No Way Out
Clara appeared in Jen’s peripheral vision looking nervous, shifting her weight and wringing her hands.
“Hey?”
“Hey.” Her voice was breathy. “Can I show you something?”
“… Okay.” Standing, pacing over to her, a steadying touch at her waist.
“You won’t be angry?”
Something wasn’t right. Several things weren’t right, actually, and not being angry was a hard promise to make with so few clues. “What is it?”
“I… when we started—I wanted, to hold onto… a way out. If I needed it.”
There was no way out of their contract—barring Jen releasing her, or death. This wasn’t the statement of a clause but a resource, a way to get out of the situation regardless of what the contract said, regardless of what Jen wanted. Money, probably. A hidden asset. Something not handed over. A backup plan.
“Okay,” she said, because what was she supposed to do? Be angry that Clara was doing the only action she could ask for—handing that hold out over?
The past… of having had it… no, that wasn’t thrilling, but it was more than logical the way that everything had happened. It was insane to trust someone so quickly, so completely—even with one hold out. Even the trust for the legalities of marriage had been questionable.
But they’d done it.
A week shy of their one year anniversary, apparently some thoughts were being reconsidered.
“What is it?” she asked again.
Clara produced something from a sweater pocket and held it out to her.
Her heart stopped, for a second.
A full bottle of Xanax.
She took it from her gingerly. Heart racing again as she put it together. The prescription bottle was as full as it could be while closing, not the way these bottles came, half empty. A few combined into one, then. Alprazolam. Clara Chen. A few years old.
“It was supposed to be for sleep,” Clara said. “More than anything else. But it just made me nauseous. I gave up on meds. But they kept refilling it. No copay. I kept picking it up. I don’t know why. But, I had it around.”
“You were going to kill yourself.”
“No. No, I—I wasn’t going to. It was just… in case. It seemed—if I wanted out, of this—the only way to do it.”
Suicide violated their contract, too, not that much could be done about that once it was done. But it was noted as forbidden to make it a dishonorable exit strategy. But it did seem… it was different, than leaving any other way.
There weren’t any other prescription meds, anything strong, in the house. If you weren’t bold enough for sharps, and if you were kept in the house due to suspicion you might attempt such a thing—or if all known dangers had been taken away—a secret bottle of months of an anxiety med that functioned as a sleeping pill was a… prominent item.
“I don’t want it,” said Clara. “Anymore. And that was… the only thing I kept.”
Jen nodded slowly. Still wasn’t sure how to react to this. It wasn’t a confession of suicidality. That would have prompted a certain response. This was… “Thank you,” was what came out, as she managed to stop holding the bottle like it burned and close her fingers around it. Pressed a slightly shaky kiss to the bridge of Clara’s nose. “Good girl. Mine,” she said, lips brushing hers.
“Yours.”
The kiss was soft and gentle, lingering.
“Well,” said Clara, with an uncomfortable shrug, “that was it.”
Jen nodded, pressed one more kiss to her forehead. Clara left.
Unsure of what else to do, she placed the bottle in a locking file cabinet drawer, the combination unknown to Clara, saved somewhere to be released only in case of death.
In it, the paperwork from Ezri, Clara’s network file, their contract, the keys to her collar, other important items.
And now, the pills. They felt too significant to discard.
She placed the bottle next to the keys and locked the drawer again.