The Marriage Contract (2 page)

              The scent of lavender engulfed my senses, as two flat palms pressed against my cheeks, lifting my head up to meet his glimmering stare. Before I could stomp on his toe, his lips met my forehead, and I froze.

              “Hello Dorothy Web,” he whispered, his face only milometers from mine. “You have no idea how long I’ve been searching for you.”

Chapter Two

              The last time I’d been kissed by a man, was from my father, a few days before he and mom had passed. He had placed a light peck on my cheek, and promised that he’d come see me perform as Juliet in the school play. I was ten, and at that time, he was my world. But twelve years had passed without him, and in those years, I’d learned to keep myself distant from others. I had a few friends, but no one so close that I’d let them touch me. What I hated more than anything, was being touched, for it sent me memories of the parents I could no longer hug, or kiss, or lay my head on their warm lap.

              I had built a cool brick wall between me and everyone else, and not a single person had come close to breaking that barrier. Yet, in a second, this stranger, this rude, egotistical, wealthy stranger, decided it was ok to break my rule.

              I breathed evenly, as the light spring wind blew between us, sending chills from my neck to my toes. A thick lump rested within my chest, as my eyes slowly rose to meet his golden brown stare. His smile was so easy going, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. The wind blew through the soft brown of his locks, as his silver shirt swayed gently along the gust. My tangerine like hair rested in a ponytail over my shoulder, as I continued to stare at him, not believing that he had kissed me.

              Anger rose within my chest, simmering like volcanic lava, as my hand rose to meet his cheek, leaving a cold, resounding, slap.

              I had never hit anyone before, and I stared at my palm for a moment, as it shook in the air, hot from the blast. Placing my hand at my side, my face began to heat, as tears engulfed my eyes. I didn’t know why I was reacting so strongly to his light kiss, but all I knew, was that it hurt. His eyes were like my mothers, and his smile was as warm as dad’s, and the more I looked at him, the more I was reminded of the home I no longer had.

              “Don’t touch me,” I hissed, staring at his shoulder, unable to meet his eyes. “Who the hell do you think you are? Just because you’re rich, doesn’t mean you have the right to lay your dirty hands on me. I’m not some naïve girl that’s going to be swept off her feet by the likes of you! I don’t know how you know my name, or what you want with me, but I swear if you come near me again, you’ll regret it—“

              The harsh sound of his laughter broke through our silence, as my gaze rose to meet his. There was that light, easy going stare of his- a smile graced over his nude lips.

              “Oh, God, you’re dramatic,” he laughed. “Let me tell you something, Princess. I’ve been slapped so many times, you would not believe it. Just this morning, some girl I didn’t remember from last night, got all offended when I asked her what the hell she was doing in my bed, naked no less. And you know what she did? She slapped me, but it wasn’t a good one. She was a bit scrawny, like you, but her palm had no power in it. Your slap, on the other hand, definitely beats hers, but not the girl from last week. Now, look here. That last week chick slapped me so hard- I had to visit the dentist right after. It was a mess. Your slap, it was a bit of an in-between. Your hand is so soft as well—“

              I scoffed, shaking my head.

              “Are you…are you teasing me?” I placed a hand on my hip, tilting my head, and giving him an incredulous stare.

              He winked. “You catch on quick, Princess—“

              “Stop calling me that—“

              “Calling you what?”

              “Princess!”

              Wait. Why was I standing there, in the middle of the street, arguing with him? He was insane. A total mad man, and I would not stand to talk to him a minute longer.

              With that thought, I turned, walking ahead, and ignoring the people staring at me. A small crowd had gathered from afar, watching with curiosity, and mumbling amongst themselves.

              “She’s a feisty one,” some elderly lady whispered as I passed by the bus stop.

              “He’s cute,” some bubble gum smacking teenage girl said.

              “He’s insane!” I barked, startling her. “But if you’re interested, then please talk to him, and get him to leave me alone!”

              She took a step back, her deep brown pony tail swinging over a spaghetti strapped shoulder. I glared at her, before pushing past- annoyed. I proceeded to take the subway home instead of my usual bus route. I didn’t want to be stared at the entire ride home, and also, I didn’t want him to follow me.

              His legs could match a cheetah, for as I reached the subway, he zoomed forward, and stood before me. He towered over me, his hands placed by his sides, as his eyes stared at me in a friendly way, as though he’d known me for ages.

              I took a step back, my eyes narrowed.

              “I slapped you,” I said. “In front of all those people, I humiliated you. Don’t you hate me? A normal person would hate me—“

              “Normal is overrated,” he shrugged. “Besides, like I said before, I really have been searching all over for you—“

              “I don’t want to talk to you. And you know what? Take back your stupid tip!”

              Zipping open my black bag, I took out the stack of bills placed around a rubber band, thrusting it within the front pocket of his expensive shirt.

              He smiled.

              “See? This is why we’re perfect for each other. I’m a nice guy, and you’re a crazy, wild, poor woman—“

              I stepped to the side, as a crowd of people walked down the subway steps. The tapping of their feet clattered through the air, as I exhaled a deep breath- wanting to go down with them. But it was as though cement had plastered my legs against the hot cement ground, for a part of me- just a small part, wanted to hear his say.

The sun rushed down, simmering against my neck, as I crossed my arms over my chest, glaring at him.

              “You aren’t a nice guy!” I said. “In fact, you’re the least nice guy I’ve ever met. And I don’t care what you think about me. I’d rather you think ill of me, because I wouldn’t want to be in your good books—“

              “Are you always this defensive?” he asked.

              I opened my mouth, and then closed it.

              What kind of question was that? For some reason, it stumped me, as I stared at him, not knowing how to reply.

              There was that light smile across his face again, and it confused the crap out of me, because I had no idea what it was that made him so cheerful.

              “Alright,” I said. “You know what? Crazy people like you are a once in a life time encounter, so I’ll spare myself the entertainment. What do you want?”

              My voice was on edge, as an invisible brick wall had been built between us- keeping me on guard. He stood straight, and stretched his long, muscular arms over his head, yawning as though returning home from a long day’s work.

              “Let’s talk elsewhere,” he whispered, leaning his face towards me. “I wouldn’t want others listening in.”

              My eyes narrowed, as I leaned against the edge of the subway wall. The back of my t-shirt grazed against the harsh material- my heart suddenly skipping a beat.

              Stupid heart.

              “There’s a pizza shop a few blocks from here,” I said. “We could sit there—“

              “Oh, no way. Not happening. People know me there. People know me everywhere actually. I’m pretty famous—“

              “I’m sure,” I interjected, my eyes rolling.

              “I have a better place,” he continued. “Somewhere where we won’t get disturbed.”

              I sighed, shaking my head.

              “I don’t know you. You don’t know me. If I know anything about safety, it’s that I shouldn’t go to a stranger’s house—“

              “You’re scared,” he said. “Here I thought you were fearless—“

              I stared defiantly at him. “I’m not fearless. But I’m not a fool either.”

              He sighed, running a hand through his thick brown locks.

              “Alright, how about this,” he bargained. “We go to your place—“

              “Oh, get real—“

              “Just hear me out,” he insisted.

              Digging into his pocket, he took out a five inch, rectangular tube, waving it in my face like a flag. As the sunlight hit the center of his dark pupils, he pressed a round button at the center of the object, causing it to buzz rather annoyingly.

              “That’s a taser,” I said. “Why do you have a taser?”

              “Why do you have a purse?” He asked this question like it made absolute sense, and I stared at him, not believing that he was for real.

              “What?” I asked, confused.

              Pressing the button at the center of the taser, the vibration stopped, as he placed it in my hand, curling my finger over the machine.

              “If I try anything, and I mean anything, feel free to tase away,” he said. “Oh, and you could sue me for millions as well. My sexual advances would work only to your favor, sweetheart. But give me just ten minutes to explain something to you. Ten minutes, and not a second longer! I swear on my boy scouts honor.”

              The taser was cool against my palms, as I placed it within my purse, staring at him in amazement, my brows raised.

              “Follow me,” I said.

              He smiled, his teeth shining like a new penny, glimmering against the light of the aqua sky.

              He loved to touch things.

              Once inside my apartment, his hands traced over the cream wall, his long fingers tapping against the tall shoe rack at the side of the door. His eyes traced over the small space of my room, and as I placed my purse on the soft brown couch, his gaze landed on mine.

              “Aren’t you worried I’ll attack you?” he asked. “The taser is in your bag and all, but it’s not near you. That’s not safe—“

              “I’m not worth your time,” I said, sitting on the couch, my legs slightly parted. “If you do manage to kill me, you’ll end up either in jail, or dead yourself. My best friend is in the other room, sleeping most likely, and if she found my dead body, she’ll come after you. Unlike my wimpy slaps, she carries a mean punch.”

              He smiled, walking towards the couch, and sitting beside me, a bit too close for comfort. I shot him an annoyed glance, and moved to the end of the couch. Crouching down, I removed my white flip flops, placing them before me. The warm blue carpet soaked under my feet, as I placed my hands on my knees, the fabric of my jeans pressed against my palms. The small, square TV against the wall was still on, and as he looked around the apartment, I grabbed the remote from the coffee table before me, pressing the TV off. The lull of music videos ceased, as I exhaled a deep breath, wondering what I’d gotten myself into by inviting this stranger into my apartment, and possibly, into my life.

              “So this is how the poor live, huh?” He sounded genuinely curious, and it surprised me.

              I didn’t know what to say, so I simply waited till he began to give his explanation of whatever he so desperately needed to talk about. As he stared around the small space of my room, at the picture frames of me and my parents, and a few friends from long ago, I took that moment to observe him.

              There was a childlike fascination in the depth of his golden brown eyes, and I wondered whether I had judged him wrong. When I noticed the patch of red along his cheek, a pang of guilt sunk through my chest, as I bit my lip.

              “Wait here,” I told him.

              He nodded, continuing to stare around the room, as I got up, and headed to the kitchen just a few feet away. Opening the fridge, I took out a small ice pack, before closing the white door. Walking over to the sink, I unrolled a layer of paper towel beside the counter, wrapping it over the ice pack, and striding back towards the couch.

              His eyes met mine, his brows raised. His gaze followed my steps, as I sat before him, giving him a sympathetic stare.

              Pressing the ice pack against his cheek, he stared at me, his expression blank. I could tell he was confused, and I guess, so was I. I didn’t know what possessed me to treat his wound, but I couldn’t help but feel a little bad.

              “I don’t like being touched by strangers,” I confessed, my hand still wrapped around the ice pack against his cheek.