Page 27 of Border Control
“Eventually, they start coming closer,” Nicole continues, stroking the horse’s neck. “They choose to be with you, not because you’ve forced them to, but because they feel safe.
“If they’re acting purely out of conditioning, you’ll see little signs. A flinch, a hesitation, an unwillingness to meet your eyes. But if they’re acting out of their own will, you’ll see relaxation, engagement. They’ll actually start showing interest, maybe even initiating contact. It’s subtle, but it’s there.”
My heart skips as I think about Dom, remembering every lingering look, every moment he’s chosen to stay close. But I also recall those moments of uncertainty, when I wasn’t sure if he was acting out of obligation or something deeper.
Nicole gives me a knowing smile. “It sounds like you’re really thinking this through. You care about… them a lot, huh?”
I nod, then pause, keeping my answer vague so she won't suspect where this is coming from. “I want us and them to be able to sleep at night, understanding we’re not slave-drivers to them.”
“Well,” Nicole says gently, “if you’re worrying about that, you’re probably okay with them.”
I exhale, the knot in my stomach easing. “Thank you, Nicole.”
She glances back at me with a knowing smile. “Anytime. Animals, people, aliens… it probably all comes down to the same thing. Choice, freedom, and respect. Give that, and you’ll get the best of them in return.”
I watch her lead the horse to the gate, her words lingering in my mind.
“Want to pat him?” Without waiting for an answer, Nicole clicks her tongue and diverts path, bringing the horse closer to me. He swings his head up, making a wuffling noise between his lips.
I hesitate, then slowly lift my hand. His warm breath fans across my fingers, soft whiskers tickling as I touch the velvet slope of his nose. The steady rise and fall of his breathing anchors me, a rhythm I can sync to. My shoulders loosen, my chest unknots. For the first time all day, I let out a long, real exhale.
“You needed that,” Nicole says, her voice gentler than the breeze that ruffles the horse’s mane. “You know, don’t work yourself too hard. It’s not good for anyone’s mentals.”
I stroke the horse again, but slower this time. Is she referring to my… issue?
“I’m fine,” I say. The safe, default option.
Nicole snorts, making the horse toss its head. She soothes it. “Well, come back here when you need a refresher.”
“Sure.” Another easy thing to say. Whilst having the luxury of time would be ideal, there are people waiting for me, depending on me. Accu-care needs to pay for what they did, now Dom needs me to help him, and I can’t fail them. “I’ve got to go.”
She gives me a quick hug, hands holding the rope, and lets me go. Walking away, I absorb her earlier advice.
Choice, freedom, respect. That’s what I need to give Dom, so he knows he’s not just following me out of obligation. It has to be his choice. It chimes with how I like to enter a relationship anyway. Not that this is a relationship, exactly.
In the silence of my car, I close my eyes, breathing deeply. I need to be sure, and I will be, at one o’clock today.
By the timelunchtime rolls round, Ilia’s up and accompanying Ellen around the farm. Arabella is in bed as usual for her at this time of day, but at least she's awake. She seems very attached to Gara in a way I hadn't noticed before. Interesting indeed.
No one inquires into my schedule as I take calls and work in Ellen's living room. The internet doesn’t allow for my camera to be on, so it’s refreshing to be able to let my eyes—and my thoughts—wander. Ellen’s living room is a lovely wood paneled space with squashy sofas from the 1960s, and a fireplace alcove big enough to dry clothes in. The ticking grandfather clock makes an inexorable “chlock, chlock,” sound getting me closer to my appointment with Dom.
It’s simple. I’ll ask if he wants to explore how power play affects him and me. That’s the core of it, but I’ll approach it with the benefits: that he’ll discover ways of regulating his emotions without resorting to self-mutilation, that it’ll be discreet, and that it’s a safe, controlled environment because I’ll be in charge. My skin heats under my button-down blouse. I’ll be in charge.
Man, I hope he's still up for it, but I'll find out soon enough. I shouldn't count my chickens before they hatch, alien onesincluded, but a girl can hope. Above all, I want his enthusiastic consent.
Finally chimes ring out for one o’clock. Perfect. I put my ‘out to lunch’ notification on Teams before sliding my laptop closed and into its bag. My hands shake: will he want in?
Keep it cool, Laura. Calm and collected.
I leave the farmhouse and crunch across the gravel in my heels as if I’m off to a work meeting. Even though Ellen and Arabella know I have no business in the machine shed, if I act confident, I’ll be able to play it off if I’m challenged later.
March is a weird month in Britain, either boiling hot or snowy, but the weather today is smack in the middle, tending toward sunny with a crisp edge and plunging several degrees colder when clouds skip across the sun. The shed lies dark and shadowed, rich gasoline and oils coating the air inside and the click of my heels ring against the silent machinery.
I turn in place, looking for the big purple alien, but it doesn't seem he's here yet. Or maybe he's not going to turn up. Perhaps he's had second thoughts.
Disappointment drops into my stomach, as if I just got a last minute memo to draft. Oh, well. It kinda stings a bit, but I can always go back to BristolMeet and its familiar hashtags. When I’m less busy, of course.
It just seems a bit… bland right now.
