Black Rules

by Charlotte Byrd

  “So, what does Garrison know that we don't know about the inner workings at Owl?” one of the suits on TV asks.

  “He knows that something very bad is going on at Owl. Maybe something that SEC even needs to investigate,” the other one says.

  The SEC? I want to scream at the television. Are you fucking kidding me? You want to know why Garrison pulled out? Because Aiden Black caught him almost raping a helpless woman on his yacht and Blake was embarrassed. It has nothing to do with Owl at all. Of course, I know that no one on TV knows any of this. And beyond that even, I don't know if they should know.

  I get up and pace around the room. Perhaps, they should know. Maybe I need to come out and say something. Maybe I even need to hire a lawyer. Then they wouldn’t be blaming Owl. And maybe that can stop some of the bleeding. At least, get some of the investors to stick around. But if I come out with any of this, then I have to tell everyone everything. I would have to go on the record about the auction and the Daily Post would have a field day with me - a nice girl with an Ivy League education putting myself up on a sex auction. Shit. My thoughts swirl around in my head, going back and forth between ideas. One minute, I’m convinced that I need to go on CNBC and set the record straight and another minute, I want to wait it out.

  There is one thing that I’m sure about. I can’t do anything rash tonight. I have to wait until Aiden sobers up. I need his input. I mean, all of this is about his company, his yacht, and his party. I’m not sure how open he would be to the whole idea of the fact that he auctions off girls to the highest bidder. That isn’t exactly fodder for better stock prices.

  I take a deep breath and lie down on the couch. It’s so big and wide and comfortable that it pulls me into a little cocoon. I turn off the television and put in my earphones. I turn on one of my favorite playlists on Spotify and let it lull me to sleep. Within a few minutes, I curl up in between the big, overstuffed pillows and the world doesn’t seem so dark and gloomy anymore. Maybe everything will be okay after all, I decide. And even if it won’t, at least I don't have to worry about it much anymore. I can’t change anything tonight anyway.

  One of my favorite songs comes on. It’s a violin cover of “A Thousand Years.” I listen to its slow progression and how deliberately it builds with each bit. I don't know anything about music or how it works, I just enjoy it. My eyelids start to feel very heavy and I quickly fall into a deep sleep.

  Chapter 12 - Ellie

  The following morning…

  When I wake up many hours later, the sun is pouring in through the windows.

  For a brief moment, I’m confused as to where I am. This place looks completely foreign and it takes me a minute to realize that I’m at Aiden’s.

  I climb off the couch, stretch my arms above my head, do one sun salutation, and then walk to the master bedroom.

  I knock lightly, but no one answers.

  I let myself in and see that Aiden is almost in the exact same position that I left him.

  Luckily, there is no vomit next to the bed, but he still looks a mess.

  A gorgeous, beautiful mess, but a mess.

  His hair is tossed and his face is the palest I’ve ever seen it. It’s so pale, it’s bordering on shades of green. I sit down on the bed next to him and push on him a bit.

  After a few strong shoves, he opens his eyes and moans.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” I say jokingly.

  He squints in pain from the light that comes in through the window.

  “Oh my God, my head,” he says very slowly.

  “Yeah, you had quite a lot to drink last night.”

  Aiden shakes his head in disbelief. “I did? I feel like shit.”

  “I’m going to put a pot of coffee on,” I say. “Why don't you try to get up and wash your face?”

  I walk out of the room slowly, debating whether I should help him into the bathroom or not. But as soon as I start the coffee going, I hear him somewhere behind me, struggling with walking about.

  A few minutes later, he staggers out of the room. I pour him a large and a very strong cup of coffee.

  He must’ve thrown some water on his face, but not wiped it with a towel, as it’s still wet.

  At least his eyes are a little more open and alert now.

  “Ellie, I’m really sorry about everything,” he says slowly, taking a sip. “Shit, this is hot!”

  “I know, it came straight from the pot,” I say, blowing on my cup.

  “I’m just really sorry for being such a fucking mess.”

  “Listen, you have nothing to be sorry for,” I say. But then decide to reword my words. “All I wish is that you hadn’t shut me out. I mean, I didn't know anything that was going on with you. I thought that you didn’t really want to see me anymore.”

  A big part of me feels very petty for even bringing all of that up.

  I mean, here he is with his company blowing up in front of him, and here I am complaining that he didn't call me back.

  But still, I can’t help but feel how I feel.

  “I should’ve called,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

  I nod and put my arm around his shoulder.

  “It’s fine. I know you have been going through a lot. I just wish you’d told me about it. I mean, I couldn’t really do anything. But still. Please don't shut me out.”

  I realize how pathetic I sound, but I can’t help it.

  “I was just really embarrassed,” Aiden says after a few moments of silence. “I really didn’t think that Blake would do this. I mean, I didn’t think that he would cause this fucking avalanche of shit.”

  “He’s such an asshole,” I say.

  Aiden nods, flashing me a smile.

  Despite how tired and worn out he looks, his teeth remain a pearly white.

  For a moment, I lose myself in the curve of his mouth and the gentleness of his eyes.

  The graceful strength of his hands makes my own hands grow weak.

  He takes another sip of his coffee and then looks up at me again.

  The sunshine that streams in through the window gives him a halo above his head even though he’s pretty far from being a saint.

  “Ellie,” Aiden says very softly.

  His voice drifts off at the end. I look into his eyes and wait.

  “I love you.”

  The words hang in midair in between us as if suspended on a string.

  That was the last thing I’d expected him to say.

  Despite the fact that I’ve been feeling like I may be falling in love with him, too.

  “You don't have to say anything,” he adds quickly. “It’s just how I feel. It’s how I’ve felt for a while now and I thought you should know.”

  I find the confidence and nonchalantness in his voice disarming.

  He is standing completely exposed in front of me, holding his beating heart out in front me, without a worry in the world.

  “I think…” I start out slowly. “I think, I love you, too.”

  He smiles out of the corner of his mouth.

  “No, that’s not right,” I correct myself. “That’s not true. I don't think…I know.”

  I take a deep breath. This isn’t coming out exactly right.

  “I love you, too,” I finally say what I should’ve said all along.

  “You do?”

  I nod.

  Aiden presses his lips onto mine.

  I open my mouth and welcome him inside.

  When we pull away from one another, the day doesn’t seem so gloomy after all.

  At least, not for me.

  But when I glance over at Aiden, I can still see that he has the whole world on his shoulders.

  “Listen, no matter what happens, I want you to know that I’m here for you.”

  He nods and takes another sip of his coffee.

  I want to encourage him to stay strong and to tell him that everything is going to be okay.

  But somehow, the words don’t seem to come out right.

 
; Nothing is quite hitting the spot.

  “What are you going to do about Blake?” Aiden asks after a brief moment of silence.

  That question catches me off guard.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I don’t even know why it didn’t occur to me to call the police earlier,” he says quietly. “And I’m sorry about that. But it’s not too late.”

  “What? Call the police?”

  The thought had never crossed my mind.

  “Ellie, he tried to rape you. I mean, you stopped him, but if I hadn’t come in and you hadn’t fought so hard…I can’t even fathom that.”

  I shrug and look away.

  “All I am trying to say is that if you want to press charges, I’m here for you.”

  “I don’t know,” I say after a moment. “I mean, everything turned out fine. Do you want me to press charges?”

  I search his face for the answer.

  I can’t tell if he wants me to go to the police and won’t actually come out and say it, but his expression is difficult to read.

  It’s too full of fury and anger.

  “It’s not up to me.”

  “I know that. I’m just asking.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s not fair,” he says quietly. I don't really understand what he means by that.

  “The thing is that if I go to the cops then I will have to tell them everything that happened on the yacht. I mean, I’d have to tell them about the auction, right?”

  He nods, hanging his head.

  “But that’s not something that you want everyone to know about, right? I mean, like your investors?”

  Aiden looks up. His piercing gaze cuts me to the very soul.

  “It doesn’t matter what I want, Ellie. Don’t you get that? I mean, this isn’t about me. It’s about doing what’s right for you.”

  My mind goes through a million different iterations of how this can go if I go to the police. And all of them come to the same conclusion.

  “Listen, everything turned out fine. I got him off me and you really took care of him. And if I were to go to the police now, all of this stuff would become public knowledge. I mean, you’re a pretty famous person. And even if you weren’t, an auction on a yacht is a pretty big deal. It would drive away the investors that are still with you. And you definitely wouldn’t be able to recruit anyone new to try to save the company.”

  Aiden is staring into space somewhere behind me. I wait for him to say something.

  “I don’t want you to not get justice just for my sake,” he says quietly. “I mean, we should’ve called them when it first happened. It’s not right.”

  I nod in agreement.

  “I don’t want everyone to find out about the auction. And it’s not just for you. I’m not really sure I want my parents to know that I did that. I mean, it would become fodder for all the gossip magazines and I’m kind of a private person.”

  “All I want to reiterate is that I don't think you should take me or Owl into consideration in this decision. What Blake did was wrong and I won’t stop you or even try to dissuade you from going to the cops or going public with it, if that’s what you want to do. The wrong was committed against you. So, you have to decide for yourself.”

  I stare at him, dumbfounded.

  “But how can I possibly make that decision without taking you into consideration, Aiden?” I ask. “I mean, I love you. And you’re part of my life. A big part.”

  “I am?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “I love you, too. I just don't want you to—“

  I put my index finger over his mouth. We are going in circles and one of us has to put a stop to it.

  “I’m not going to go to the police,” I say decidedly. “I don't really want the fact that I participated in the auction to become public knowledge and I’m glad that we stopped whatever was going to happen with Blake from going any further. So, I don't want to press any charges.”

  Aiden nods.

  He would never admit it, but I see that he’s relieved.

  Going to the cops would put his company into an even more of a precarious situation and I don’t want to hurt him anymore than he is already being hurt.

  He’s in the process of losing everything that he has worked for his entire adult life.

  “So, what are your plans now?” I ask.

  “In terms of what?”

  “Owl?”

  Aiden inhales deeply.

  It’s morning and another work day has begun. And staying cooped up from the rest of the world is probably not the wisest decision.

  “I don’t really know,” he says, sighing. “I guess I’m going to call the rest of the investors and try to convince them to stay with me, despite the fact that the price of the company’s stock is in free fall. And then, I guess I’ll call my lawyers and try to figure out the total damage.”

  “That sounds like a good plan.”

  “I have a few that aren’t exactly Blake’s best friends, so I hope that they hang in there with me for a while longer. Hopefully, they haven’t given up on me yet.”

  Chapter 13 - Ellie

  The following afternoon…

  Despite his raging hangover, Aiden got on the phone soon after and I show myself out.

  Aiden has a lot of work to take care of, and no longer plagued by insecurities about where we stood in our relationship, I feel inspired and excited to get back to my own writing.

  I sit down in front of my laptop as soon as I got home, without even bothering to change into something more comfortable.

  When I was little, my mom taught me to change into my comfy home clothes as soon as I got home.

  It was mainly to keep my outside clothes looking nice, but I kept up the tradition when I got older.

  That’s why, even now, you’d never find me in a pair of skinny jeans or boots or even a bra at home.

  No, when I’m home, I’m always in my pajamas.

  They aren’t the fancy matching kind like the ones they sell at Victoria’s Secret.

  No, they’re just a pair of sweats or yoga pants or elephant pants and a loose fitting long-sleeve shirt, since I’m almost always cold.

  Oh, yeah, and I always take off my bra and shoes whenever I get home.

  That is except for today. I pull off my boots under the table while my laptop boots up, take a sip from the bottle of water I left on my desk the last time I was here, and open up my book.

  I scan the last bit, and then quickly type up a paragraph of what’s going to happen in the next chapter. Then I set a timer on my phone and start typing.

  The timer is something I read about in a book by Rachel Abbott, From 2k to 10k.

  It includes a number of strategies that she uses to start writing more words during the day.

  When I was in college, the idea of writing two thousand words in a day seemed like a lot.

  But Rachel regularly clears eight to ten thousand!

  Her results are nothing if not inspiring and, ever since I’ve read that book, I’ve been implementing her approach to great success.

  Timing your writing is one of her strong points. Just set the timer and write as much as you can in a particular interval of time.

  Twenty minutes is my favorite.

  It’s short enough to summon a burst of energy, but long enough to actually produce real word count.

  Well, as soon as I start the timer, I lose myself in the story and the twenty minutes flies by.

  Since I’m in the middle of an exciting chapter, I restart it again and continue to type furiously.

  Six sessions or two hours later, I go through my session and am pleasantly shocked by my productivity.

  I have averaged about seven hundred words per session and come up with forty-five hundred words toward my final manuscript!

  “Holy shit!” I exclaim.

  Fueled by some mystical combination of coffee, momentum, and excitement
, I press on.

  The story is just getting good, meaning that I’m about to write a very juicy sex scene and I don't want to put it off.

  The rest of the day proceeds at the same frantic pace. I lose myself in my writing, in a manner that was previously unfamiliar to me.

  I’m so excited by what I’m writing and, to tell you the truth, aroused as well, that the words just appear on the page without much effort.

  It seems like as long as I keep my butt in my seat, the story keeps telling itself without much input from me.

  It helps a lot that it’s something that I’ve just experienced and lived through. Though I do take the opportunity to embellish it somewhat.

  How does that saying go again?

  Never let the truth get in the way of a good story. Well, I believe in that wholeheartedly.

  When twilight closes in on my window and the city lights up for the night, I type The End.

  I stare at the cursor for a while, lost in thought.

  Wow, I actually finished it.

  I have completed a novel.

  This might not be a big deal for many people, but for me, it is revolutionary.

  I’m the person who struggled to write a two-thousand-word short story.

  So, the idea that I actually completed a fifty-seven-thousand-word novel is breathtaking.

  I don’t think I’ve ever been so proud of myself before.

  There is, of course, still a lot of work to do.

  I need to re-read it and edit it for mistakes and typos and better word choices.

  But now is not the time for that. Now, is the time to celebrate the fact that I’m done with my first draft!

  I save my manuscript three times, to both my desktop and iCloud, to make sure that nothing is going to happen to it, and head to the kitchen.

  Suddenly, it occurs to me that I’ve written for hours without taking a break or having a bite to eat.