Letting her go, I grabbed the newly drafted contract from the desk and shoved it in her face. “You agreed to this. Sign it.”
Her mouth popped wide, taking in the freshly inked document. I’d spent many nights carefully penning it in the way of our custom with quill and ink, rather than computer and printer. It wasn’t perfect, but it was binding, and that was all that fucking mattered.
Grabbing the same swan feather I’d used to scratch out the paperwork, I stole Nila’s hand and hooked her fingers around the quill.
“What is this?”
“The agreement owed from your disastrous attempt at running.” Tapping the page, I said, “Sign it.”
“I’m not signing anything until I’ve read it.” Her gaze glowed black, her cheek still pink from my slap.
Taking a step back, I splayed my hands, presenting the contract. “By all means, Ms. Weaver. Read away.”
She scowled, her hands shaking as she snatched it from my grip.
Her lips parted as she read.
I didn’t need to see it to know what it said. It was ingrained on my soul.
Date: 5th September 2014
Jethro Hawk, firstborn son of Bryan Hawk, and Nila Weaver, firstborn daughter of Emma Weaver, hereby solemnly swear this is a law-abiding and incontestable contract.
Nila Weaver revokes all ownership of her freewill, thoughts, and body and grants them into the sole custody of Jethro Hawk, as per the agreement made the morning of the 19th of August when Nila Weaver took up the offer from Jethro Hawk to run in exchange for her freedom.
The previous incontestable document named the Debt Inheritance falls into second right of claimant and will remain void as long as this new agreement is in effect.
The terms brokered were for Nila’s freedom and release of the Debt Inheritance if she won, and her willing signature revoking everything that she is to Jethro Hawk if she lost.
On the 19th of August, Nila Weaver lost; therefore, this agreement is complete and binding.
Both Nila Weaver and Jethro Hawk promise neither circumstance, nor change of heart will alter this vow.
In sickness and in health.
Two houses.
One contract.
I’d already signed, taking up half the page below.
Nila looked up, completely horrified. “You can’t be serious. You—you—”
I tensed. “Careful what you say. Think about how painful it will be for you if you insult my mental health again.”
She swallowed back the words dying to spew from her mouth. “I’m not signing this, you bastard.”
I tilted my head. “Bastard? Interesting choice of words.”
“Don't like that one? How about fuckwit? Murderer? Rapist?”
I slapped her again, revelling in the equal burn we shared.
Pain to deliver pain. Pleasure to deliver pleasure.
Funny how the two were correlated.
“I’ll accept ‘bastard’ and ‘fuckwit,’ but under no circumstances will I accept ‘rapist.’ Have I tried to take you? Have I forced you? And, I’m no murderer.”
Her eyes glittered, fingers rubbing her cheek. “Are you deliberately blocking out what happened after the First Debt was repaid, or are you that much of a lunatic to remember only the things convenient to you?”
Lunatic.
I ran a hand infinitely slowly through my hair. I had full grounds to punish her. I’d warned her time and time again.
“Tell me, Jethro, you say you’re not a murderer—yet. But it will be you who delivers the killing blow, won’t it? You admitted as much in the past. Unless you’re too chicken and make your father do it. Or even maybe poor Kes. Will he kill me? Is he the bigger man than you? To kill off the family pet when it’s no longer wanted?”
My jaw ached from clenching so hard. “You really want to know?”
You’ve already guessed the truth.
The thought blazed bright, almost as bright as her cheek.
“No need, I already know. What will you use? A butchers block? A sharp blade or dull?” The strength and fight in her voice suddenly dissolved into sobs. “How will you live with yourself when my blood pours over your perfect shoes?”
The room shattered with sadness; the walls trampled us with appalling futures.
With a horrified wail, she curled into herself, holding her stomach as if her very soul tried to claw its way out. “Tell me, Jethro, if I only have a limited amount of time left, why go through the charade of making me sign this?!” She shook the parchment in front of my face. “What is this anyway? Does it have a name? ‘Weaver Vexation,’ perhaps?”
Her sanity quickly unravelled with every syllable.
I stood stiff, frantically clutching at my beloved ice. But in that moment, I felt her pain. I tasted her tears. I lived her grief.
My hands balled. The title I’d given it had been flippant at the time, but now I could see how it could shatter her.
Don’t say it.
The air in the office turned stagnant, waiting for me to speak.
Finally, I admitted, “Sacramental Pledge.”
She half-cackled, half-giggled, before everything seemed to fold in and crush her. “You made this our vows?! Sacramental, holy matrimony vows?”
Before I could answer, she shook her head and collapsed to her knees before me. Rocking, hot tears splashed onto the contract, mixing with ink and staining it with large swirls of black.
She was the one who gave me the idea. After all, we were technically married. Groomed for one another, destined to drive each other to insanity. This was our fate. Our motherfucking destiny.
Her laughs interspersed with sobs. The sound was utterly heart-crushing. I locked my body from moving as she curled tighter on the floor.
“This is real. This…it’s not a nightmare. This is real!”
Tears rivered from her eyes, tracking faster and faster as her breath caught and she choked. She choked and sobbed and choked again. “It’s not fair. I w—want to go h—home.”
I’d never seen anyone come apart so completely.