The Marriage Contract

by Tara Ahmed

  He smiled.

  “See? This is why we’re perfect for each other. I’m a nice guy, and you’re a crazy, wild, poor woman—“

  I stepped to the side, as a crowd of people walked down the subway steps. The tapping of their feet clattered through the air, as I exhaled a deep breath- wanting to go down with them. But it was as though cement had plastered my legs against the hot cement ground, for a part of me- just a small part, wanted to hear his say.

  The sun rushed down, simmering against my neck, as I crossed my arms over my chest, glaring at him.

  “You aren’t a nice guy!” I said. “In fact, you’re the least nice guy I’ve ever met. And I don’t care what you think about me. I’d rather you think ill of me, because I wouldn’t want to be in your good books—“

  “Are you always this defensive?” he asked.

  I opened my mouth, and then closed it.

  What kind of question was that? For some reason, it stumped me, as I stared at him, not knowing how to reply.

  There was that light smile across his face again, and it confused the crap out of me, because I had no idea what it was that made him so cheerful.

  “Alright,” I said. “You know what? Crazy people like you are a once in a life time encounter, so I’ll spare myself the entertainment. What do you want?”

  My voice was on edge, as an invisible brick wall had been built between us- keeping me on guard. He stood straight, and stretched his long, muscular arms over his head, yawning as though returning home from a long day’s work.

  “Let’s talk elsewhere,” he whispered, leaning his face towards me. “I wouldn’t want others listening in.”

  My eyes narrowed, as I leaned against the edge of the subway wall. The back of my t-shirt grazed against the harsh material- my heart suddenly skipping a beat.

  Stupid heart.

  “There’s a pizza shop a few blocks from here,” I said. “We could sit there—“

  “Oh, no way. Not happening. People know me there. People know me everywhere actually. I’m pretty famous—“

  “I’m sure,” I interjected, my eyes rolling.

  “I have a better place,” he continued. “Somewhere where we won’t get disturbed.”

  I sighed, shaking my head.

  “I don’t know you. You don’t know me. If I know anything about safety, it’s that I shouldn’t go to a stranger’s house—“

  “You’re scared,” he said. “Here I thought you were fearless—“

  I stared defiantly at him. “I’m not fearless. But I’m not a fool either.”

  He sighed, running a hand through his thick brown locks.

  “Alright, how about this,” he bargained. “We go to your place—“

  “Oh, get real—“

  “Just hear me out,” he insisted.

  Digging into his pocket, he took out a five inch, rectangular tube, waving it in my face like a flag. As the sunlight hit the center of his dark pupils, he pressed a round button at the center of the object, causing it to buzz rather annoyingly.

  “That’s a taser,” I said. “Why do you have a taser?”

  “Why do you have a purse?” He asked this question like it made absolute sense, and I stared at him, not believing that he was for real.

  “What?” I asked, confused.

  Pressing the button at the center of the taser, the vibration stopped, as he placed it in my hand, curling my finger over the machine.

  “If I try anything, and I mean anything, feel free to tase away,” he said. “Oh, and you could sue me for millions as well. My sexual advances would work only to your favor, sweetheart. But give me just ten minutes to explain something to you. Ten minutes, and not a second longer! I swear on my boy scouts honor.”

  The taser was cool against my palms, as I placed it within my purse, staring at him in amazement, my brows raised.

  “Follow me,” I said.

  He smiled, his teeth shining like a new penny, glimmering against the light of the aqua sky.

  He loved to touch things.

  Once inside my apartment, his hands traced over the cream wall, his long fingers tapping against the tall shoe rack at the side of the door. His eyes traced over the small space of my room, and as I placed my purse on the soft brown couch, his gaze landed on mine.

  “Aren’t you worried I’ll attack you?” he asked. “The taser is in your bag and all, but it’s not near you. That’s not safe—“

  “I’m not worth your time,” I said, sitting on the couch, my legs slightly parted. “If you do manage to kill me, you’ll end up either in jail, or dead yourself. My best friend is in the other room, sleeping most likely, and if she found my dead body, she’ll come after you. Unlike my wimpy slaps, she carries a mean punch.”

  He smiled, walking towards the couch, and sitting beside me, a bit too close for comfort. I shot him an annoyed glance, and moved to the end of the couch. Crouching down, I removed my white flip flops, placing them before me. The warm blue carpet soaked under my feet, as I placed my hands on my knees, the fabric of my jeans pressed against my palms. The small, square TV against the wall was still on, and as he looked around the apartment, I grabbed the remote from the coffee table before me, pressing the TV off. The lull of music videos ceased, as I exhaled a deep breath, wondering what I’d gotten myself into by inviting this stranger into my apartment, and possibly, into my life.

  “So this is how the poor live, huh?” He sounded genuinely curious, and it surprised me.

  I didn’t know what to say, so I simply waited till he began to give his explanation of whatever he so desperately needed to talk about. As he stared around the small space of my room, at the picture frames of me and my parents, and a few friends from long ago, I took that moment to observe him.

  There was a childlike fascination in the depth of his golden brown eyes, and I wondered whether I had judged him wrong. When I noticed the patch of red along his cheek, a pang of guilt sunk through my chest, as I bit my lip.

  “Wait here,” I told him.

  He nodded, continuing to stare around the room, as I got up, and headed to the kitchen just a few feet away. Opening the fridge, I took out a small ice pack, before closing the white door. Walking over to the sink, I unrolled a layer of paper towel beside the counter, wrapping it over the ice pack, and striding back towards the couch.

  His eyes met mine, his brows raised. His gaze followed my steps, as I sat before him, giving him a sympathetic stare.

  Pressing the ice pack against his cheek, he stared at me, his expression blank. I could tell he was confused, and I guess, so was I. I didn’t know what possessed me to treat his wound, but I couldn’t help but feel a little bad.

  “I don’t like being touched by strangers,” I confessed, my hand still wrapped around the ice pack against his cheek.

  He didn’t say anything, but when his hand curled over mine, I yanked my fingers back. The pack fell in the space between us, and he smiled, staring at me in amusement.

  “Looks like I learned something about us,” he said. “You hate being touched by strangers, and I love it. I mean, as long as the stranger is a beautiful woman, I would never mind.”

  I frowned. “You’re a professional flirt.”

  “That I am,” he agreed, shooting me a wink.

  I sighed, pressing a hand against my forehead, which began to slightly throb. Returning the hand on my lap, I sat a foot apart from him, allowing us an appropriate separation.

  “So spill,” I said. “Why did you say you’ve been looking for me? What’s your deal?”

  His childlike eyes, had darkened, as he straightened against the sofa, giving me a stare so cold, I suppressed a shiver.

  He cleared his throat, as if preparing for a grand introduction.

  “Alright,” he began. “This is going to sound insane, and I mean, really off the rocks insane, but bear with me here, okay?”

  I nodded. “I’m listening.”

  He licked the bottom of his full lips, and for a mom
ent, my gaze dropped to his mouth, lingering for a second, before I shook my head, snapping out of it. My eyes returned to his, and I was surprised, for he looked awfully nervous. His hands shook just slightly, as he ran them both through the thick main of his hair, inching so close to me, our noses almost touched.

  “I need you to marry me,” he whispered, desperation seeping from his tongue.

  I blinked, my heart thumping in my chest, as his statement repeated in my mind like an echo.

  The crashing of a tin cup broke our stare, as we both turned around, staring at April, who stood against the kitchen wall. Her bright purple locks rested by her thin shoulders, as her ocean blue eyes traced from him to me. Her pale skin illuminated from the stream of light coming through the kitchen window, as she stood in a hot pink nightgown, her mouth hanging open.

  “I know you,” she said, staring at him. “You’re James Bellevue…playboy and womanizer extraordinaire. What the hell brings you along to our humble abode? And, wait, wait just a moment…I think I got something stuck in my ear, because I swear I just heard you propose to Dorothy. Oh no…crap, crap, crap! You guys had a one night stand and now she’s pregnant isn’t she? I’m going to kill you. I swear, I’m going to kill you.”

  Oh, I forgot to mention. April is insane.

  Chapter Three

  James threw his palms in the air, looking a bit spooked, as April took slow steps towards us, her powder blue eyes, glaring. Her light purple locks swayed over her thin back, her small hands, enclosed into fists, as the pink satin of her dress moved along her slow stride.

  “What the hell, Dorothy,” she snapped, staring at me. “You’re with this jerk?”

  I sighed, suddenly exhausted, as I stood before James, protecting him from her over exaggeration.

  “April…look at me,” I said slowly. “Did you feed the parrot?”

  She froze, as realization dawned on her face. Turning, she ran towards the closed window at the end of the living room. Her doe like eyes watered, as she pushed past James, who stared at her in confusion.

  Lifting up the window, tears streamed past her plum cheeks, her thin lips soaked.

  “Plunky!” she cried. “Plunky, I’m so sorry! I forgot to feed you this morning. I’m horrible. I’m a horrible, evil, witch! I should go back in time to the Salem Witch trials and volunteer myself as a witch and get burned for treating you like this!”

  James and I watched, as she spoke to Plunky outside the open window- the warm wind gusting through.

  James shot me a questioning look, and I shook my head, shooting him a blank stare.

  “Is she okay?” he whispered. “There’s no one there. I mean…is she a little….you know—“

  “She’s fine,” I whispered back. “She’s just talking to her friend.”

  April took a few steps back, her right arm extended before her, as though balancing a bird on her wrist. Her other hand petted the imaginary parrot, stroking its invisible wings, before feeding it an invisible piece of bread.

  James took a step back- his lips pressed in a tight line, looking terribly uncomfortable.

  “This is Plunky,” she told James, walking towards him. “My parrot. Would you like to pet him?”

  April stood before him, her eyes shining brightly, hoping for him to pet her imaginary parrot.

  I briefed a glance at James, who looked taken aback for a moment, but in the following second, extended his palm towards the invisible bird, petting its wings in a soft, downward stroke.

  “He’s cute,” said James. “How old is this guy? He looks ancient—“

  April smiled, displaying two rows of white teeth. I smiled as well- surprised that he was playing along. I expected him to laugh at her, or worse, give her a weird stare that most people often gave her.

  “He is pretty old,” she said. “But I think he likes you. Wait. I was upset about something earlier. I can’t…I can’t remember. Anyways, who are you and why are you here?”

  April suffered from severe paranoia, hallucinations, and had a memory problem, but for the past year, she’s been getting better. I was proud of her.

  James cleared his throat dramatically, turned, and sat on the couch, his legs parted.

  “Have a seat, ladies,” he said. “This will take a while to explain.”

  I sat in the middle, so as to prevent April from freaking out again and doing something to James that she would regret later.

  April continued to pet Plunky, while staring at James in a curious way, her face lit with anticipation.

  I pressed my hands under my thighs, in a way I do whenever I’m nervous, because whatever he had to say, would surely spin my head.

  His words, “I need you to marry me,” repeated in my mind like an old stereo that played only one tune.

  He must have noticed my apprehension, for he gave me a stiff smile, looking nervous himself. April smiled as well, extending her arm outward, letting Plunky fly away to some other corner of our small apartment.

  “Alright,” he said. “I’m going to speak really fast, so just keep up okay? If what I say doesn’t make sense, then just ask me when I’m done talking, because once I start, it’s very hard for me to break my train of thought, and what I have to say is really fucking important.”

  I nodded, and so did April, as we both stared at him, waiting.

  He inhaled a deep breath. “When I was born, my Grandfather had written me down in his inheritance, and given me a great sum of money, and a bond, that keeps increasing every year. I have more money than you could ever imagine, and I’m quite happy being rich. In fact, being rich is all I’ve ever known, and it’s all I want. Yeah, that makes me sound like a typical snob, but if that’s what I am, then I’ll accept it. But here’s the problem…I love women. I love them so much, that I could never allow myself to be tied down to just one for the rest of my life. I’m on the red carpet every other week with a different girl, and it’s been getting on my father’s nerves because he says it makes him look bad. The step mom agrees, and so does granddad, and they’ve all come to the conclusion that I should settle down, take over the family business, get married, and start a life. But I already have a life! A good life, a great life, the best life you could ever fucking want! Marriage is for suckers and I’m not going to get trapped into it, with a woman I’ll probably get tired of after a month or two. To make things a hell of a lot worse, my folks gave me an ultimatum. Either I get married to some nice girl, and stick with that marriage for at least fifteen years, I won’t get cut off. Cut off! But that’s not nearly as bad as being trapped with some chick for fifteen years. Why fifteen? Because then they can tell people that at least I tried to make the marriage last, but the woman was just selfish, had an affair, and left me. They care so much about their reputation, you see. Granddad threatened to take me off the family name if I don’t get this marriage to work, but I know he doesn’t mean it as much as my father means it. All I need to do is convince Granddad that I’m serious about the business, about my marriage, and willing to live a stable life, and bam! A huge chunk of the family inheritance will be in my name. Not my asshole brother’s. But let’s not talk about him. You’ll meet him when you meet him. Anyways, let me back track a bit here. For the past four months, I’ve been searching for a suitable wife. But every girl I’ve put through a test has failed oh so miserably. How do they fail, you ask? By falling for me. They just start being miserably in love with me, and I can’t stand that emotional, slobbery attachment. They’re like leeches. Hungry, love obsessed, overly sentimental leeches. And then, I met you, and at first, I didn’t think anything of you. I mean, you aren’t hot, no offense, and there’s nothing about you that excites me. You have this sweetness about you, and I find that boring. But then, when I was teasing you, just out of boredom, I noticed you didn’t respond. You honestly felt nothing towards me. You weren’t attracted to me, and I wondered if you were a lesbian, not that I’m judging, because hey, it’s a free country. But, it was something else about you that made m
e realize that you’re exactly the one I need to successfully carry out this plan. You will not fall for me, and you won’t act clingy or be emotionally attached towards me in any way, shape, or form. And if you do agree with this plan, this marriage will change your life completely. You won’t have to live in this shitty, run down place anymore, and you won’t have to work in that hotel as a maid. If you can’t afford college, then you can pay for it! Or if you want a steady job, you will make those connections to get a career, and get a life. So, what do you say Ms. Web? Let’s call this a deal?”

  He spoke very fast throughout that semi speech, but I listened intently, taking in his every syllable.

  “Wow,” said April. “Listen, listen, I think this guy is right. Your whole life will change if you agree to this! It’s like winning the fucking lottery. Don’t pass it up, Dory. I’m telling you, this is pure gold.”

  James winked. “Exactly.”

  I shook my head. “What you’re saying is nice and all, but it’s not realistic. For one thing, when your folks find out it’s all a lie, they’re going to hate you, and then rumors will spread about me, and I’ll never get to do what I really want to do—“

  “You’re over thinking,” he insisted. “It’s not that complicated, Princess. I’ve thought out all the logistics. You just play your part as the good wife, and I’ll play mine—“

  “As the lying son?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I’ll have to. So, just…just think about it okay? I need an answer by tomorrow. I’ll meet you where you work—“

  “Wait,” I said. “You have a girlfriend. That girl…from this morning, I mean. Won’t she get upset with you planning this? And why don’t you use her for this plan?”

  He gave me an annoyed stare, before standing, and stretching his arms over his head.

  “You’re kind of slow,” he said, yawning. “Didn’t I mention that I can’t use a girl that’s emotionally attached to me? And besides, I don’t do girlfriends. It’s not my thing.”

  I rolled my eyes, and stood as well, walking past him towards the door. Opening it, I motioned for him to exit.