Episode 2 #3
But Mr. Reevesworth wasn’t a romantic partner.
Not in the same way that his classmates at university were also falling in and out of each other’s beds and lives.
Not in the way his mother and father had been together when he was a child.
If he had a boyfriend and he was working late on a project, he could brush off a date.
It might end up with a grumpy partner and hurt feelings, but most people understood that in your twenties you had to look after number one.
No one else would be doing that for you.
Lovers didn’t keep you fed and boyfriends didn’t keep you housed, at least not always. Sometimes those situations happened.
Serving Mr. Reevesworth would be so much more than that. If he called, Collin would come; whatever else Collin had been doing would be secondary. And there would still be a paycheck he could send home and a place to sleep and food.
And in return, he was offering things he would never give a boyfriend: obedience, submission, the right to restrain and train and to apply pain, and the right and responsibility to change him.
The turn almost escaped him. He dodged a woman with a poodle and made it across the street with the light.
Could he do this? Could he be like Damian, content to have his voice taken from him in front of another, to sit at another man’s feet?
Yes . Compared to the disrespect he’d suffered at the various jobs he’d held before, to know that he was giving someone pleasure, to know that there would be warmth and light in someone’s eyes when he sank to his knees, that was easy.
You have to trust him, trust him in a way you’ve never trusted anyone before. Collin swallowed hard and walked more quickly past a band of tourists following a guide with a white and green flag.
But I’ve trusted him since that night. Mr. Reevesworth had already seen Collin at his worst. And he hadn’t failed him. Hadn’t shamed him.
Maybe it’s all an elaborate facade? A laugh bubbled up from Collin’s belly. Cinderella is a story for little girls, not for big-town boys.
“Fuck it.” The words slipped out of his mouth out loud, startling him and a passing elderly gentleman. He ducked his head in apology and hurried onward. The park was just up ahead. He repeated the words in his head. For once, I’d rather be the hopeful fool than believe in a world like Andy’s.
He laughed out loud, entering the park. “I must be mad.”
I’d rather be mad than sane and walking away.
The memory of his father walking away for the last time passed in front of his mind’s eye. He watched it and let it go, like so many times before.
“Walking away is walking toward something. And I already know what the something would be.” Cold nights.
Lonely hours. Desperation. Long hours of work with no guarantees.
And perhaps, at some point, fumbling in the dark with someone else as inexperienced and hopeless as himself.
They’d fuck and whisper half-hopeful promises, and maybe they’d meet again, or maybe they wouldn’t.
Maybe they’d be able to cling to each other, and maybe they’d be torn apart by work schedules and the cost of housing and the need to move to the next job.
Mr. Reevesworth had the power to make what he wanted happen, at least when it came to Collin.
Collin sank down on a bench and put his head in his hands.
The wind sailed through his hair, bringing cold to his scalp.
The cold brought with it clarity. A certain stillness.
For a moment, he stared at the quiet in his head, waiting for the frenzy that had always threatened him in this space.
A shadow crossed his thoughts. Even if the world slid away and he was left laughing with the pain inside his chest, even if fear stole the strength to walk from his legs, for the first time since he was twelve, he believed someone would come.
Tears ran down his cheeks. What was his pride in the face of that? What was freedom worth if he couldn’t breathe?
No, he was more free trapped beneath the weight of Mr. Reevesworth’s body than he was walking the streets of the city with no visible ties. Beneath Mr. Reevesworth’s hands, he had the freedom to rest, the freedom to think.
The freedom to dream.
The tears came harder. He drew in a deep breath, trying to stop them.
“Collin.”
That voice. He swallowed, trying to wipe his face dry. But he was already looking up.
Mr. Reevesworth extended a handkerchief. He was dressed in a black coat, much like Collin’s but longer. There was a hat on his head, something that looked old-fashioned and still stylish, with a short brim and little dents on the side of the head section. It matched the coat.
Mr. Reevesworth stayed standing right in front of Collin, hiding him from the random passersby on the park path. “Are you ready to come home, Collin?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You forgot your hat.” He held out a soft cap with a hard visor in the front. It looked like something a newsboy would wear in an old movie. It was blue like Collin’s coat but with a thin tartan pattern in greens and yellows and reds.
“Thank you.”
Mr. Reevesworth held out his hand and drew Collin to his feet. “Do you need more time?”
“No, sir.”
“Something moved you.”
Collin frowned. He glanced at Mr. Reevesworth’s face. But there was nothing there but careful concern, half masked against any curious onlookers.
“No second thoughts, sir.”
Mr. Reevesworth stared at him another moment. “Let’s go back.”
“Was I not supposed to leave, sir?”
“We haven’t signed the contract, Collin. You’re still free to go where you like.”
“But did I worry you?”
“Yes.”
“And that’s why you followed me?”
“I followed you because I have just significantly altered your view of the world. If you had not sat down as you did, I would have let you go on as you were until you had worked it out for yourself and returned home.”
“I should have told you I was going out.”
Mr. Reevesworth did not answer. They walked shoulder to shoulder through the streets back to The Residency.
Collin looked down at his signature. The ink was rich and thick. For a handful of seconds. it gleamed on the paper until it was fully absorbed and immobilized in the fibers of the page.
Mr. Reevesworth slid the page across his desk in front of himself and signed with his own pen.
“It’s done.” Mr. Reevesworth held up the page.
“This original will go to the same lawyers that hold the reserves for you. It will be sealed; no one will read it.” Mr. Reevesworth placed the signature pages in his scanner/copier, a small black beast on its own stand on the far wall.
“I’ll make one copy for you and one copy for me.
Keep it somewhere safe in case you ever want to review. ”
“Yes, sir.”
They waited in quiet while the machine worked. It was all absurdly normal. Just paperwork. Mr. Reevesworth punched two holes at the top of each copy of the contract and placed them in folders that both bound the pages together and hid them from casual viewing. He handed Collin the unmarked file.
“Put this somewhere safe with your things, then come back.”
“Yes, sir.”
The back of Collin’s neck tingled as he re-entered Mr. Reevesworth’s office.
Mr. Reevesworth swiveled his chair to face away from his screen.
His knees spread a little wider, and he pointed to the rug beneath his feet.
His hands. Collin wanted his hands. The protruding knuckles, the strong, long fingers, and the faint scars.
Collin stepped close. Mr. Reevesworth gestured lower.
Fucking finally.
Collin bent his knees and knelt. His buttocks came to rest on his heels. His head naturally went forward, and his hands settled on his thighs, palms upward and loose.
There was warmth. That scent he had so craved while lying outside Mr. Reevesworth’s door was all around him. The light was blocked from his vision. Collin’s eyes closed.
Mr. Reevesworth’s hand slid into Collin’s hair, those heavy fingers caressing his scalp. Collin’s shoulders opened and lowered. He leaned forward into the touch.
“Stay, Collin.”
He stilled. But Mr. Reevesworth’s hand only stayed where it was. Collin breathed through his nose. All he wanted to do was to curl deeper into the contact.
His heartbeat pulsed onward, marking time. All he had to do was stay here, in this moment, suspended. Alone, he might be thinking any number of other things. They were there, just beyond his reach, if he had the will to lift his hands from his thighs and grab them.
No. He had chosen differently. This moment was Mr. Reevesworth’s.
Slowly, his body opened. Muscles loosened even as his posture stayed the same. Dimly he considered the possibility of falling asleep. A certain great fatigue was right there, lurking beneath his skin. As his breath slowed, it danced closer.
No. He wanted to stay. Awake and aware. And loose and open.
What a contradiction to the history of his existence.
“Good boy.”
Collin shivered. Had Mr. Reevesworth’s voice dropped an octave?
“Starting from now, Collin, I am going to keep you close. Where I go, you will go. When we are separated, you will have clear instructions. Privacy is not something you requested, and it is not something I have any intention of giving you.”
His hand traveled down Collin’s cheek and along his jaw.
He drew Collin’s face upward by his chin.
“Something that had been trained out of you is what I must train into you. If you cannot learn this lesson, all the lessons that follow will be pale imitations of what they could be. You and I together, we are going to break your hesitation to ask for help.”
Collin parted his lips. Mr. Reevesworth covered them with his thumb. Collin stilled.