grown to love, even pray to see at least once on the daily so I can ask him what song is in his brain.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve learned I can deduce his thoughts from them like a fun sort of detective game. Because they always give away more than the words he says aloud, and it’s those thoughts I crave more than his body.

That’s a lie. I crave everything about him.

His laugh, his smile. His steady heartbeat under my ear. His lightness seeps into my black soul, giving it life—purpose—for the first time in forever.

He’s the calm in the storm.

And I fucking need him. I won’t let Ted ruin the best thing to ever happen to me.

And Ted can’t know about him. There’s no way. We were stranded in that goddamn cabin away from the world for five weeks. The entire world thinks I’m dead for fuck’s sake. Or kidnapped or whatever.

So he can’t know about River. There’s no way. It’s impossible.

Except I know the power and reach Ted has. When he wants something, he gets it.

Ted wants to rape and molest his underage stepson? Done.

Ted wants to cover up someone’s murder and use it as leverage? Easy peasy.

Ted wants to find something to use against me so this shitstorm blows over? You can bet your ass he will find it. Extort it. Grind it to dust in his efforts to get every inch of an advantage he can before tossing it to the wayside, labeling it as collateral.

And if he found out about River. About the power River holds over me, the lengths I would go to keep him safe?

River would become the perfect bargaining chip to get whatever he wants from me. Only I can’t trust River would make it out of any scenario with Ted alive and well. Not in this case.

That alone tells me what I fear most.

In order to keep River safe, I have to let him go. I have to break off this…thing between us, whatever it is. Honestly, I don’t know how to classify it anymore. What started as a clash of enemies became secret fuck buddies with no labels and an expiration date, then somehow turned into love.

Not puppy love or infatuation. The real fucking deal kind of love. I might have been questioning it when I walked into this office, but now I’m absolutely certain.

What I feel for him is nothing short of head-over-heels, I’d-do-anything-for-you love.

The love you move mountains for. Cross oceans for.

The love you give up to keep that person safe from the psychotic asshole who will take anything you care about and a

I can’t, I fucking can’t let him do that to River.

Leaving me with only one option to protect him from Ted. The only one that makes sense, at least.

I have to leave him.

Break this off for good, even if doing so will be as if I cut my own heart out of my chest in the process. No matter how much I don’t want to.

A war wages within me at the thought of living for the foreseeable future without River. Seeing him, but not having him. Feeling so strongly for him, but not being able to express it. It causes an ache in my chest so sharp I actually rub the spot above my heart in an effort to soothe the pain.

I can’t do that to him. Cut him out like he meant nothing. Fuck, I can’t do that to myself when he’s become fucking everything to me.

Only a fool cuts the cord to his one lifeline.

But I have to do it; to protect him from being a casualty in a battle that isn’t his to take part in.

I’ll take down Ted, somehow, some way. And I’ll get River back.

Jesus Christ, am I losing my mind right now?

My body quakes with untapped emotions as I sit on Doctor Fulton’s couch, head in my hands, debating my next move. I’d never be able take on Ted on my own, in any way, shape, or form. Not when it comes to this.

The only problem is, the people I know who can help, he has his hand in with them too. My stepfather’s hold over people is limitless, something I’ve known for a long time but seem to just now be realizing.

“Is there someone, anyone, you can call? Who can help you in a time like this?”

Glancing up at her, I see tears welling in her eyes and immediately feel like the biggest dick in the world for assuming she had anything to do with this. I give her a brief nod, even though I don’t know if I have it in me to make the call.

“You can call whoever it is from here, if you’d like. Take as much time as you need, Ciaráin,” she says, grasping one of my hands in both of her warm ones. “The situation you’ve been forced into…” she trails off, shaking her head in dismay. “I feel for you. In all my years in this field, I’ve never had to deal with this situation. I understand if you have no desire to continue sessions. Just know I’m here in whatever capacity you need me to be.”

She leans back when I give her a nod again.

At this point, I don’t think I can open my mouth to speak without some semblance of a scream or wail breaking though. But I have to do something.

Anything, anyone, that could help is better than nothing.

Swallowing my pride, I steel myself for the move I have to make, even though I’m not sure it will do much good. His number could have changed in the last four years since I’ve spoken to him. And if by some miracle he does answer, will he even want to talk to me? To help me?