Page 51 of Collin: Episodes 1-3
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.”
