Contract Broken (Contracted #2)

by Aya DeAniege

  That there were two poor folks who signed the contract wasn’t all that surprising, rich folk did it all the time.

  The instance that comes to mind is when they want live pornography, they’ll contract two people who they want to watch having sex to do just that. Pays better than pornography, and no one back in the slums ever had to know what had been done.

  A lot of contracts have the stipulation that the rich person could take possession of anything the poor person had on them upon entering the estate. Most contracts had a protective clause that kept the poor person from inadvertently losing an organ, or being used in any manner the rich person saw fit. I had to wonder, reading that contract, if it was the one that had caused that particular terminology to be added to nearly every contract.

  The only ways for the contract to be complete was for the time to run out. If one or more parties ended up in jail or the hospital, the contract would not be put on hold. If one or more parties caused another party to end up in the hospital, or attempted to put someone in jail, they forfeited their lives. The exceptions being: if one or more parties placed the third in the hospital in order to make certain he survived, or if one party ended up having to prosecute another party in his day-to-day job.

  There was one clause written in, initialled by the rich person. It stated that the marrying of the second contractee to a person of the contractor’s choice and producing a legitimate heir would end the contract and reward the secondary contractee full control of all assets, including the first contractee.

  Which, if I understood it correctly, meant that the contractor would be removed from the contract and the contractees would ride out the terms of the contract together.

  The second contractee would be permitted to live as he pleased.

  The first had six pages of rules to follow.

  Always be clean and kept, fully shaven. No tattoos or piercings of any kind, no drugs, no alcohol, no relationship lasting more than six months besides that with the second contractee. There was even a list of food items that were permitted and the first contractee had a list of things he had to learn including sewing, cooking, mathematics, laundry, pole dancing, stripping, and many other things.

  At this point I assumed the first contractee was a woman. Because... a man pole dancing? They’re a little big to be trying something silly like that! It was really confusing for me to go back over the previous pages and see the male pronoun used for everybody. I had no idea if it was a legal thing, or if all of the people involved were actually male.

  For a time to be determined based on behaviour, the first contractee would report to the contractor for no less than one hour and no more than one week. The contractee would then...

  And the list of things that was expected of the contractee was absolutely insane. Sleep control, couldn’t go to the bathroom without permission. Could only eat after the contractor had had a full meal and the contractee had cleaned up. There was a line at the end of the list that stated, literally said, “and to be used as the contractor sees fit.”

  My head snapped up at that line.

  It was late, it was Thursday, and I had basically lost another day to reading the contract.

  I set it aside and went to check on Mr. Wrightworth. Nicole denied me entry at the door, but I heard him inside. He called her by her sub name and she responded with his title as she closed the door. For a brief moment I was filled with a jealous rage. I actually thought Nicole was keeping Mr. Wrightworth from me so that she could have him all to herself. I almost knocked and demanded answers, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  I went back to my apartment and watched videos of kittens and pandas. I read a bit of a book I had picked up somewhere, but couldn’t really get into it because my head as swimming with all sorts of information.

  The next day I went back to work as if I wasn’t bothered at all.

  The first contractee would serve the second contractee for a term of two years. There would be a six-month waiting period. Then the second contractee would serve the first contractee in terms set forward by the contractor at the time of the start of the second period. The second period would also be two years in length. At the end of the second period both were to go their separate ways and could not be linked in public but for the church the two of them attended. They could not attend together, they were not allowed to be seen together outside of church but for business functions.

  “At no point is the second contractee permitted to take a submissive without the permission of the contract holder,” I had read the line four times, then had to read it out loud for it to actually sink in.

  Someone in the community signed the contract.

  I wondered who it was, if I would be able to pick them out based on behaviour alone. Nearly everyone was clean and well kept. There were a few who were a little more ruffled than most. I immediately took them off the list. I couldn’t tell just from the initials because nearly everyone went by different names in the community, to protect them from outsiders.

  The contractor held the rights to three other contracts, which the contractees would make every attempt to fulfil. Not fulfilling a contract, or removing a legitimate body for the contract would result in termination of the contract. The voiding of the contract would lead to the forfeiture of the lives of the contractees.

  If one of the contractees were found in breach of a minor line item of the contract, their entire sexual history would be broadcast to all friends and family.

  Someone in the community was being held hostage by the contractor. If the entire sexual history of a member of the community were leaked to the public, it would out so many others. We would be forced into the public eye, and it would be the sort of chaos that the government wouldn’t appreciate, the kind of fiasco Nathaniel had said they had promised not to cause.

  It would mean the end of the community.

  Through all of Friday, I waded through the jargon of the wrap-up. The ending of the contract and all of the clauses and subclauses that went through the factoids like a female didn’t count as an heir. And everyone had to shave their pubes.

  Okay, even for a contract, that’s weirdly specific.

  The amount that would trade hands was large enough that I had to count the zeros six times before I believed it. It was an obscene sum of money. I didn’t think that any rich person had that much money.

  I got to the signatory page and stared at it, frowning at the names.

  Nathaniel Edwards.

  N. E. the initials throughout the contract hadn’t been that of the rich person who had signed the contract. Nathaniel had been the secondary contractee. Under his name, even, was the footnote that Nathaniel could be placed into the contract and held to it because there was a poor person involved.

  If the first contractee hadn’t signed the contract, Nathaniel wouldn’t have been roped in.

  The contractor?

  Albert Edwards, Nathaniel’s father. It made all the more sense suddenly. Nathaniel’s father had given him the choice of giving me over or replacing me with the first contractee.

  He had chosen the other person. Albert had a right to take whatever of Nathaniel’s he wanted.

  I was bound to Nathaniel by law, through the contract. Albert couldn’t use me outside of the contract, which made the blank contract a double edged sword. One that would have protected me.

  If only Mayfair hadn’t outed us to him, I would have been safe.

  Instead, she had sent Nathaniel’s father pictures of us. She had made everything happen.

  Did she know what she was doing?

  Of course, she had. She was one of Albert’s choices for a proper wife for Nathaniel.

  My hands shook as I tried to remain calm. I just stared at the page. Mayfair had to of known what Albert would do to me, to us, if he caught Nathaniel. She had no remorse for what she had done.

  I broke down into tears.

  I did that a lot back then.

  When the tears stopped coming, I sniffled a
nd wiped my eyes. I stared at the name of the poor person, then shook my head and frowned. The name seemed utterly unfamiliar. No one Nathaniel had introduced me to had a name even close to that.

  I rubbed at my eyes again. With a groan, I sat back in the chair and sighed out. The contract hadn’t been fulfilled, which meant I couldn’t just call them up and interview them over the phone. Not that I wanted to, or I might have, just a little bit.

  I’m a sucker for punishment.

  I sat in silence for a long time, debating with myself what I should do.

  Find out if the poor person was still alive. If there was something they knew that could be used against Nathaniel’s father. Who they were, what they were doing, why Nathaniel had been willing to throw them under to the dogs instead of me.

  Him, I corrected myself. The poor person was male. I was just stuck thinking about that pole dancing mention, and it was impossible to picture a man on a pole.

  I would learn years later that men can pole dance. And it can be kind of hot.

  Attached to the back of the contract were a few additions. Clauses that allowed for a change of timing for the visits. An addition of days, an addition of days.

  An addition of an entire visit for sipping soup the wrong way during a public dinner.

  What?

  A substitution, where Nathaniel took the second contractee’s place. The reason wasn’t given, but there was an additional clause saying all women he chose as a bed partner had to be reviewed by his father before Nathaniel could take the woman into the public eye.

  What had they said?

  That Albert had caught Nathaniel once before. Nathaniel was the one who suffered, was what they had said. The sub had been sent home. Mr. Wrightworth and Nathaniel hadn’t thought Albert would take me. They had thought Nathaniel would be the one who was taken, that he would suffer the consequences.

  The clause had been added a year and a half previous. I wondered who the sub was. Nicole? She had played with Nathaniel, had served as a sub. That was what they had said. She had never mentioned being that sub, though. The way they talked, Nicole had only served to see what it was like for a sub.

  Clause after clause.

  It wasn’t unexpected, what with the contract having run for just over seven years.

  At the very end of the contract, I found the contact page. Very little had changed over the course of the years. Albert’s place of residence had changed fifteen times. His number had stayed the same up until six months beforehand.

  I was a little-surprised someone had gotten into the contract to update it, but somewhere in the archives there was supposed to be an archivist to update everything. I just had never seen the man before.

  Nathaniel’s address and number had remained the same over the years.

  The poor person’s address had changed seven times over the course of six years, finally staying the same over the year and a half previous.

  His number had remained the same throughout.

  Of course, I recognized it.

  Would I include the details of a random contract in my book?

  It was impossible to forget. He had made me memorize it and had me recite it back to him several times.

  Mr. Wrightworth.

  Nathaniel was going to throw Mr. Wrightworth to his father, fully knowing what would have happened to Mr. Wrightworth. That was why Nathaniel had made the choice that he had. Mr. Wrightworth was a sadist. He would be able to stand up against the torture a great deal better than I had.

  Only because he’s been doing it every six months for the past seven years.

  “Izzy,” Kathy said from the archive door.

  I tried not to swear at the woman’s sudden appearance. She was the only person in the entire Program building who called me Izzy. Everyone else called me by my legal name no matter how many times I corrected them. I hadn’t even told Kathy to call me Izzy. She just overheard me saying it to someone else.

  “Yes, Kathy?” I asked, closing the contract to turn to her.

  “Mr. Wrightworth is up, thought you’d want to know.”

  And then she left.

  No story, no gossip. She didn’t blather on for an hour and a half. She just said what she came to say, then left.

  I stood and went to the archive door, catching my reflection in the glossy glass. Shocked at the rumpled look, I left the archive and locked the door behind me. I rushed to my apartment and showered, cleaning myself up before I fled my apartment once more and headed to Mr. Wrightworth’s apartment.

  He opened the door in a suit, and I almost started bawling my eyes out then and there. Except when I arrived early, Mr. Wrightworth had only ever been in a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms or sweats.

  Mr. Wrightworth stood to the side slightly, letting me into the apartment. He walked back into his living room without offering me food or drink. It was earlier in the day than I usually visited. He was a creature of habit, I knew that and assumed that was why he didn’t offer me food or drink.

  I followed him into the living room and watched him sit on his couch, watching a video on the television. Shaking all over, I stared at him, and all I could think of was his name. His actual name. It was there at the forefront of everything. Mr. Wrightworth glanced at me, hazel eyes holding some emotion that I couldn’t identify.

  I dropped to my knees and put my forehead to the floor.

  “What’s this?” he purred out, not moving from the couch.

  “I found your contract, entirely accidentally, I swear,” I said quickly, keeping my face on the floor.

  “And?” Mr. Wrightworth asked, standing and coming towards me. His perfectly polished shoes stopped inches from my face.

  “I know your real name.”

  Never use his real name.

  It resounded even then.

  Calling him Mr. Wrightworth wasn’t just to give him a name, it was how he identified himself, it was showing him the respect a master deserved. He took it very seriously, as did most of the community. Those who did not take it seriously learned quickly enough why Mr. Wrightworth was called a sadist.

  “And?” Mr. Wrightworth asked. “Do you plan on using it?”

  “No, Master,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Do you plan on telling anyone else what my name is?” he purred out.

  There was just such a happy cat quality about his voice. Like a cat who had a mouse by the tail. The sound of his voice made me want to lower my backside, but I was afraid that it would give away my fear and he would use it against me.

  “No, Master,” I said again.

  “Good,” Mr. Wrightworth said in that tone.

  It sent a shudder through me. I dared to glance up as Mr. Wrightworth reached for that tie of his. He had taught me how to tie it for him. I watched as he pulled it loose, then untied it. He wrapped it around his hand, then dropped the hand to his side as the other hand slid into his pocket.

  “It’s so good of you to tell me about this. Perhaps I should reward you. Is there anything else you wish to say to me?” he asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “No?” he asked.

  I could hear the smile in his voice.

  I looked up at him. That Cheshire cat smile appeared as Mr. Wrightworth watched me. He turned his face towards the television screen. I followed his look, to what was playing on the screen.

  Me leaving his apartment on Monday.

  Mr. Wrightworth chuckled as a cold washed over me.

  “They dumped the files for inside the apartment. I had to beat it out of them. Marvellous stress reliever. Nicole, now, she denied you ever being here, but that seemed a little odd to me. Why would my little Darling not come and check on me? Why wouldn’t you beat on my door until I answered? I was gone for a week, and you didn’t even get an explanation as to how long I would be out. So how is it that you didn’t take an axe to my door?

  “And there it is.”

  Mr. Wrightworth crouched, his hands coming before him. The tie dangled in fro
nt of my face, swaying ever so slightly back and forth.

  “You entered my apartment. You were inside for over an hour before you left to get Nicole. And then the pair of you were in my apartment together for some time before she escorted you out. You snooped, then you got Nicole. You pried into my life while I was weak and out.”

  “You weren’t out,” I said.

  “No, you’re right, I answered the door, didn’t I? But I was not present for that conversation. And you thought you could burst in here claiming to know my name and everything would be forgotten? Please, as if you could have found my contract.”

  I sat up, a little annoyed that Mr. Wrightworth didn’t believe me. Screw the recording and everything else he was saying. He had just called me a liar. I had been called a lot of things over my lifetime, and I let people get away with those names. Liar had never been a title that I allowed anyone to cast upon me.

  Gritting my teeth, I glowered up at him as he smiled slowly.

  Fuck it.

  I said his name.

  Mr. Wrightworth’s eyes went wide, but only for a moment. He reached down ever so slowly and wrapped a hand around my throat. He dragged me to my feet, his hand squeezing until I couldn’t get in a breath.

  Totally worth it, never call me a liar.

  “I’m going to whip you, you snide little bitch.”

  I huffed out a breath. If there was one thing I couldn’t stand more than being called a liar, it was being called a bitch. Typically speaking I’d just walk away, but he had called me a liar, then had called me a bitch. My anger was a bristling fury.

  I latched onto his wrist and dug my nails in, but he wasn’t phased by it at all.

  The man jerked me close, as if I weighed nothing at all.

  “Just to be clear, this has nothing to do with you snooping, or using my name.”

  “Why?” I managed to get out.

  “Discipline for not telling me right away about your visit, whipping because you’re being a snide little bitch. You hold onto that bone. I want to beat it out of you, then I want you on your knees, begging me for forgiveness.”