by Aya DeAniege
“Hitting a rich person will result in assault charges.”
“Better assault charges than you getting hurt again," he murmured, kissing my neck. "He'll be found guilty. There's no way he'll walk from this."
Silence predominated over the room as I stared off at the wall. With a sigh, I turned my head towards Nathaniel.
“I think I prefer sex during play,” I said.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because at least then we don't talk about weird topics afterward. I don't want to talk about him when I'm in your arms. I don't want to talk about him at all. Fuck him.”
“Wish I could arrange that. Unfortunately, rich folks are well protected in prison."
“Wh-wait, what?” I asked, sitting up. “You'd have your own father prison raped?”
“Have you met my father?” Nathaniel asked with the barest smile.
He sat up and kissed my shoulder as I gaped at him, unable to come up with the words to say in response. My wounds from my father were still fresh, but I couldn't imagine ever wishing that on him, no matter his sins. It was difficult to see it from Nathaniel's perspective.
Even knowing all I did about his father, I couldn't see it.
Family comes first. It always did in the slums. If it came to the parents or the children, the children were to choose the parents, and the parents were to choose the children. No one cared about oldsters, though they did care for them to some extent.
Sometimes, family was all a poor person had that was theirs and theirs alone.
“Come on,” he murmured, tugging at me. “Let's take a bath, wash everything away and start again.”
He was up and out of bed in an instant. Groaning, I sat up and pushed the blankets to the side. I wasn't about to say no to more sex, but my body was slowly catching up with the fight we had had. My face hadn't been bruised by the slap, but other places were bruised. Those places had started aching.
Sometime during sex, I must have pulled a muscle in my leg. Probably from all the struggling in my attempt to get free of the bonds, or when I was trying to get Nathaniel to go faster.
“Start again?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said with a slow smile. “Sex and all that fun stuff. No weird topics either. Just you, me, and the water. How about that?”
“That sounds fantastic,” I said.
Chapter Nineteen
As I've said many times, the trial is a matter of public record. They showed the tapes, recalled some witnesses, then made their final statements. Just as we knew all along, the defense didn't deny that Albert did what it was that they said he had done. What they argued was that point of consent.
Consent is a sticky point for vanillas. They need to quantify the idea. They wanted consent listed the same as they could track a virus, in cold hard facts. With an unquestionable test, that cannot be tricked by human nature.
The Feminist Party cried rape culture. They even claimed that I wasn't being believed simply because I was a woman. In reality, I feel that the justice system was doing what it was supposed to do. Our courts were set upon the beliefs of the old world countries that our country was built upon.
They meant well, I appreciated their support, I did.
Even if every person in the world knew for a fact that Albert was guilty, even if he had been caught on camera doing everything he had done, he had a right to a trial. Albert chose to go to trial. The justice system had no choice but to proceed.
“It's a little frightening, isn't it?" the prosecutor asked the jury. "Albert Edwards doesn't deny causing bodily harm to eight women and one hand—whose owner has yet to be located. His entire defense lies on the point of proving that he gained consent from these women to do these things to them.
“Except the law of our country clearly states that no one can give consent for another person to cause pain. The members of the community you saw risked all to give that testimony because their lovers could be tried and put in prison for doing what they enjoy so much.
“What Albert Edwards did is still illegal, no matter which way he puts it.
“He killed seven women, that we know of. He raped, and tortured Miss Martin and planned on murdering her. You saw in the videos. He left the other girl alone for two days before he came back and strung her up, taking her life in the process. Miss Martin knew what would happen if she remained. If she wanted it all to happen, why run? Why call Mr. Wrightworth to tell her where she was?
“Not to mention the fact that, ladies and gentlemen, you saw with your own eyes, heard it with your own ears. Miss Martin very clearly gave her safe word and then told Albert Edwards what it meant. Still, he continued. Consent was withdrawn.
“Albert Edwards isn't the great man he'd have his son paint him out to be, Nathaniel Edwards has a muzzle for another," the prosecutor stopped to check his watch, "four days and sixteen minutes. Hell, I'll admit it, I was hoping this trial would go longer so that we could call Nathaniel back and find out how he feels about his father. But that's not pertinent to this trial, so we can't wait out the contract or cancel it early per grandfathering laws.
“Albert Edwards is dangerous. If he is allowed to go free, he will rape and murder again. It's not a question of if, it's a question of when and how many more women need to die to feed a man's desire. He can't go through the Program because, as you heard in testimony, they don't believe he has the capacity to feel regret or concern for the taking of human life. We are all just cattle to Albert Edwards. Don't let him walk free.”
When the judge dismissed the court, allowing the jury to leave to deliberate, I swear there was a sigh of relief through the wings. We were no longer in control of what was happening. It was out of our hands.
For me, the tension began right away. That mounting fear gripped at my chest as Mr. Wrightworth helped me to my feet and led me out of the courtroom. We waited just outside the doors for Nathaniel, who appeared as the crowd drifted off down the hallway.
“Well,” Nathaniel muttered. “Lunch? They'll text us when the jury is ready, but suggested we stay close.”
“How long do they think it'll take?” Mr. Wrightworth asked.
Nathaniel shrugged. "For me, it's two seconds. But they're asking for the death penalty, so they have to go through each charge and choose the verdict. They think the seven counts of murder is what will take up the most time, as guilty on that verdict will allow the death penalty to be considered? I don't know what they call it. They didn't tell me."
“If he gets off on the murder charges, what would he get?” I asked.
“Kidnapping, rape, torture," Nathaniel shrugged again. "I don't know, Darling. I'm sorry, I never studied law. Normally I have lawyers explain this all to me. The prosecutor is tired. He's been at it every day for months. The poor man needs a break."
“I could give him a break,” Mr. Wrightworth said with a devilish smile.
“Lunch,” Nathaniel said, then sighed. “Is Nicole going to join us?”
“She had said she was coming,” Mr. Wrightworth said, his smile growing larger as Nathaniel motioned towards the hallway that would lead us out.
Nathaniel's hand faltered in the air. He frowned at Mr. Wrightworth, who chuckled in response and walked off. Turning that look to me, Nathaniel offered his arm. I took the arm, feeling very self-aware as he led me out of the courthouse. It was the first time we had arrived or left together for the duration of the trial.
But after our talk a few days before, Nathaniel had been trying. He brought me flowers and candies. Our dinners were more intimate, and for movie night we had watched an actual romance. I had never really been the flowers and candies type of woman.
It was the experiences that mattered. It was us stopping just inside the courthouse's doors as reporters milled just on the other side, it was him kissing my forehead.
And whispering, “I feelings you, you know that, right?”
That was what mattered to me.
“I feelings you too,” I said, trying not to smile.
Smiling might have given the reporters the wrong idea.
Nathaniel kissed my forehead again and led me out the doors as reporters called their questions to us. We pushed through the throng without answering a single question, meeting up with Mr. Wrightworth on the other side. Who was giving a soundbite to a reporter about the Program looking out for the rights of those who signed contracts with them.
When he was done, we walked to a little cafe and found Nicole sitting there in a sundress, with a big hat and a giant pair of sunglasses on. Over the course of the trial we met with her several times for lunch, each time she wore a hat and glasses to obscure her features.
While the Program was well aware of who was and wasn't a part of the community at that point, the public, in general, didn't know. Nicole's family would have been adversely affected by her being outed on national television, but she still wanted to show her support. Anyone who was caught meeting up with us as painted as a part of the community.
We tried to be careful.
“Hi,” she said cheerfully as we took our seats. “How'd that go?”
“Jury deliberation,” Nathaniel said, sitting beside Nicole as he looked up at the overcast sky. “Aren't they calling for rain?”
“Why do you care? You'll get to see my nipples,” Nicole said with a smile.
“I don't want Darling catching a cold.”
“Back to Darling, are we?”
“Yes.”
The two stared at one another for a long moment. Then Nicole turned her face towards me. Her head turned just slightly to the side as she smiled. I couldn't see her eyes, but I had seen the rest of that look enough to know that she was wondering if I'd catch onto something. Glancing at each of the men, I did notice that they seemed to be sitting stiffly.
I looked beyond them, but the reporters were all still in front of the courthouse, questioning the prosecution and defense.
The waiter came with water and menus. We looked at the menus for several minutes before the waiter returned and Nathaniel ordered for himself and me. Mr. Wrightworth glanced at Nicole.
Who smiled at him and scrunched up her nose slightly as she said, “Try it, I dare you.”
He ordered for himself. Then Nicole ordered what she wanted. After the waiter had left, Nathaniel and Mr. Wrightworth stared at one another. It was another of their silent conversations, although this one ended with Mr. Wrightworth's hand flicking towards Nathaniel, then catching himself and snatching up his water glass.
Nathaniel cleared his throat awkwardly, looking up at the sky as I turned my attention to him.
“What's going on?” I asked.
They both seemed determined not to make eye contact with me, which told me that whatever they were hiding was something that I should concern myself with. However, as they had already taken my wine away from me, I was confused as to what else might be causing such a fuss. Especially at the lunch table, where Nathaniel had banned all heavy topics nearly three months earlier.
Which was probably why the discussion about alcohol waited until after the trial had recessed for the night, and not just until lunchtime.
I turned my attention from Nathaniel to Mr. Wrightworth. I tried very hard to give him a look that indicated that I was done with playing games. I wanted an answer, and I wanted it then, not for them to have another silent conversation or three before they finally told me what was going on.
Mr. Wrightworth's response was to set a ring box by my right hand. I stared at the little black box, my heart jumping into my throat. All breath stopped as I stared at the box, not understanding.
Looking up at Mr. Wrightworth, I watched him smile.
And then I heard a small sound to my other side. A cold washed over me as I turned slowly to Nathaniel. He met my eyes, then looked down at the table. I followed his gaze and saw a ring box by my left hand.
I thought I might just faint.
“What's this?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Choices,” Nathaniel said.
I looked up just as the waiter walked towards the table with our food. The man glanced down, spotted both ring boxes and immediately turned around and walked away quickly. The look on his face was one of startled surprise. No doubt his retreat also had something to do with the briefest second of eye contact that he made with me before he decided walking away was the safest option.
At least he could run away!
“Oh,” Mr. Wrightworth opened the ring box he had given me.
Inside was a key, more specifically, the key to his apartment. I knew what it meant without his saying so.
What we had was bright and new and so very different for the both of us. Mr. Wrightworth was never the type to rush into something without being certain about his decision. And while we had spent months together, we had never talked about a future, about something beyond the then and there.
The key was an open invitation to explore that thing that we had, to see where it led.
Why must he tempt me so?
Turning to Nathaniel, I watched him look at the box pointedly. He was not going to be so kind as to open the box. If I wanted to see inside, I had to do it for myself. And if I chose to make him open the box, well, that in itself would be a choice that I didn't think I wanted to make.
I took the box in my hands with a tremble and opened it.
Inside was Mr. Wrightworth's ring.
Except with a different stone in it than the last time I had seen it. Before, the stone had been a pure purple the same colour as Mr. Wrightworth's tie. A purple sapphire which Nathaniel had placed into a more masculine setting and wore even then.
The new stone didn't quite appear to be any colour. I wasn't certain what it was. The band had been resized. There wasn't a doubt in my mind, which finger that new band size would fit onto but I wasn't certain why. Why that offering might have been made when we hadn't ever discussed a future beyond six months.
I looked up at Nathaniel again, who seemed for a moment to be caught up in thought. He was looking down at the ring on his finger with the purple stone inside of it. He seemed distracted for a moment longer before he looked up at me.
That too was a message.
Nathaniel wasn't ready to walk away from everything that was the flurry of emotions that was Mr. Wrightworth, but he was ready to change their relationship and retake control of himself permanently. There was space for someone to be dominating over him, I knew that, but Nathaniel had been a slave to Mr. Wrightworth. I wasn't certain that I wanted a slave. I preferred the bratty sub I had dealt with in play twice before.
Looking back at the ring, I frowned as the sun came out and it appeared to change colour. Shifting the box this way and that, the ring changed colour again.
“Treated glass?” Mr. Wrightworth asked.
“Alexandrite," Nathaniel responded. "It changes colour depending on the lighting. From blue to purple, might even come up green or red."
“That is absolutely evil," Nicole said.
“I think it's brilliant,” Mr. Wrightworth murmured. “Though, that setting is huge for a woman.”
“Rich women wear them all the time,” Nathaniel said. “Besides, that was the point of the ring in the first place.”
“That was what we told him was the point of the ring.”
My mind caught up with the conversation, registering what they were saying and what the ring had originally meant.
Mr. Wrightworth had purchased the ring for Nathaniel as a type of collar because he couldn't wear an actual collar. His father had never approved that their relationship go that far, so they had to hide the ring's use from him even. They had told Albert that Nathaniel had purchased the ring to give to his future wife.
“W-w—” I stuttered several times and then put a hand over my mouth to silent my traitorous tongue. “What is this?”
“It's an engagement ring,” Nathaniel said.
“You can't marry poor!”
“I can marry whoever the fuck I
want.”
“As long as they consent," Nicole said pointedly as if trying to remind Nathaniel that I hadn't given an answer yet.
“And as of four days from now, not even my father can protest," Nathaniel continued. "Which is why I can't ask for an answer yet."
“Nor can I,” Mr. Wrightworth said.
Because one of the contract stipulations was that Mr. Wrightworth could not carry on a relationship for more than six months while the contract was active. Another stipulation was that Nathaniel couldn't marry without his father approving of his wife.
Who, according to that same contract, had to be wealthy, influential, and of a family 'of breeding.' Traits which I carried in no way or form. Though I was to eventually earn my own wealth, influence, and to, in a way, prove myself to be of good breeding.
I stared stupidly at him as I tried to come up with something to say.
Instead, I turned my attention to Nicole.
“Don't look at me, I don't have a box for you,” she said. “I still don't get why the two hottest Doms in all the community are fighting over you. There are plenty of women. They don't have to fight over the same one."
“Really, Nicole?” Nathaniel asked.
“Really,” she said, then motioned with her nose towards the courthouse. “Reporters are coming for lunch.”
Nathaniel took the ring box from me gently and closed it, tucking it into an inside pocket. Mr. Wrightworth did the same with his ring box, though somehow he made it look like he was touching my arm in a comforting manner.
The reporters weren't interested in us, or if they were, it was only to overhear our lunchtime conversation. They too have heard of Nathaniel's lunch rule. The few who got too close received a surprise the very next day when Nathaniel rented the cafe, then the cafe down the street. They all had to eat at a hotdog cart, which ran out of food halfway through the lunch.
At least someone benefited from reporters being vultures.
As the reporters filtered onto the cafe's outside dining area, the waiter returned, this time delivering our food and then walking off as he pointedly refused to make eye contract with me again.