House of York

by Charlotte Byrd

  Easton

  When I’m punished…

  “You have an interesting way of thinking about things, Easton,” Father says, writing something in his journal. “Unfortunately, I think that you still have a lot to learn.”

  “I thought that I was entitled to my own opinion, sir?” The words escape my lips before I can stop them.

  Shut up, Easton. Shut the fuck up.

  “Well, you are. And I’ve listened. But your opinion indicates to me that you are not fully understanding the world in which we live. And, as your father, I must remedy that immediately.”

  You mean the fucked up world in which you live.

  Life isn’t really like it is here.

  This isn’t reality.

  This is hell.

  “Easton, your punishment is to have sex with number nineteen.”

  “What?!” Abbott ignites with anger. “I’m sent to Hamilton and he gets to have a romp with that cunt?”

  “Yes, Abbott. And, please, do not speak to me in a raised voice. I will not ask you again.”

  “But why, Father? Why?” Abbott pleads. “It’s not fair.”

  “It is fair. You have a bad temper and you tried to rape a girl in front of all of our guests. We do not do that here, Abbott. You know that. And your brother here, well, he seems to have this confusing idea about what sex really is. Sex is an exchange of power, son. And the sooner you learn that, the sooner you will be released.”

  His words don’t really sink in.

  I’ve heard them, but I don’t understand them.

  The thing about my father is that he has all of these lessons he tries to teach everyone. And if you have your own idea of how to do things, your own opinion about what is right and wrong, he doesn’t care.

  If you don’t agree with him, then you haven’t learned your lesson.

  There’s no use in fighting him on this. It will only make things worse.

  He has said his piece and called Mirabelle. She is waiting in the doorway.

  The conversation is over.

  “What the hell is he thinking?!” Abbott roars at me as soon as we are outside. I shrug.

  “You’re such an asshole. I can’t believe you get to do the one thing I want to do, and I have to do time at Hamilton. If you don’t think you’re the favorite after this, then you’re seriously delusional.”

  I shrug again and speed up my pace. I want to get away from him to try to figure this out, but he catches up to me.

  “What do you want with her? Do you have a crush on her or something?!” he roars into my ear.

  “No, I just don’t want you to hurt her,” I say, pushing him away from me.

  “Well, I will. I promise you that. That cunt has it coming and I’m going to make her pay. Hard.”

  I clench my jaw.

  I’ve never seen such rage in his eyes before.

  Something about Everly is really riling him up. It’s like she has this power over him.

  I wonder if it’s the same thing that’s making me risk everything to help her.

  We resist the temptation to fight because we know that will only make things worse for us. Instead, we square off and glare at each other, waiting for the other to back down even an inch.

  “Hey! Don’t forget your orders!” Mirabelle raises her hand, waving the paperwork.

  Signed and sealed by the King.

  Now, it’s official.

  We listen to the clicking of Mirabelle’s heels on the parquet floors, getting louder and louder with each step. Neither of us moves a muscle until she is standing right next to us.

  “C’mon, snap out of this,” she says, shaking us by the arms. “You don’t want to make this worse.”

  She hands us each a typed up envelope with the House of York seal in the middle. We take the envelopes and take off in different directions.

  When I get to my chambers, I open the letter. It’s printed on lavish scented paper with a House of York seal at the top and Father’s signature and stamp at the bottom. This is a lot more official than I had expected him to go.

  * * *

  Easton York has three days (72 hours) to have sexual intercourse with contestant number 19 for at least twenty minutes. Both parties are required to reach a climax. Additional parties are welcome to participate in the act, but their presence is not required.

  Number 19 is to not know about this order.

  If the parties do not consummate the act within seventy-two hours, then Easton will receive two weeks of hard labor at Hamilton and number 19 will be eliminated from the competition.

  * * *

  When I finish reading, I want to spit on his signature, but I don’t. Everything is recorded.

  My own father is forcing me to have sex against my will. Even if I can seduce her, it’s not really consensual because I don’t want to. I have not been with anyone since…no, I still can’t talk about it.

  But what choice do we have?

  It’s not the two weeks at Hamilton that worries me, though they will not be any walk in the park.

  It’s the fact that if I don’t do this, she will be eliminated from the competition. An elimination means there will be an auction and she will be put up for sale. And then who knows what will become of her?

  Everly

  When I wait…

  The fear of what Abbott just did is still coursing through my veins. I run my fingers over my neck and feel his grasp closing in on me.

  Every time I blink, I feel his body on top of mine, pushing my legs open with his knees.

  And that scent.

  That God-awful scent, which came out of every pore in his body. It was some kind of combination of hard liquor mixed with stale cigarettes.

  I have to get it off me.

  As soon as I get to my room, I take off my clothes and run into the shower. I scrub my body from head to toe to get every last bit of his stench off. The warm water running down my body puts me at ease.

  My thoughts turn to Easton.

  My savior.

  He came out of nowhere. Just as I thought that Abbott would have me for good, he stopped him.

  But why? Isn’t he the one who is responsible for me being here?

  No, of course not. He was telling the truth back there.

  I know that now.

  I was wrong about Jamie.

  He was the one who lured me here. He was the one who lured Paige here, too. He’s the evil one.

  Easton is…I have no idea what Easton is.

  He’s an enigma.

  For all I know, this could all just be a game to him.

  What if he was just pretending to save me?

  What if he’s playing the role of a good guy while Abbott is the villain? That’s possible, but from the shock on his face, I sort of doubt it.

  He would have to be the best actor ever.

  No, that feeling in the pit of my stomach, you know the one that warns you of danger, tells me that he’s on my side.

  He’s helping me. Or trying to.

  After stepping out of the shower and toweling off, I climb into my big bed and under the covers, I pull the sheet over my head.

  The bedding is so soft and luxurious that it feels like I’m lying on a cloud. I turn off the lights and close my eyes.

  The events of the night keep flashing through my mind, but I physically force them out.

  I’m not here. I’m somewhere far away.

  I’m lying in a meadow, on a bed of daises. The horse that I rode here is grazing next to me. There’s a blue sky high above my head and the sun is so bright that it’s making me squint.

  A loud knock on my door startles me out of my deep sleep. I glance at the nightstand and see that it has been more than two hours.

  “Come in!” I yell. The door swings open and Mirabelle invites me downstairs.

  “Right now?”

  “They are doing the first elimination ceremony.”

  My heart skips a beat.

  Elimination ceremony?


  “Now? In the middle of the night?”

  “Yes,” she says, looking at her clipboard.

  “I need some time to get ready,” I mumble.

  “No, you don’t,” she says, flipping on the light switch. I cover my eyes and sit up. Running my fingers through my hair, I know that it’s a complete mess. It has dried while I was sleeping and now has strange untamable crinkles around the crown.

  “Nineteen, I’m waiting,” Mirabelle says.

  I get out of bed and wrap the sheet around myself. I start to head to the closet, but she stops me.

  “What did I say?”

  “I can’t even get clothes or wash my face?” I ask. Or while we’re at it, put on some eyeliner and mascara so that I don’t look like I do right now.

  “No,” she says, walking into the room and pulling me out by my arm.

  “I don’t understand. What’s the big hurry? I’m only wearing a sheet for God’s sake.”

  I don’t mean to raise my voice at her, but I also don’t want to look like crap.

  I’ve seen those elimination ceremonies on reality shows.

  The women are always dressed up and they look fucking airbrushed.

  “Isn’t everyone going to be really dressed up there?” I ask.

  “No. Everyone will be exactly as they are. That’s the whole point.”

  That’s when it hits me. I don’t know the first thing about this place. And I need to stop trying to make what is happening here make any sense with what I’ve experienced back in my old life.

  I follow Mirabelle downstairs with a familiar feeling of dread.

  This is the one constant in my life now. Something new is about to happen to me and it’s probably not good. The only thing I can do is take in deep breaths and try to relax. Extra tension in my body and soul is only going to make whatever is about to happen that much harder to endure.

  A number of contestants are already there, standing in a line.

  Just as they are.

  Surprisingly, I don’t even look the worst. I look like I’ve just woken up, but most of them look like they haven’t gone to bed yet.

  The girl to my right is standing in a soaking wet t-shirt and no underwear. The one next to her is wearing ripped yoga pants and a bra.

  Most are too drunk to stand up straight and keep wavering from one side to another on their feet.

  The ones at the end aren’t wearing any clothes at all.

  All have smeared makeup and crumpled hair.

  Thankful for my bedsheet, I wrap it tighter around my body.

  Across the room from us, I see four people behind a large table, which wasn’t there before. Without looking at us once, they are shuffling papers among themselves. The two men and two women are all dressed in black business suits and have severe looks on their faces.

  Are these the judges? I wonder. They definitely look like it.

  J, the host, comes out and clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. The judges look up and the contestants try to stand up straight, the ones that can anyway.

  “Are we ready?” J asks the judges. They nod.

  Then it hits me.

  Wait!

  No, she’s not here yet.

  I double check by looking down one direction and down the other at the contestants next to me.

  No, she’s not here.

  No, no, no.

  Paige!

  Where are you?

  Everly

  When the elimination begins…

  I need to buy more time. I need to find her.

  Where is she?

  No, they can’t start without her.

  I can’t let them.

  She’s going to be eliminated for sure if she doesn’t show up. Right?

  But what can I do?

  A thousand different thoughts run through my mind all at once.

  I have to do something, but I have no idea where to start.

  “Wait,” I finally yell out before I have even an inkling of a plan. “Excuse me, but not everyone is here.”

  I glance back at the line of contestants and realize that it’s actually not just Paige who is missing. There were more than twenty originally, but now it looks like there are only ten or so here.

  “Yes, we know that,” one of the male judges says. “That’s too bad for them.”

  “Wait, what do you mean by that?”

  “Well, if we cannot find them then they will not be participating in the elimination,” the female judge explains.

  “Number nineteen, please get back in line. This is highly irregular,” the host says.

  I step back, but I can’t keep my mouth shut.

  “I’m sorry, wait, I don’t understand,” I say.

  Of course, I do.

  But I keep my hope alive.

  Perhaps, if we talk enough then Paige will show up.

  “The contestants that do not show up to the elimination are going to be eliminated,” the host says. “Now, if the judges are ready, let’s begin.”

  I glance back at the staircase.

  Paige.

  C’mon, Paige.

  Please come.

  Please.

  Then somewhere in the distance, from the other side of the house, I hear footsteps.

  “Wait, I'm sorry, but someone is coming!” I yell out again. “Maybe it’s…one of the contestants.”

  I don’t want to announce that there’s one that I am particularly interested in.

  Everyone turns their heads and waits.

  The footsteps get closer, more sloppy, and uneven.

  Then Paige appears.

  Barely standing on her feet.

  I run over to her and help her walk the rest of the way.

  She leans on me for support.

  “What’s going on?” she mumbles, slurring her speech.

  “This is the first elimination, honey,” I whisper.

  “Are we ready now?” J asks impatiently.

  “Yes, yes, we are,” I confirm.

  “I wasn’t asking you,” he says with a laugh.

  He turns to the judges and they give him a nod.

  Suddenly, Paige leans away from me and vomits. The others scatter to get away from the splatter.

  “Are you okay?” I lean over Paige.

  She throws up again.

  I pull her away from the puddle.

  “I’m going to take her to bed,” I say decisively. “She needs to rest.”

  “She needs to participate in the elimination,” J says.

  “Is there anything she needs to do? Or are all of your decisions made?” I ask.

  “We’ve made our decisions,” one of the female judges says.

  “Okay, well, then is it okay if I take her to her room? She really needs to rest.”

  “This is highly unusual,” J starts to say, but the judge interrupts him and tells me to take her away.

  I put Paige’s arm around my shoulder and help her up the stairs. Everyone’s eyes are on us.

  Am I making the biggest mistake of my life?

  Perhaps.

  My original plan was to stay low, not draw attention to myself. Until this point, I’ve succeeded.

  But Paige needs my help. What else can I do?

  After putting her to bed, I pour her a glass of water and put it on the nightstand. Then I bring over the trash can from the bathroom, just in case she needs it and place it right near her head.

  “Thank you,” she mumbles, turning away from me.

  “Everything’s going to be okay,” I promise, even though I have no idea if it is.

  I walk out of her room and back downstairs, surprised that they have all waited for my return.

  “Okay, let’s start,” J says as I assume my place in line.

  He picks up a set of cards from the judges’ table and walks over to the podium.

  “When I call your number, come up here and take a box.”

  “Number seventeen,” he says.

  The girl with red ha
ir and dressed in a bra and panties walks up to him. J hands her a narrow velvet box.

  “Please do not open it until I say so,” he says, just as she is about to look inside.

  He tells her to return to her place and calls the next number.

  Eleven.

  Contestants all around me get called up and are given a box. Finally, it’s my turn.

  “Number nineteen,” J says with a big sigh.

  I walk up to him.

  He hands me a velvet box and whispers, “I’m watching you,” under his breath.

  Shivers run down my spine. But I give him a smile, take my box, and return to my place in line.

  “Okay, open your boxes,” he says.

  My heart sinks and tears start to gather at the edges of my eyes.

  He didn’t call Paige’s number.

  “Excuse me,” one of the female judges says, calling him over to them.

  I watch as J tries to argue with her, but she remains steadfast.

  “Okay, then,” J says, clearly disappointed. “It appears as though we are not done yet.”

  With that, he calls Paige’s number, number eight.

  A sigh of relief spreads through me.

  She made it.

  We both did.

  “You may now open your gifts,” he instructs.

  Inside my velvet box, I find a delicate sterling-silver bracelet. It’s chain linked all around and a delicate flat portion in the front with the words House of York are engraved on it. “Welcome to the House of York,” the host says.

  We all hug each other from excitement. The elimination ceremony is over and we all made it. J tells us that the following few days are rest days for us to relax and enjoy the property.

  I let out a big sigh of relief.

  That’s exactly what I need.

  I imagine myself falling into my comfortable bed and sleeping the hours away. It takes all of my energy to not let myself run up the stairs and fall into my bed before anyone else.

  I’ll be there soon enough, I say to myself.

  “Um, excuse me! Excuse me!” J yells when I reach the top of the stairs.