Docile

by K. M. Szpara

“It is and it isn’t. I’m embarrassed, Abbs. I know I don’t have to be because it’s not my fault, but I did a lot of things while I was a Docile that I don’t want you or Dad or Nora to know about. And because I can’t talk about them with you, I can’t explain a lot of my needs. Communication is something I’m working really hard on; I hope I’m making sense.”

  “You are. I just feel left out. I don’t know how to help.”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about, actually. It’s a secret—a really important secret, Abby. You can’t tell anyone, promise?”

  She nods. “I promise.”

  “Okay.” Butterflies fill my stomach. If Abby tells on us, this could all fall through. Say it. I need to say it. “Jess and I are trying to help Mom get back to her old self. To do that, Mom needs to go with Jess for a while. She’s smart—she’s a doctor and scientist. But, more importantly, I trust her. I need you to trust her, too. Or, at least, me.”

  “Where’re you taking Mom?”

  “Not far. A safe space where Jess can work alone and then she’ll bring Mom right back. Dad and Nora won’t even notice—and they can’t.”

  Abby eyes Jess one more time, then looks at me. “I trust you, Elisha.”

  “Thanks. That means a lot.”

  For a moment, neither of us speaks.

  “Sooo, do you really think you can help Mom be her old self?”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure,” Jess says. “But I’m hopeful and willing to do the work.”

  “Okay, then.” Abby looks between us. “I’ll go get her.”

  66

  ALEX

  Jess hands me a long tube of blood. “Abigail’s, I assume.”

  “Yep,” she says, gently patting her sweater pocket. “And there’s more where that came from.”

  “You’re really getting into this secrecy thing.” I sit at a workstation, long abandoned. Dylan volunteered to talk the overnight caretaker’s ear off. She’s good at that and we need as much privacy as possible. Besides, I like the lab at night. The quiet. Nowhere in the city is this big and open and empty.

  “I’m basically a spy.”

  “Hate to break it to you, Jess.” I rip open a testing kit and begin setting up. “But we’re the lab nerds who help the spies.”

  “Good enough, I guess. Not sure I’m cut out for fieldwork, anyway.”

  “Why’s that?” I grab a pipette and begin the dilution. Hard conversations are easier when you can’t look at the other person for fear of spilling your solution.

  Jess leans against the wall, beside me. “My deposition sucked.”

  “It did?” I hold the tiny vial between my thumb and forefinger, inverting it several times, while I listen.

  “Yeah. Your attorneys kept asking me about my Docile history as if that made me some kind of traitor. Though…” She gestures to my work. “I suppose I am, now.”

  At that, I do stop. “You’re not a traitor because you were a Docile. I was never a Docile and look at me. Spurned my intended husband, fell in love with my Docile, and am now literally trying to help my opposition. You were a Docile and you work at Bishop Labs. You’re allowed to have your own reasons.”

  “They asked if I ever helped Elisha. If I ever gave him information you’d told me in confidence—as if I would ever betray you like that.” Jess sinks onto the seat beside me and leans against the countertop. Hands me a small tube of Abigail’s blood without my having to ask. “No matter what I said, Gabriela gave me this look like I was a hanger-on. The kid your mom tells you to play with even though you don’t like them.”

  “You know that’s not true, right? This place would shut down without you. Gabriela and Reginald only care about crafting my father’s narrative.”

  “Is that part of your father’s narrative, though? That I don’t care about this company? That I helped your Docile manipulate you?” Jess sighs. “I used to like your dad.”

  “I did, too. I’m sorry you got caught up in all this.”

  An unexpected voice fills the room: “Caught up in all what?”

  A chill slices through my body as my dad walks into the room, hands clasped behind his back while he peers over our work space. Heat follows the cold. The heat of being caught. Of horror. What if he does fire Jess? What if she’s right, and all my reassurances were only motivational bullshit?

  I stand quickly. Too quickly. Lie. I need a lie. Or a partial truth.

  “The lawsuit,” I say, drawing Jess’ gaze. “I felt bad taking Jess away from her work. She’s got a lot going on with the development of Formula 3.0.”

  “I came to thank her, actually, for her time. Her testimony was valuable.”

  Jess puts on a smile. She’s not like me; she’s not a good faker—that’s what I like about her. “I’m glad to hear that,” she says. “Anything to help the company.”

  “And I’m glad to hear that.” Dad’s smile is genuine. “What’s all this?”

  Jess and I survey the countertop, covered with tubes and half-empty vials, damp paper towels, and a discarded pipette. She can’t take the fall for this. I have to.

  “I thought I’d help out. Like I said, she’s missed work for the lawsuit, which is my fault, really. And, to be honest, I miss being hands-on in the lab. I know I’m only supposed to be doing paperwork.”

  Dad picks up the tube of Abigail’s blood. Holds it up to the light. Tilts it back and forth, slowly. Does he know? He can’t know. We didn’t label it. Jess and I used to work late into the night, together, all the time. He’d pop down from his office, like he is now, and send us home to bed, never mind that he was here just as late.

  “You’re correct.” Dad sets Abigail’s blood gently down on the counter. Neither of us dares reach for it. “You’re only supposed to be doing paperwork. If Jess can’t handle her workload alongside the trial, she can discuss that with me.”

  “I’m fine,” Jess says. “I don’t need any help.”

  “Good. Do you mind cleaning this up while I see my son to his quarters?”

  Quarters. Like we live on a boat or in a sprawling multiwing mansion. Like he doesn’t mean “put my son to bed,” like a child. Might as well have security escort me out.

  “No problem.”

  “I really am sorry,” I say, once we’re out of earshot. Dad presses the call button on the elevator. He doesn’t look at me and I’m not sure how much groveling I have left in me.

  “I want to believe you, Alex.” The doors chime as they open. Dad steps inside. When I join him, I feel like I’m stepping into the chamber of a gun. “You seem to be improving—that’s why your doctors and I thought you could handle living here. Please don’t prove me wrong.”

  When we reach the third floor—my floor—the doors open and Dad gestures for me to get out. I do, without hesitation. I don’t say good night or that I’ll behave myself or anything else. I walk through the fogged doors of my office and into my bedroom. Closed velvet curtains black out light from the Silo, mimicking a real home.

  I feel guilty making the comparison, but I can’t help wonder if this is what it was like for Elisha. Debt and stipend held over his head, Ellicott Hart over mine—implied threats. As I flop down on my bed, I remember how I manipulated him, on these monogrammed sheets, into calling himself my good boy.

  With one grand movement, I tear off the linens and stuff them under the bed. Tonight I’ll sleep on the bare mattress.

  67

  ELISHA

  I sit in the stairwell behind the donations closet, pulling the chain on my cuff while I wait for Onyx to answer his phone. Today, I organized a dozen bins’ worth of incoming clothes. Helped a sprawling family that reminded me of my own pick out clothes for the coming winter. I know I’m doing good, here, but a part of me still wishes I’d had the idea on my own. I feel stuck. Need to get out, for a bit.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  I jump to my feet when Onyx answers. “Hey, it’s Elisha.”

  “I know. Your name shows up on my phone.”<
br />
  “Right.”

  “So, what’s up?”

  “Um.” I can’t say it in this cavernous closet, where sound bounces off the metal walls like a rubber ball. And there are people all over Empower Maryland who might be listening. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “Why don’t you come over? Dutch and Opal are here, but they’re working. They won’t bother us.”

  “Come over … to your house?”

  “Yeah.”

  I’ve never been to Onyx’s house, before. I only ever see him at Empower Maryland. I don’t know why I assumed he lived there, because I did. He has a family. He’s with Dutch and Opal. Dutch has a house; I know that. Obviously, Onyx lives there, too. Why didn’t I think of that?

  “I’ll text you the address. You can get here, yourself?”

  “As long as you live in the city. I’m coming from work.”

  “Yeah. We live in the city.” Onyx chuckles. “I’ll see you soon.” He hangs up.

  I check the address he texts me, then start walking. When I’m close—when I’ve ripped my sweater over my head and rolled up my sleeves—I see why he laughed. Of course Onyx lives in the city. How quickly I’ve forgotten Dutch is still a trillionaire, whether he acts the part or not. I give my name to the doorperson, then ride the elevator up to the top floor. Another penthouse. I feel like every floor takes me further back in time.

  The doors open into a room with couches that circle a brick hearth, floor to ceiling. Chimney and all. Opal looks up from one of the couches, where she’s sprawled with her phone and a tablet. Then, Onyx walks over, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

  “Hey,” he says, tossing the towel onto a nearby counter. Like in Alex’s house, every surface is clean, except where there’s work. “You’ve met Opal, right?”

  “Yes, but not since Alex amended my contract.” She’s as beautiful as Onyx. Body thick and muscular. Pale skin spattered with freckles. Hair spilling down her shoulders and back.

  She waves, pushes a pair of thick-rimmed glasses up over her nose, and says, “Nice to see you on the other side!” Then, looks back at her phone.

  To our left, the stairs creak. Dutch appears, moments later, at their base. Unbuttoned shirt hanging from his shoulders. Unfastened belt in his hands. Barefoot. “Hi?” he says, more to Onyx than to me.

  “I can speak for myself,” I say.

  “I know.” He buckles his belt. “But I’m still wondering why Onyx invited you into our home. That’s between him and me.”

  “Oh.” I feel sheepish, now. “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” Dutch says. “I know you’re still learning. In the meantime, anyone going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Elisha asked if we could talk in private. I don’t think he has anywhere that fits the bill, so I figured why not here? I’d have mentioned it, but I didn’t want to interrupt you while you were working.”

  “You know I don’t like inviting people over.” Dutch begins working the buttons on his shirt through their holes. I find myself watching his fingers with interest. “But I guess we trust Elisha not to rat us out.”

  I startle at my sudden inclusion in the conversation. “I would never tell anyone about your private lives.”

  “You can’t be seen coming here,” Dutch says. “Especially not while this charade of a trial is still going on.” He tucks his shirt in and slides his bare feet into loafers beside the elevator doors. “I have to go prepare for my deposition; it’s tomorrow. Jess said they put her through the wringer. Opal, would you mind coming as my Docile to this networking thing at seven? It’s going to be boring, but I really shouldn’t show up alone and Onyx is clearly busy.”

  “No prob!” She rests her chin on her hands and blows him a kiss. Not good enough, apparently, as he walks over and presses his lips to hers.

  I turn away, unsure I should watch such an intimate moment. I can do that, now. I don’t have to watch.

  I hear his footsteps near Onyx and me, then the sound of another kiss. “Have fun, you two,” he says, heading toward the elevators. The doors open and he steps inside. “Make good choices!” They close. He descends.

  We’re alone—except for Opal, but she’s so deep in her phone, she wouldn’t notice if the ceiling caved in.

  “Do you want to go to my room?” Onyx asks.

  “Yeah, that would be great.” I follow him upstairs and down a long hallway. All of the doors are closed except for one, a bathroom.

  Onyx opens the last door and holds it for me. “After you.”

  I don’t walk far—can’t without stepping on something. Clothes, hardcover books, poster board.

  “Sorry. I don’t have many people over.” He kicks a path from the door to the bed. “Do you want to sit down?”

  My eyes immediately find a maroon love seat and coffee table, instead.

  Onyx notices. “There’s fine. Didn’t mean to imply anything.” He clears another path with his foot and sits on one of the crushed velvet cushions, patting the other. He leans back against the arm, curling his left leg against his body. The other dangles over the edge.

  I sit.

  “So, what did you want to talk about?”

  “I broke up with Alex.”

  “Oh.” Onyx’s eyes widen. “Wow. Big step. How do you feel?”

  I breathe deep through my nose. “Good? As long as I don’t think about it. It’s hard. So much reminds me of him. It would be easier if his father hadn’t sued me.”

  “It wouldn’t be Baltimore if the Bishops didn’t have their hands in everything.” Onyx shakes his head. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. Did you want ice cream and sad movies, or…”

  “Is that something people do after breakups?”

  “Pretty standard.”

  “Well, I’m not hungry and I’ve already cried enough over Alex. I came here to ask you for something different.”

  “What’s that?”

  My eyes drop to our knees. They almost touch where the cushions meet. I remember what he felt like naked. Hand wrapped around both our cocks.

  “Would you have sex with me?” I ride the wave of heat as it spreads down my neck and shoulders. Into my chest. I know he can see me burning, but I don’t look away.

  Onyx doesn’t scoff or laugh or leave—he doesn’t react at all, for a minute. “What kind of sex?”

  “Um.”

  “I will, for the record, because I’m your friend and I think you’re cute, but I also think this is an opportunity for you to learn how to negotiate a relationship. So, Elisha Wilder, tell me what you want me to do with you.”

  I can answer this. I’ve had sex lots of times. As I run through them in my head, I try to separate sex from Alex, the bodies from the feelings.

  “I like penetration.”

  “What kind?”

  I can’t blush any more than I already am, so I answer honestly. “Anal.”

  “Giving or receiving?”

  “Receiving.”

  “Have you ever given, before?”

  “No.”

  Onyx clicks his tongue and sinks his fingers into the thick of his curls. “Maybe you should.”

  My muscles reflexively tense. “Please don’t treat this like I’m picking out an outfit. I might not know everything I like, yet, but fucking someone isn’t like trying on a shirt.”

  “You’re right.” Onyx grins and drapes his arms across the corner of the love seat. “So, you like it up the ass. What else?”

  “I liked it when you hit me.”

  “Impact play. Check.”

  “I like feeling secure. Kind of tight? I don’t know how to describe it—like the tack I wore at Preakness, or a snug suit.”

  “Okay, okay.” Onyx looks past me, thinking. “I’m not an expert with rope, but I definitely have some, as you already know.”

  “And…” He’s going to think I’m pathetic. “I’ve never really made out with anyone.”

  Onyx cocks his head. “Yo
u didn’t, with you-know?”

  “When I was his Docile, it was as if my mouth was a fruit he was tasting. After that, we barely had time or energy. It’s been frantic.”

  “Got it. Any hard limits besides penetrating someone?”

  “No, but going down on someone else is a— Soft limit? Is that a thing?”

  Onyx purses his lips as if he’s trying not to laugh. Sits forward.

  I scrunch my forehead up and match his stance. “What?”

  “I swear I respect you so much for this; but you’re really too innocent for as much fucking as I’m sure you’ve done.”

  “I don’t know all the words because I didn’t have a say.”

  “Well, you’re figuring it out, now. I accept your limits. Any medical conditions I should be aware of?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither.” Onyx’s gaze slips from my face, down my body.

  I can’t stop staring at his mouth. At the swell of his lips. “Is that it?”

  “No,” he says. “Before we do this, I need you to understand that you and I are friends who are about to fuck. That’s our relationship. I’m not looking for anything else, right now, but I think both of those things are awesome. Agree?”

  “Agree.”

  He counts on his fingers. “Safewords, like before. ‘Red’ means stop; ‘yellow’ means slow down. Got it?”

  “Yes.” I lick my lips. Bite them.

  “Good.”

  “Green.”

  Onyx doesn’t move, but we are so close.

  “That means—”

  He presses his lips against mine with such force that we topple, me onto crushed velvet. Him on top of me. Onyx bites my bottom lip hard, when he draws back—draws a cry from between my pulsing lips.

  “Oh god,” I say, eyes drifting upward as my back arches and Onyx’s teeth scrape against the soft skin of my neck. He sucks as hard as he bites and I can feel the heat of blood swelling under my skin. It hurts and I love it. My body squirms beneath his, clothes out of mind as our limbs wrap around one another.

  Then, his hands slide under the hem of my button-down and I become desperate to undress, fumbling with the buttons while struggling to keep my mouth on his. Onyx holds his body away from mine, giving me space to finish. Every button a lifetime until I’m free.