I know my dad would have never wished for me to live this life, but I still believe he is proud of me. The beliefs he raised me with are what has kept me fueled the past five years. If I didn't have him guiding me, my life would be a hundred times worse. Ryan may think I've hit rock bottom, but he's not seeing the entire picture. My morals might not be as shiny as they once were, but my self-respect is at an all-time high.
My dad’s favorite quote will never leave me: "Work for a cause, not for applause. Live to express, not to impress." If I had other options, I would take them. But when you're required to work forty hours a week just to pay the exorbitant rent on a rundown apartment, you must look at alternatives. It may be unfair and unjust, but it isn't unreal. Many people in America are worse off than me, so who am I to complain?
The sky opens up, adding to the moisture gliding down my cheeks. I lower my hoodie to shield my eyes. Although Ryan hasn’t said anything, I know he is still following me. I can see his headlights, but they’re not the reason I can sense his presence. I can feel it in my bones.
When the sprinkling of rain turns torrential, Ryan’s patrol car glides to my side. "Get in the car, Savannah, or you'll catch pneumonia."
I continue walking, acting like I didn’t hear a word he spoke.
“Savannah. . . for once, stop being so goddamn stubborn.” His pause was worthless. He is angrier now than he was at the gravesite last week.
His remark rolls off my shoulders like water rolling off a duck's back. He thought I was stubborn when we were younger—he has no clue.
“Savannah. . .” He lines up the front quarter panel of his patrol car to within an inch of my bare, quivering thigh. “Get. In.” He’s not asking; he’s demanding.
My steps don’t slow. I know Ryan won’t hurt me, so I’ve got nothing to fear.
I sneak a glance out of my hoodie when a deep rumble booms through my ears. The source is obvious when I spot a furious Ryan stomping my way. Before I can demand he stop, he curls one arm around my waist while his other hand clamps my shrieking mouth.
I wail with so much force, I lose a stiletto halfway to his patrol car. When kicking his shins fails to loosen his grip, I shift my focus to his hand covering my mouth. I bite down without reservation, returning the pain his snarled comments inflicted to my heart.
“Jesus Christ, Savannah,” Ryan sneers when my teeth break through the skin on his hand. “You’re not an animal. You don’t bite people.”
When his damaged hand falls from my face, I scream with all my might. I’m not in fear for my life; I’m fearful of my body’s response to his closeness. My nipples are budded, and the wetness between my legs can’t be entirely blamed on the rain. I’m angry. I shouldnotbe horny.
My screams for help muffle when Ryan throws me into the back seat of his patrol car. I really shouldn’t say throw. He didn’t quite throw me, but he didn’t place me gently either. He kind of tossed me in there.
After sucking in a deep breath to clear the inane spark of lust in my eyes, I crawl to the door Ryan is in the process of slamming shut. My body’s reactions are ludicrous but also anticipated. Ryan and I had many late night discussions my first three months of college on what we were planning to do in the back seat of his patrol car. My memories are detailed—very,verydetailed. They have kept my “self-coping” mechanisms well stocked the past ten years.
My endeavor to flee like a criminal is lost when the back passenger door comes to a stop within an inch of my nose. Like I could act any more idiotic, I bang my fists on the window. “Let me out. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
My thumps wobble the glass, but they don’t incite a reaction from Ryan. He merely collects my discarded shoe from the roadside before curling into the driver’s seat. Because his anger is so white hot, steam billows around him when he cranks the heater up.
“Let me out,” I demand, speaking through the little circles in the plexiglass wedged between us. “This is illegal. You are an officer of the law; you can’t kidnap people.”
“I’m not kidnapping anyone,” Ryan snarls, tugging on his seatbelt. “I’m arresting you.”
I balk. “Arresting me? For what?” Shock resonates in my tone.
Ryan swings his squinted gaze to me, forcing me to swallow.I’ve never seen him so angry.
“You attacked an officer of the law.Thatis illegal. I am well within my rights to arrest you.”
“I didn’t attack you. I defended myself.” I lean back in my seat and fold my arms over my chest, acting unaffected by his threat. “Go ahead, arrest me. Then when my charges are thrown out of court, I’ll sue you for every penny you have.”
I see the pegs of his teeth in the rearview mirror when he smirks an angry grin. "I already gave you every penny I have, Savannah." The divider blocks me from seeing what he nudges his head to, but I don't need to see the bills to know what he is referring to. "I ain't got any more to give."
“Youhaven’tgot any more to give," I correct. I’m not so annoyed that I’ll miss an opportunity to correct his grammar as he had always done to me.
Ryan huffs but remains quiet. I mimic his stance. I’m not worried. Ryan doesn’t have a vindictive bone in his body. He’ll drive me home; I’ll leave without thanking him, then he’ll go back to avoiding me like he as the past few weeks. No skin off my nose.
Yeah, right.
My calm, collected composure continues to crack the further we travel. Ryan didn't take a left on Rainer Circle. He turned right. There is no way we can reach my apartment building by traveling this route. It has one entry and exit point only. It is the reason I chose to rent it.
“You’re not really arresting me, are you?” I ask, scooting to the edge of my seat.
Ryan lifts his baby blues to the rearview mirror but remains as quiet as a mouse.
