Uncovering You: The Contract

Chapter Six

(Present day)

I come to with a searing headache. It feels like someone drove a spike through the back of my head.

I groan and sit up. The lights from the ceiling lamps are as bright as ever. Too bright, in fact. They make my headache worse. I can’t stand my new light sensitivity.

I look at the pillar, then suppress a shudder as my fingers brush the collar at my neck. It’s still there, of course. Did I expect anything else?

I wonder in a distracted sort of way what time it is. I wonder how long I’ve been in this room. Without a window to let sunlight in, it’s impossible to tell.

I don’t think it’s been more than a day, though. I don’t smell, for one. Two, I haven’t had the need to use the bathroom yet.

With that thought comes a sudden, unstoppable urge to urinate.

Shit! I look all around me. Does the man just expect me to piss on the floor?

While defiling the pristine tiles might seem like a small act of defiance, I’m not a pig. And I’m not that desperate. Yet.

I remember the two jars and run to the empty one. When I pick it up, I see it for what it really is.

Not a jar, you idiot. A chamber pot.

I use it and then carry it as close to the perimeter of my prison as I dare. I do not want another electrical shock.

I spot the letter I never finished reading on my way back. Just the memory of the flowing blue ink is enough to make a shiver crawl down my spine.

I make myself sit down and look at the rest anyway. There might be vital information in the words.

...Tomorrow, you will receive a contract outlining my expectations for your behavior. Compliance with my desires will grant you progressively greater freedoms. Child-like resistance will be met with apathy and a degradation of previously-earned freedoms.

Today, you entered my home as a guest. When you sign our contract, you become my property.

Always, I expect my property to perform to the highest standards.

You will remain undisturbed for the next eighteen hours as you ruminate on your available options.

Do not disappoint me.

- J.S.

“J.S.” Something about those initials tickles the back of my mind. The letters look like a signature, but what’s more, one that I’ve seen before.

But where? I try thinking back, racking my brain for it. The familiarity is vague, but undeniable. It’s a little like running into a former classmate whom you haven’t seen in five years and who’s lost a lot of weight. You feel like you should recognize her. Only after you start talking do you remember from where.

The rest of the letter flies over my head. It’s obviously from a lunatic. What kind of sick mind would call me a “guest”? That’s a generous euphemism. The collar might as well be leashed for all the freedom it provides. “No physical barriers” to my leaving? Hah!

I don’t want to think about the implications of the contract. I won’t sign it. I will never become someone else’s property.

I’d rather die first.

All at once, the lights go out.

The sudden darkness unnerves me. I stand up and wave my arms. “Hey! Hey, I’m still here!”

Nothing. Like a blind woman, I grope for the safety of my pillar. When my hands find it, I turn around and slide down its cold, smooth surface.

My butt hits the ground. After a moment of staring into darkness, I lower my head. My stomach growls, reminding me how long it’s been since my last meal. I was provided water. Does that mean I’ll get food, too?

With nothing but my thoughts for company, I draw myself back to my memories, trying to summon the strength I once had.