30. Scarlet
30
SCARLET
I ’m unsure how much time passes.
I’m no longer crying. A numbness has overtaken my mind.
I never thought I’d find myself here, least of all with Ren. My eyes are swollen and hurt from the constant crying, but more than that, my heart hurts.
How long did I beg him to let me out? How many times did I tell him to speak to me, to let me explain what I meant? I’ve lost track, half out of my mind with fear and confusion.
I cover my mouth with my hand to stifle a sob.
The truth is right in front of me, written in blinking neon letters a hundred feet high. I can’t help him. I love him, and I can’t help him.
I’m carrying his child, and I can’t ease whatever torture he’s going through. Because that’s what it is. He’s being tortured by whatever lives inside his head.
I’m the world’s biggest fool. But then, how was I supposed to know how bad things really were?
Maybe you would have if you’d stepped back and looked at everything clearly. No. Instead, I made excuse after excuse for him, explaining away the mood swings and how he treated me.
The way he not only killed a man but laughed at my reaction.
I should have seen it then.
Why didn’t I see it? That he’s sick, really sick.
Because you didn’t want to see it. Because you thought you could help him.
Denial is a hell of a thing.
I can’t believe it didn’t hit me until an hour ago. If he pushed Q down the stairs, which he has admitted, he must already have been sick before he left Corium.
His condition was under our noses all this time, and we never saw it.
Not even my brother or father saw it. Either he was hiding it well or it only got worse over time.
Maybe he didn’t even know—I’m sure he doesn’t know now. Truly sick people never do.
My Ren. My everything.
He’s so sick, and there’s nothing I can do to help.
And while I have yet to confirm I’m pregnant, I can feel it.
If it was just me, this would be different. I wouldn’t be this scared. Knowing myself, I would stubbornly hold on, convinced I could pull him out of this somehow. That there was still enough of him left, that I could get through to the part of him that’s still healthy, still self-aware.
Maybe I could convince him to go to a doctor for my sake.
Now, I’m afraid I don’t have the time for that. I don’t know how he will react if I tell him I’m pregnant because I can’t predict anything about him anymore. A light switch flips on and off inside his head, and he goes from his normal self to this other version of him. The version that is coarse and crude. Cold and violent, with a thirst for blood.
A sudden idea makes me shudder.
What if it’s that part of him in charge when I tell him about the baby? What if he hurts me because a baby isn’t in his plans? All that matters is New Haven and revenge. There’s no room in that for a baby, is there? The thought leaves me cracked open.
I cannot believe I’m actually thinking this, but then I can’t believe anything that’s happened. Maybe I’ll be able to figure it out one day, but this is not that day.
Today, there’s only one thing I can do, one thing I have no idea how to pull off. I promised him I’d always be here, no matter what, but this is bigger than us. I need to get out of here to get him the help he needs.
It still doesn’t feel real, thinking like that. I’ve sacrificed everything to be with him because I was sure it was right. That this is where I’m meant to be.
That was before. Before I saw the depth of his illness.
Before I knew I had a baby to think about it.
Am I justifying myself? Trying to convince myself this is the right thing to do? I guess so—and I have to try harder because a part of me, a very big part, wants to stay.
No, that wishes I could stay, which are two very different things. It would be nice if I could. If there was a way we could be together without me waking up every morning afraid of what I’ll find. Of who he’ll be this time.
I will not put our child through that.
This is about more than me. Maybe it’s the wake-up call I needed.
I pull a shaky breath into my lungs. There hasn’t been much noise on the other side of the door. No throwing or breaking of things.
No talking to himself, which I take as a good sign.
I’m sure he’s still mad at me, or else why would he still have me locked in this room? I tiptoe over to the door and press my ear to the wood, closing my eyes to block out everything but what I hear.
It takes a minute or so, but I’m pretty confident that what I’m hearing is his soft, steady breathing. I’m sure he laid on the couch at some point and is now peacefully asleep. Good, and not only because he needs it.
I’ve never seen a person go so long without sleeping more than a couple of hours a night, tops. Eventually, he’s going to break down in a very serious way.
I can’t be here when he does. As much as I hate the idea of leaving him alone to suffer, it has to be done. I’ll return for him with the help he needs. Things will be different then.
My eyes sweep the room before I even know what I’m thinking about. Like my survival instinct has kicked into overdrive while the rest of me fights to catch up. My gaze lands on something I bought at Walmart before we went to Reno, anticipating a nice night and the potential to dress up and do my hair.
A handful of hairpins sit on the dresser, practically begging to be used.
I grab a couple of them, unbending them as I crouch in front of the doorknob. I’ve never actually tried to do this before, but I’ve seen it done, and I understand the mechanics. It’s only a matter of doing it quietly enough that Ren won’t be disturbed.
This is insanity. The part of me that wants nothing to do with this, the part that thinks it would be perfectly reasonable to pretend this never happened and settle for hoping he feels better when he wakes up. The voice screams in my head. This is Ren. He wouldn’t hurt me.
I need to wake up. The fact is, he has already hurt me. Just because I’m not bruised doesn’t mean no harm has been done. He mocked me for my reaction to the way he killed that man, taunted me, and treated me like I was nothing. That’s not even counting the anxiety he’s made me feel.
That part of him is still inside. I can’t pretend it’s not. I’ve pretended all along, and it hasn’t helped anything.
That’s what I need to keep in mind as I begin to pick the lock. My hands are shaking too much at first to be effective, but the memory of what I’m carrying inside me and how much they need to be protected focuses my energy and steadies me. I can get through this. I have to get through this.
Slowly, I insert the first pin into the lock, turning the tumbler slightly before inserting the second tiny piece of metal. I ease it in, feeling around for the pins comprising the lock, concentrating hard on the feel of them as I go from one to the next, lifting them as I slide the metal along.
Am I doing this right?
I think I am, but I won’t be sure until I finish. It does seem like it’s working, but no matter how hard I try, this is not a silent job. The knob jiggles, and metal scrapes against metal. Panic rises up, bubbling over the surface.
I’m making too much noise. I know it.
Especially when I drop one of the pins to the floor. In the silent cabin, it’s as loud as if I’d struck a drum, but that could also be my overheated imagination running away with me.
Either way, I freeze up with my heart in my throat at the sound of movement from the other side of the door.
He moves fast, so fast there’s hardly time for me to get out of the way before he unlocks the door and shoves it open.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demands, his blue eyes stormy, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a nasty snarl. “Trying to get away? Is that what this is? To think you promised him you would always stay.”
All I can do is stumble to my feet and cry out in a desperate plea for mercy, hoping to get through. “Ren, please, don’t do this.”
If anything, my plea makes things worse. With a growl, he lunges at me, arms extended, but somehow, I manage to duck past him and into the living room.
He catches me easily with a heavy arm wrapped around my waist. He throws me down onto the couch, all the air seeping out of my lungs.
“This is how you want to play it? I’ll be the cat, and you be the mouse? You know there’s no getting away from me.”
I roll onto my back, frantic, trying to sit up but held in place by his much larger body, caging me in. “Stop this,” I beg, my voice clogged with emotion. “This is me, Scarlet. I love you.”
What am I even doing? Trying to pull him back to me. He finds it hilarious, his bitter laughter ringing out over my breathless sobs.
I only need to get to the door. That’s it. I have a general idea of the direction of town, even if it is miles away. Once I get to the road, though, I might be able to flag down a passing vehicle. That’s my only hope. First, getting past him, which right now seems as likely as outrunning a bear.
“You’re the problem,” he whispers, his hate-filled eyes burning holes through me. I shrink back into the cushion. “You’ve always been the problem.”
There is so much hatred in him, so much rage, and when he looks at me, I understand one thing with crystal-clear certainty—he would kill me if he could.
Whatever is in him, whatever is in control now, wants me dead.
The man before me, the man who wiped my tears, gave me my first kiss, and protected me for years, is the complete opposite of Ren at this moment. All of Ren’s love, protectiveness, and devotion have been twisted into something that seems downright demonic in comparison.
“Listen to me. I know you’re still in there. I know you still love me.”
“Would you shut the fuck up? God, this stupid fucking bitch never stops talking and is always in the way. I told him. I fucking told him what happens when you get women involved in things, but did he want to listen, did he? No,” he barks, lunging almost like he wants to bite my face like a rabid dog. “No, he thought he knew better. Thought loving you would make him whole, would stop him from falling off the deep end. Would keep his humanity in check. He always thinks he knows best, but he doesn’t.”
He’s completely lost it. It’s only when I register the wetness on my cheeks that I realize I’m crying again. My breath comes in hitching sobs, every muscle of my body tense, prepared to flee. But I have to get past him first, don’t I?
“Shhh, it’s okay. We can talk this out.”
“What is there to talk about?” he screams, pressing me into the corner of the couch. My eyes dart around wildly, my survival instinct kicking in on the heels of a fresh wave of adrenaline. He wants to hurt me. He’s going to hurt me, that crazy light in his eyes and his empty, soulless smile speaking of unfathomable pain and destruction.
“Please,” I sob, gripped by panic and the growing certainty he wants me dead. “Please, it’s me. Remember us. Remember everything we have and what we’ve been through.”
“Who is we? We don’t have shit.”
“That isn’t true. We have so much. We always have. Please, don’t forget that.”
He cuts me off, a hand wrapped around my throat, a hand which tightens until pressure builds in my head, and even pulling in a sip of air is a struggle.
His face becomes a mask of stony loathing, eyes hard and sharp as flint that glows with a murderous light.
“You’re in the way. You’re the problem.” He says it like he’s finally figured out something plaguing him. “It’s all about you. Things were fine before you came into the picture. Once I’m rid of you, he’ll be mine again. And we can do this together. We can hit our goal.”
“Who?” I squeak out, my heart fluttering and my body screaming to run, fight, escape.
Leaning in, he growls in my face. “Who do you think? Ren. Your precious fucking Ren.”
One moment, my heart beats heavily against my rib cage; the next, it simply stops beating. I can hardly breathe. I almost forget everything in favor of searching his once familiar eyes, looking for the truth.
That can’t be right. I must have misheard him. That’s the only explanation. It’s Ren’s hand around my throat, and Ren’s body pressed against mine. His presence, his scent, the depth of his eyes, and even the tiny freckle on his nose. This is Ren.
“But you’re Ren,” I whisper. “You are.”
It hits me all at once, cold certainty settling into my bones before he even says a word.
“Are you fucking blind?” He barks out an unhinged laugh. “I’m sorry, princess, but Ren isn’t home right now. All you get is me.”
Oh my god.
All this time.
I missed it all this time . How could I have missed it?
Every clue, every hint. The mood swings, all of it, every memory comes rushing back at once, flooding my fragile mind. It’s all so clear. I could give up here and now and let him do what he plans because, dammit, I’ve been so stupid. But I can’t. I won’t. I’m stronger than that.
“You’re River,” I breathe, and it isn’t a question.
He smiles and even inclines his head. “In the flesh. And once you’re out of the way, he has no reason to fight me anymore.”
Then he squeezes, his fingers pressing hard. The force bruises, and there’s no question where this will end unless I do something. Now.
I flail, running my hands over the couch, pounding at his shoulders, clawing at his face, but I might as well be fighting air. Air that’s now in short supply. My lungs are burning, the pressure building in my head until I know it will explode; there’s no way it won’t.
I’m dying. He’s going to kill me and my baby.
Our baby. My poor Ren.
But this isn’t Ren.
And I’m not dying here today.
In a last-ditch effort, I throw my arm behind me, my hand flailing around in search of something, anything before I lose consciousness.
I’m already starting to, my vision becoming hazy and spotty.
“I should’ve got rid of you earlier.”
My fingers close around an object. Something heavy, solid. There’s no time to be indecisive. Maybe that’s what gives me the strength to swing my arm up, the lamp firmly in my grip, before bringing it crashing down against Ren’s skull.
It’s like magic. All at once, the pressure is gone, the world coming back into focus as I suck in as much air as my lungs will hold. He groans, then tumbles off the couch and lands on the floor.
A trickle of blood runs from the side of his head and onto the wood beneath him. Coughing, I sit up, rubbing at my throat.
He’s out cold, but his chest continues to rise and fall. Even now, having come so close to taking my last breath, I don’t want to kill him.
Ren is still in there somewhere.
But I can’t afford to wait around for him to show up again.
As soon as my head is clear, I jump to my feet and run for the door—only to look back at him, thinking about the Jeep. The keys, where are the keys? In my mind’s eye, I see him taking them from his back pocket, the way he’s done so many times. Do I have a chance of rolling him over to grab them before he comes to? No, I can’t take that chance. I already came close enough.
If he wakes up and still thinks he’s River, I won’t stand a chance of surviving.
Instead, I fling the door open and take off at a run. The cool air is a shock to my sweaty, overheated skin while the bright sunlight leaves me squinting until I’m swallowed by the shadows of the trees.
How long will he be unconscious?
How long do I have? The idea of him catching me gets my feet moving faster, carrying me down the worn path leading to the main road. It’s maybe half a mile away, but it might as well be ten or twenty.
Keep going, keep moving. He could be behind me at any second. I have to get to the main road. I have to get there before he comes to and follows me.
Dammit, I should have taken the Jeep, but it’s too late now. I’m already halfway there, ignoring the stitch in my side in favor of running for my life—and my baby’s.
I am so sorry.
I’m so sorry this is happening.
I promise I’ll get you out of this.
Even if I don’t quite know how yet. I only know I need help.
He’s River, and he’s Ren. How didn’t I see it?
I can’t not think about it, the memories overlapping like snippets of a gruesome horror movie. The dark screen. I explained that one away, didn’t I? Just like everything else—the fact that I never saw him, never spoke to him, never heard his voice. Or that I’d never even heard of him before this, in all the years he was so close with my brother, with the entire family.
When I first woke up, after he brought me here. I knew something was off. How could I have been this blind? I even told myself he was like an alien from that old movie, didn’t I? My feet slow in their relentless pounding of the ground, my body threatening to give up under the weight of my self-hatred.
Walking around in Ren’s body but without Ren’s soul.
Because he wasn’t Ren. He was River, and River hates me. River wants revenge, and nothing will stop him.
If I don’t haul ass, I’ll be the one he gets his revenge on. I can think about all of this later when there’s time to sit around and blame myself for all the little hints I missed.
And I will. I’ll blame myself until the day I die.
A rumble up ahead leaves hope exploding in my chest, and it’s enough to carry me the last few hundred yards until I burst out onto the shoulder of the two-lane highway. A passing truck, well beyond me now.
Still, it’s a sign of life. Somebody’s bound to come up soon.
I throw a wild, panicked look over my shoulder, relieved that there’s no sign of Ren or River following me. He might still be unconscious, for all I know. I did hit him pretty hard. Guilt blooms in my chest.
It was him or you. Right. I have to remember that.
Instead of standing around and waiting, I begin walking, staying close to the tree line in case I need to hide. There’s always the chance of him following me. He could be right behind me now, speeding his way to the road, cursing himself for not snapping my neck. It still burns, but I have to ignore that. I can’t afford to slow down.
What am I going to do? There’s only one solution. What I should have done all along—God, I’ve made so many mistakes. So desperate to be with him that I ignored what was playing out right in front of me.
I jump like a scared rabbit at the sound of an engine somewhere behind me. Instinct leaves me darting away behind an overgrown bush. This is it, it’s him, he caught up to me. He’s never going to let me go.
Instead, peering out, I find a white truck rolling my way. Before I know what I’m doing, I jump out, waving my arms over my head as it approaches. Hurry… hurry, please.
My heart’s about to burst out of my chest by the time the truck pulls up in front of me, the passenger window rolling down. An older man sits behind the wheel, and it’s clear he’s concerned.
It hurts to raise my voice, but I push through the pain. “Please, help me. I need to get to town. Fast. I have to get away.”
He casts a look over his shoulder. “Away from who? Is somebody hurting you?”
I blurt out a sob, my head bobbing up and down. His gaze lingers on my throat, where—if the pain is any indication—bruises are already forming.
“Come on. Get in. I’ll take you to the hospital.”
Panic rears up at the thought. “No, please, don’t do that. I only need to get to town. Somewhere I can get picked up.” Think, think, what do I do next?
His shoulders sag, and he sighs, nodding. “Fair enough.” He unlocks the door, extending a hand to help me inside. Only when I have the door closed, and we’re rolling away can I breathe freely. I can’t take my eyes off the mirror mounted to the door, staring at it and watching the spot where I was picked up fade until it disappears.
“Do you have a phone? Can I please use your phone to call for help?”
“Of course.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a cell. “But I’d feel a lot better if you’d let me take you to the hospital, just the same.”
“No, that’s all right. I just have to get someplace where I can wait to get picked up. I’m sure it won’t take long.” With a shaking hand, I dial the only number that comes to mind. The number I should have tried to dial weeks ago when all of this first happened.
There’s no turning back from this, and I know it.
But I don’t have a choice.
I have to do this for myself, our unborn baby, and Ren.
The phone rings once.
My father’s deep voice vibrates in my ear. “Who is this?”
“Dad?” I whisper, my voice shaking so hard with emotion I can barely speak. “I need your help.”
Thank you for reading Touch of Hate.
Ren and Scarlet’s story continues in Touch of Chaos .
If you want to know more about Quinton and Aspen, you can read their complete story now starting with King of Corium