Taking the Lead

The front door stood open and sunlight spilled across the hardwood floor, cutting a bright rectangle through the foyer. Beyond it lay the front porch, the neatly trimmed lawn, the quiet suburban street, and everything that should have represented freedom.

Neither of them could move.

Evan stood with one foot inches from the threshold, every muscle in his legs straining to take that final step. Nothing happened. It wasn't paralysis. His body worked perfectly. He could shift his weight, flex his knees, even lift a foot slightly from the floor.

He simply couldn't carry it forward.

Beside him, Stacy remained just as motionless, her eyes fixed on the street beyond the driveway as though sheer determination might eventually overcome whatever invisible force held them in place. After nearly a minute of silence, she let out a long, weary sigh.

"Well," she muttered, "this is fantastic."

Evan rubbed the back of his neck.

"I really thought it'd work."

"So did I."

There wasn't much anger in her voice anymore. Mostly disappointment. His gaze drifted toward her. The red paisley dress suited her remarkably well. It wasn't flashy. Just simple. Comfortable. Elegant, even. It reminded him of the clothes she'd worn before everything had become impossibly complicated.

Only, she'd never actually chosen it.

She'd opened the wardrobe and stood there for almost a full minute, holding the dress against herself. First confusion. Then irritation. Finally panic.

Nothing.

She simply couldn't decide. Eventually Stacy had turned toward him with tears threatening at the corners of her eyes.

Holding the dress with both hands, she'd quietly asked, "Can I wear this one?"

Not demanded. Not declared. Asked. Permission. For a dress.

He'd nodded almost immediately.

"Of course."

Only then had she smiled with obvious relief before disappearing into the bathroom to change. The memory made something twist painfully inside him.

No matter how many arguments they'd had over the years, no matter how bitter their relationship had become, he'd never wanted this for her. Never wanted to watch a fiercely independent woman reduced to asking permission to get dressed. Whatever resentment had once existed between them had almost completely evaporated. All that remained was guilt.

"I thought maybe..." Evan said quietly, his eyes returning to the street. "If we were together..."

"You thought wrong," the words came sharply. Then Stacy exhaled. "...Sorry," then, after a beat. "I thought it would work too."

Minutes slipped past. Birds chirped somewhere nearby. A lawnmower droned faintly several streets away. Freedom sat barely two metres from them. It may as well have been another continent.

Finally Stacy stepped backward. This time her feet obeyed.

"There has to be something we're missing."

Evan followed her away from the doorway.

"You think?"

"I'm sure of it," she said, folding her arms under her breasts. "Everything else has followed some ridiculous internal logic."

Unfortunately, she wasn't wrong. Every new rule seemed arbitrary until hindsight made it seem inevitable. The manual. The photographs. The inability to insult him without pain. Needing permission to enter rooms. Needing permission to choose clothes. Every horrible change fit into the same impossible pattern.

"What if..." Evan hesitated. "What if we tried holding hands again?"

She looked over.

"The pain disappeared when we touched," he shrugged. "Maybe it's a clue."

A faint blush crept into Stacy's cheeks, her eyes fixated on the floor.

"When we touch, it feels..." she stopped herself.

"I know."

"It won't work."

"You don't know that."

"It doesn't feel right," she said, her eyes narrowing. "Something's missing."

Then she stopped talking altogether. Her attention had shifted beyond him. Evan turned.

Mounted beside the coat rack was a wooden peg he'd swear hadn't existed earlier that day. Hanging neatly from it were two objects: a black leather collar and a matching leash.

His stomach dropped.

"Oh my God."

Neither moved. Neither spoke.

Eventually Stacy laughed. It wasn't amused.

"You've got to be kidding me," her voice sounded exhausted. "I don't..."

"You don't think..." Evan tried.

"I absolutely do," she said, walking toward the peg.

Evan watched her move, as if each step was heavier than the last, her shoulders sagged, her eyes hopeless.

"I think this stupid universe has officially lost its mind," she said, sadly.

Fingers hovered over the collar before finally lifting it from its hook. The leather looked expensive. Soft. Well cared for. Like it was important. Like whoever had hung it there had wanted it to be seen.

"I'm your property, after all," Stacy said quietly, staring at it. "So naturally..." A bitter smile crossed her face,"...this makes perfect sense."

"Stacy..."

"No."

She didn't even look at him.

"I want out of this house, Evan," she said, not harshly, but with a matter-of-fact tone that surprised him.

"So do I."

"If this gets us outside," her voice caught briefly, "then let's do it."

Evan stared at the woman who had been his father's wife, holding a leather collar in her hand, offering it to him.

"You can't seriously be asking me..."

"I am."

"No."

"I am."

She finally met his eyes, not angrily, not bitterly, but imploringly.

"I hate this, Evan. I hate you for putting me here. I hate this reality even worse than the last one. But if clipping this around my neck gets us out of here, gets us a step closer to fixing all of this," another deep breath, as if steeling herself against an oncoming struggle, "then put it on."

His feet remained planted. Everything about the request felt wrong. This wasn't Stacy. Not really. This was a desperate woman searching for an escape hatch.

"Can't we..." Evan started.

"You gave me permission to put on the dress," she said. "So I'm giving you permission to put on the collar."

"But..."

"Please," her voice softened.

That single word landed harder than any insult she'd ever thrown at him. She wasn't surrendering. She was trusting him. Against every instinct she had. Against every reason.

Slowly Evan reached out and took the collar from her hands. It felt surprisingly light, the leather smooth but rigid. His pulse hammered in his ears.

"You can still say no," he offered.

Silently, Stacy turned and faced him, her arms behind her back, waiting.

Gentle fingers settled the leather around her throat. He didn't want to hurt her. Nor did he want to alarm her. It must have felt terrifying to have the collar fastened, and Evan didn't want to make it worse.

Neither of them spoke while he adjusted the collar. The prong slid through the hole, and his former stepmother was collared. Evan immediately stepped back.

"I'm sorry."

Instead of answering, Stacy closed her eyes. A slow breath escaped her. Then another. Something in her shoulders loosened.

"Oh," she said, eyes still closed. "That feels..."

Another deep breath, not of frustration, but of something more pleasant. Her eyes opened.

"I think we're on the right track," she said, her voice warm, pleasant. "The magic feels..."

She frowned, obviously struggling with what she was experiencing.

"You okay?" he asked, nervous about the repercussions of what he'd just done.

"Don't worry, I'm still me," she answered.

"You sure?"

"I wish I weren't," she said truthfully. "But I'm still here. But we're not done."

Evan's eyes darted to the side. The leash still hung from the peg. Stacy reached for it herself, felt the thin leather strap in her hands, then held it out in front of him.

"One more indignity," she said, "for the road."

"Why don't we just..."

"Please," the word came quietly this time, "before I lose my nerve."

Evan accepted it with trembling fingers. The clasp clicked onto the collar. A tiny sound escaped Stacy, akin to a squeak. Not pain. More surprise than anything. Her cheeks immediately turned crimson.

"Stacy," he said, "are you..."

"I'm fine."

"But you just..."

"I said I'm fine," Embarrassment practically radiated from her. "Don't make a thing out of it. When I'm with you, especially when we're touching, I feel... I mean... the magic makes me feel good. But this is more. This is so much more."

Another long silence settled between them. Finally she extended the leather lead that he'd fastened to her neck toward him.

"Take it."

His hand closed around the loop almost automatically. Neither of them spoke, but Stacy let out a small moan of pleasure. Neither acknowledged how absurd the scene had become, because how could they? Which of them had words for Evan leashing Stacy, leading her like a pet, and causing her to feel aroused?

For a brief moment, he felt Stacy's arm around his waist, giving him a small squeeze.

"Take me outside."

Evan turned back toward the open doorway, leash in hand. Heart pounding, he stepped forward. This time his foot crossed the threshold. No resistance. No invisible wall. Fresh afternoon air washed across his face.

Behind him came the gentle sound of leather tightening for just a moment. Then another pair of footsteps. Stacy followed him effortlessly onto the front porch.

They both stopped. Neither said a word. For several seconds they simply stood there together beneath the open sky, staring at the quiet street they hadn't been able to reach moments before. Finally Stacy let out one long, exhausted laugh.

"Thank you," she said, her hand reaching out and touching him softly on the shoulder. "I know that wasn't easy, but thank you."

Evan looked down at the leash still resting in his hand. The knot in his stomach only tightened. Whatever rules governed this new reality, they'd just learned another one.

And somehow, he suspected it was a sign of things to come.