Page 47 of Collin: Episodes 1-3
“Would you say that Mr. Ryker is mentally and medically competent to sign a legal document or make decisions at this point?” Mr. Reevesworth inquired.
“I find Mr. Ryker competent. He’s had no personality changes and he self-reports that his moods remain much the same, except for some distress because he’s not working. Momentarily forgetting an anniversary during a time period of stress and while he was away from his calendar reminders is also understandable. His ability to calmly talk down both the officers and his mother points to a complete return to normal function. Honestly, the memory lapse could have come more from sleep deprivation than the concussion.”
Mr. Reevesworth saw the doctor out and returned to the living room. “I’m going to go into my office. In half an hour, I will return with an updated version of the contract. We will read it together. I will answer your questions. I will give you privacy to think it over. You may ask for changes. I may or may not agree.”
Collin nodded.
“While I am in my office, check your phone for any future appointments, birthdays, anniversaries, etcetera. I will need a copy of dates and commitments that are important to you. You may leave off anything school related or work related. I am already informed of those details.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Reevesworth disappeared behind his door.
Collin slumped to the couch. He pulled his phone from his pocket and thumbed in the passcode. How far ahead does he need? One week, a month, a year?
Flipping behind his calendar and the note app was too hard. He pushed himself up and dragged himself into the bedroom. There was a small computer desk with a writing pad and pen to the right of the window. The chair was some sort of futuristic uncomfortable design with no back legs, only a sweeping curve from the front to back. He sat in it slowly. It bounced under his weight but held.
Collin refreshed his screen. Dates. His mother’s cancer-free anniversary. Like he would ever be able to forget that again. His sister’s birthday. His mother’s birthday. Grandmother’s. The day they were told his father was dead.
Collin’s pen paused over the paper. No. Now was not the time.
Grandpa’s birthday.
His sister’s graduation date and school holidays.
That was it. Nothing more. He could put down important holidays. Was that important? Did he care?
His mother never made a big deal out of Christmas. But she did observe Samhain. It was the one significant observance that she asked for even if there was never much time off. He wrote that down.
Followed by New Year’s Eve. But that one was for him.
He folded the paper in half and stood up, replacing the weird chair and went back to the living room. It was too awkward to sit on the couch where he wouldn’t see Mr. Reevesworth coming back and too confrontational to sit in one of the other chairs opposite where he’d look like he was waiting to stare him down. He wandered back to the window seat.
Mr. Reevesworth returned with a sheaf of white paper in hand. He laid the pages out on the coffee table and invited Collin to sit beside him on the seat. The contract was five pages, three of which were made up entirely of lists with checkboxes.
Collin swallowed, his eyes trailing over the lists. “All of this?”
“It’s best to be clear. These lists are not exhaustive, but they give us points from which to start.” Mr. Reevesworth tapped the first page of lists. “This page has to do with social interactions, for example, what we will disclose of our relationship and to whom and how much of our relationship we will carry into the public sphere. This second page has to do with control and care, specifically what you are willing to surrender and what I am willing to take responsibility for. And this third page is what I assumed you thought most of this would be about.”
Collin smiled weakly. “You read my mind.”
Mr. Reevesworth chuckled softly. “This page has to do with what we agree is physically and emotionally permissible in our relationship, particularly in terms of domination and submission and emotional entanglement.”
Collin ran his eyes over the pages. So short and yet so much more than he felt ready to speak to even concerning his own wants and needs. “What if I don’t know enough to say yes or no?”
“This contract is subject to revisitation at regular intervals. And there is language for adjustment in practice, via verbal communication, to be transferred into permanent written amendments, if desired. You will have safe words, as will I, and I’ve included safe people for us both to go to, if needed, for perspective, if there is confusion that either you or I do not feel we can bring up with each other.”
“Shouldn’t we be communicating with each other?”
“Yes. But, if, for example, I was acting strangely, in your opinion, and you raised the issue with me, but I said nothing was wrong, if you couldn’t find emotional balance, if you felt you couldn’t get through to me, I’ve listed Damian, Émeric, and Ellisandre as individuals that would be suitable for you to approach with intimate questions.”
“You don’t have anyone you can approach for me.”
“I’ve suggested your mother and Ellisandre.”
“My mother?”
“If, for example, you were displaying depression but denying it, she might have insight.”
