by K. M. Szpara
I make space for him to leave, not trying to stop him with my body or words. I don’t believe him, but I don’t question him. He clearly doesn’t want me to. Elisha says he wants normal, but I’m worried, now, he has a long way to go. And I can’t help.
61
ELISHA
Empower Maryland is only a few miles away. When I arrive, sweat sticks my clothes to my body and my hair to my forehead. Onyx isn’t the person I’m supposed to see, but he’s the first.
“Did you run here?” He looks me over. “We can get you a bike from donations.”
“I need your help.”
“With what?”
I step close enough that I can whisper into his ear. “I need you to hurt me, again.”
“Let’s go to Dutch’s office.” He holds out his hand and I take it, walking with him. Walking together. Not like Abby, who took my hand. Who guided me with patience and pity.
I grip Onyx tighter.
He closes the door behind us.
“We’re going to have a real conversation.” He lets go, pulls out a chair at the small table, and sits down.
I sit across from him. “Okay.”
“I shouldn’t have hit you, earlier. I thought I was helping you.”
“You were.”
“In the moment, yes. But aren’t you and Alex still working out your relationship? I don’t like Alex, so I ignored him to help you, before, but that was shitty of me.” He claps a hand over his heart. “I expect people to respect my relationships. I’m a hypocrite when I don’t return that respect, even if I don’t like them. If anything, that’s worse.”
“But I asked you to.”
“Yes, but you didn’t ask Alex.”
“I don’t need his permission, anymore. I thought you, of all people, understood that.”
“It’s not about permission, Elisha; it’s about communication.”
“I know how monogamy and polyamory work.”
“Then, you’re cheating.”
“No.” Am I? I’m not.
“If you’re unable to negotiate the terms of your relationship with Alex, maybe you should reconsider whether you should be together. I’m not judging you for being with him.” Onyx holds up his hands. “I definitely did when you got here, but I understand, now. I’m not going to narc on you, but I’m not going to cheat with you, either. We can be friends but I’m not going to play with you while Alex still thinks you’re in a relationship.” Onyx slaps the table as he stands. “Think about what you want. Talk to him. I’ll still be around.”
* * *
When I finally sit down with Verónica, I’m hollow. All my emotions poured out for Abby and Nora and Dad and Alex and Onyx.
She goes over the questions Alex’s attorneys are likely to ask me. About my permission slip and debt history and my mother’s disability. About my feelings for Alex. About every time we had sex. Details. Am I okay with going into details?
The details will matter, Verónica says, when she cross-examines me. Alex’s lawyers are out to prove that I seduced him—with intent. Intent implies agency.
I didn’t have agency, Verónica says. Not the first time, not the last. I didn’t and I’m still struggling to find it. If I can say the word, I should. If I can say he raped me—only if that’s what I think happened.
My legs are numb when Verónica excuses herself. My fingers cold, on the table. I still don’t know what to say—what’s real, what counts, who’s to blame. But tomorrow, it goes on the record.
62
ALEX
The click of heels nears me. Gabriela says, “We’re ready.”
I hate seeing Elisha while we’re surrounded by attorneys, especially after the way we fought, the other day. We haven’t had a chance to talk and now our words and actions will be monitored and regulated, anger and irritation marinating while we’re forced to act professionally. Expected to align with our respective “sides.” I know the questions Reginald’s going to ask him. No one should have to answer those, much less in a room full of strangers, while a court reporter records every word.
“Alex?”
“Yeah, I’m coming.”
She holds the door for me as we leave behind the humidity for air conditioning, polished marble, and elevators. We don’t speak as the car rises to the top floor. Bishops don’t hire mid-level law firms.
Gabriela walks a step ahead of me, opening the door to the office for me—I don’t even stop, simply glide between the doors, into the conference room, across the table from Elisha.
He’s wearing a crisp white shirt, light gray slacks. Navy belt, matching loafers. No tie. Top button undone. Linen pocket square in his blazer pocket. I try not to stare at his exposed throat. At his growing hair, long enough to tuck behind his ears. At the tension in his jaw. He doesn’t look at me. Looks at the table. At his hands—clasped so they won’t tremble, I assume.
Elisha looks good. Humble. A strategy, surely, but not a lie. I grit my teeth as I sit to remind myself not to speak to him. I wish we’d had a chance to speak after Dutch showed us that house. Our makeshift lab. The place where I’m going to undo what my family probably did to his mother. I want to ask if he’s okay, after he ran out. I didn’t know what to say then and I don’t know what to say now, except I love you and support you.
“Are you ready, Elisha?” Vasquez asks. The court reporter’s fingers hover over the outline of her keyboard, where it’s projected onto the table.
“Yes.”
I can’t tell if he means it. Does he know what he wants to say? What he thinks about me? What our relationship meant and means? Answers not yet spoken curdle in my stomach.
“Why did you decide to register with the ODR?” Reginald asks.
“I had to. We couldn’t fend off the debt collectors much longer. Dad was seriously thinking about sending Abby.”
“How much debt did you have?”
“Three million—and that’s after my mom spent ten years paying some off.”
“She was a Docile?”
“Yes,” Elisha says. Clipped. Aware of where this is going.
“Was this family debt?”
“Yes. Two million on my father’s side, one million remaining on my mother’s.”
“When she sold off that first million, did she also refuse Dociline?”
“No.” He doesn’t give them more. He knows they’re going to use it against him. Across the table, Vasquez stares at Elisha, willing him not to give. Not to feel. Willing away his anger. My attorneys aren’t allowed to lead him on.
“How is she now?”
Elisha purses his lips. He looks frustrated with Reginald’s reaction before he’s even answered. Reasonable, I suppose, when you’re used to people not believing you. “She acts like a Docile, still. An on-med.”
“Why do you think she acts that way?”
“Because of Dociline.” Elisha sounds exhausted when he answers, as if it’s the hundredth time, today. “I don’t have scientific proof, but she was normal when she left and when she came back…”
“She was like an on-med? How did you feel about that?”
“Sad. Angry.”
“Did you ever tell Alex about your mother?”
“Yes.”
“How did he respond?”
Elisha catches my eye for half a second, then returns to Reginald. “He called me a liar and punished me for it.”
“You’ve already stated you don’t have scientific proof, but in your personal opinion, was anyone to blame for your mother’s state of being?”
“Lots of people.”
Reginald tilts his head. He wasn’t expecting a nuanced answer. He was expecting anger. “Lots of people?”
“Yeah. The federal government for enacting the Next of Kin laws. Debt collectors and cops for forcing us to choose between the ODR and debtors’ prison. Bishop Labs for inventing and producing Dociline. The State of Maryland for creating our debt resolution system, and the people for accepting it as normal. For perpe
tuating it.”
“Bishop Laboratories?” There. Elisha gave my attorney enough to latch on to—but how could he not? We’re at fault.
“Yes.”
“Did you know Alex was affiliated with Bishop Laboratories before you signed with him?”
“Carol, my caseworker, explained who he was after he made an offer, but I didn’t know during our interview, no.”
“Do you remember how many offers you received, after your interviews?”
“I’m not sure of the exact number.”
“That’s okay,” Reginald says. “Can you give us a ballpark? More than one? Five? A dozen?”
“More than one.” Elisha shrugs. “Maybe three or four.”
“Then, knowing who Alex was, why did you accept his offer?”
“He offered to pay my family a stipend of a thousand dollars per month, for every month I was with him.”
“How long was that?”
“My whole life. Long enough that, if my family saved, they might not fall into debt again. Enough for my sister to go to a better school, get a better job. Enough that we could afford better medical care for my mother.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“The stipend? No, but it was one of the biggest factors.”
“Humor me,” Reginald says, scooting his chair closer to the table. He leans onto it casually, as if he and Elisha are talking over drinks. “What else factored into your decision?”
“I remember receiving an offer for a shorter term, but it was hard labor. I knew I wasn’t going to take Dociline, so personal comfort was a factor. During our interview, it was—” Elisha looks at me as if for permission.
“It was?” Reginald redirects his attention.
Elisha slides his finger through the ring on his cuff and pulls the chain. “It was heavily implied that Alex was going to have sex with me. I’d heard about trillionaires signing Dociles as…” He hesitates. “Personal companions.”
A companion. That’s what I’d called him. What I told my parents and the Board I thought Dociles could be. That’s what Elisha became, but that’s not what my friends would’ve called it.
“So, you’d already planned to refuse Dociline?”
“Yes, but I’d planned that for any scenario, no matter who I signed with. Whether I’d be cleaning houses or building them. My decision wasn’t specific to Alex.”
“Okay. So.” Reginald counts on his fingers. “The stipend, quality of life as an off-med. Anything else?”
“Not that I can put a name to. Chemistry? I liked him. He seemed fair. Kind. Like he was interested in me as a person and was less likely to abuse his role as a Patron. I’d heard stories of Dociles injured during their work for bigger corporations—injuries they couldn’t even remember sustaining because of Dociline. Their contracts would end, the drug would wear off, and they’d have lost a toe. I had offers like that, for shorter periods of time. Good offers, my case manager told me. But all I had to go on, during those interviews, was my gut. Alex didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d abuse our contract.”
“Despite Alex being CEO of the corporation that made Dociline.”
“Objection,” Vasquez says. She looks at Elisha and nods. “You can answer.”
“Yes, despite the Dociline connection. I knew, legally, he couldn’t make me take it. I’d researched my rights.”
“That’s smart. Most debtors don’t think they need to know their rights.”
“That’s because most debtors take Dociline. They wouldn’t know a violation of their rights if it slapped them in the face.”
Reginald laughs. “I like you, Elisha. You’re smart.”
He looks at Vasquez, unsure what to do with a compliment from his opposition. My attorney called him smart. My attorney wants Elisha to look smart enough to manipulate his Patron, in an environment where he is mostly powerless. Elisha just wanted to survive. To provide for his family. I’m already angry on his behalf.
When Elisha says, “Thank you,” I watch him retreat into himself. Into the safety of learned behaviors.
“Let’s move on,” Reginald says. “Do you think Alex would have developed feelings for you if you’d taken Dociline?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Dociline turns people into drones. It’s like asking me why Alex didn’t develop feelings for his refrigerator, if his refrigerator could suck his dick.”
“So, you’re saying it’s inevitable that Alex would have developed feelings for any Docile he’d signed, who refused Dociline?”
“I’m saying it’s possible.”
“Did you reciprocate those feelings?”
I hold my breath. He’s got to hurt me here—say that he was incapable of returning my feelings. If he doesn’t, it’ll hurt his case.
Elisha pulls the chain on his cuff again, then stops and puts his hands in his lap, as if he’s been caught. “I don’t know.”
That’s not the answer I was expecting, and Reginald is just as surprised. “Why not?”
“I’ve been told I was incapable of loving Alex. But it felt so real. Which was it? I don’t know. I’m sorry, I can’t answer your question.”
“That’s okay,” Reginald says. “I want to ask you about Dr. Javier Madera. Do you know him?”
Elisha’s whole body tenses. “Yes.”
“Where did you meet?”
“Preakness.”
“Do you remember your initial impression of him?”
“I had just won the race for Alex. Javier came over to say hi to Alex. Then, I went to clean up and change. I didn’t really have time to form an impression.”
“Sure, sure,” Reginald says. “A win like that is sure to release some endorphins.”
“I suppose.”
“Maybe some pride.”
“I—”
“Objection,” Vasquez says, exasperated. “You’re clearly leading the witness.”
“I have a point.” Reginald calmly sips his coffee.
“Then get to it, already.”
He rests his cup back on its coaster. “Were you jealous of Dr. Madera?”
Elisha looks at me, his lips parted, lungs full of air. Yes. The answer is yes, but he can’t say it. I know, I try to tell him. I know the real answer. You can lie. I won’t mind. Please lie.
“No.” His voice cracks. “No, I only wanted to make Alex happy and that meant winning the race. If he wanted space, I always gave it to him. It wasn’t my place to take it up.”
My chest clenches as Elisha belittles himself like I haven’t heard since he was my Docile. He’s been making such progress—I don’t care if it’s at my expense. I want him to heal. Please don’t retreat.
“Did you ever see Dr. Madera, again?”
“Yes.”
“Can you describe what happened?”
“He came to Alex’s house and then they left together.”
“Anything notable happen while he was there?”
“I interrupted them, on the piano.”
If I close my eyes I can hear the chord Elisha slammed on the piano. The disgust in Javier’s voice.
“Why?”
“It was an accident. I apologized and accepted my punishment.”
Why didn’t I speak up for him, then? I knew he was jealous. I’d taken Elisha to a fucking hotel suite. We’d played in the pool. And I’d sided with Javier because it was easier than admitting I was falling for Elisha.
“Did Dr. Madera ever return?”
“Later that night.”
“Did you interact, then?”
“He came into Alex’s room while I was cleaning and said he wouldn’t have me interrupting them, again. I didn’t question him. I assumed Alex knew what he was doing.”
I can’t watch.
“What did Dr. Madera do?”
“He bound and gagged me, then put me into the confinement space.”
“Were you in the midst of fulfilling a punishment when this happened?”
I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. What Javier did wasn’t normal or okay. I guarantee he didn’t tell me because he knew I wouldn’t approve. But Reginald thinks it’s fine to get all this on the record, and I know plenty of judges who’d agree with him.
“What happened when you completed your punishment?”
Elisha looks at the glossy tabletop while he answers. His face slack. Body hunched. “Alex pulled me out—I couldn’t stand up on my own.”
“Was Javier still there?”
“Yes.”
“What happened, then?”
“Alex kicked him out.”
“Did Alex tell you why or say anything to you?”
“He said he loved me. That he was sorry he’d let Javier hurt me.”
“Thank you,” Reginald says. I’d grown to love and favor Elisha over my trillionaire friends. Point proven. “I’m finished with questions, for the time being. Would you like a break, Elisha? I could use another coffee.”
“Yes, please.”
Like a flock of startled birds, the reporter and attorneys rise, sliding their coats onto their arms and into the air. Across from me, Elisha remains: small and alone.
63
ELISHA
By the time Verónica begins cross-examining me, I’m freshly flayed. My flesh already peeled back. Nerves exposed. I take off my blazer and roll up my sleeves to relieve the heat of anxiety. Rest my arms veins up on the table. A cuff on my left wrist, long, thin scar on my right.
“I want to ask some follow-up questions about your time with Alex, Elisha; is that okay?”
“Yes,” I say because what way is there but through? I agreed to this as much as I agreed to be Alex’s Docile. Choices I’ve been fooled into thinking were my own.
“Would you categorize your sexual encounters with Alex Bishop as consensual?”
“Which one?”
“The first one.”
She wants me to say no. “I knew what was expected of me when I signed with Alex.”
“But did you want to have sex with him?”