The McCain Marriage Contract

Raymond Thayer fucking McCain. That son-of-a-bitch was hotter than ever, and I was about to be his "wife." Except that he was a far cry from the Raymond I used to know, the shy boy with the cute smile and thin limbs, the loverboy whose every breath was dedicated to pleasing me. He had so much more now -- more toned muscles, more beards, more money.

More women!

After my meeting with Tony, I looked up Raymond McCain online, something I hadn't done after my mom's funeral, and I was horrified that he had stepped into his father's shoes in more ways than one. He was now a chronic womanizer, leaving a queue of "celebrity ex-girlfriends" all over the place. And who could blame him? The young man was as charming as ever, with his dark, lustrous hair, his deep blue eyes, his narrow nose, and the sexiest lips on the planet. As for his body...well, damn!

That handsome asshole!

I liked Raymond for almost all of my growing years until he vanished without a trace, and I would have very easily been his bride then. But the circumstances of this marriage were too archaic and shameful. Worse still, he was a fucking player. I wondered what he thought of me for agreeing to this arrangement.

I needed to snap out of the emotions. My father's health was my priority and there was a fat check in my name nestling in Tony McCain's breast pocket, for whenever I was ready to get married to his son. Coming to think about it, it was not a very devilish thing Tony was doing, asking me to marry Raymond in exchange for good money. After all, it wasn't as if Raymond was someone I never met before. A part of Tony felt he was giving me a two-in-one delight.

Everything was in my hands now, and delay was dangerous. My dad's health was deteriorating with each passing second and I could help it. The day before, I called Tony and agreed to the marriage. I had only one request. "Please, don't tell Raymond about the money, Mr. T." Tony laughed. "I wasn't exactly planning to, darling. But you know he'll be curious as to why you agreed to all this in such a short time."

I paused. "I'll come up with something to tell him. I just don't want him to think that... I don't want him to have the wrong idea of me, that's all."

"Alright. But I see nothing to worry about. You're getting paid to get married to someone you already have feelings for. That's a double win in my opinion."

We agreed to meet for lunch to finalize the deal. The man was so invested in this ridiculous arrangement that part of me believed it was all a stupid prank; I wouldn't put something like this past him.

I hummed a sad tune as I picked out the dress I planned to wear to lunch with the McCains. It was a red dress with a V-neckline that didn't show too much boob. The dress was my mother's and I always admired it when she wore it. I had never worn it before and it felt like I was dishonoring her somehow, picking today of all days to wear it. I didn't have much of a choice, though. It was one of the fanciest dresses in my closet, and I had to look fancy today.

In the mirror it looked like my mom was back to life, standing there instead of me. The dress didn't just belong to her, it made me look like her more than ever. "I hope you understand, mom," I whispered to myself. Then I twisted my body this way and that, ensuring that the dress fitted perfectly. That was when I saw it. The monstrously ugly scar was peeking through the dress, around the mid-portion of my right calf.

I had been so carried away admiring myself in my mom's dress that I hadn't realized it was several inches above my ankle, enough to show the scars that I meticulously kept hidden even from myself. The scars were not just a marker of past injury, they were a reminder of the day I lost Raymond eleven years ago.

The Spring Dance was days away and Raymond was yet to serenade me and ask me to the dance. Everywhere I turned, I was tortured by one gesture or another from a kid asking their love interest to the dance. Since everyone in school knew how inseparable Raymond and I were, my own invite was highly anticipated and the pressure was intense. But Raymond was nowhere to be found; he skipped so many classes and I couldn't even see him at home. Calling his phone was futile too, and I got offended. I decided I would not be attending the dance.

On the day of the dance, I spent the lunch break in a largely unused part of the school's Auditorium. That was the spot we shared our first kiss, and occasionally snuck out to when we needed to make out. I was feverishly hoping he'd show up even though I knew he wouldn't.

I sat on a long wooden chair for a while, crying uncontrollably at the sudden turn of things. Then I put on my big girl panties and wiped my eyes, silently vowing to ignore Raymond when next I saw him. When I tried to leave, the chair wobbled terribly and I fell. There was a sharp jagged stump that stuck out of one of the chair's legs, something I hadn't noticed earlier; it tore very deep through my right calf all the way to my thigh and butt cheek. I must have passed out because the next time I opened my eyes I was in the hospital. The doctors took great care of me but I was going to have a hideous serpentine scar as a lifelong reminder.

The pain hurt. The sight of the injury hurt. But nothing hurt as much as Raymond's absence by my bedside. He didn't call or show up even once!

That asshole hurt me and he owed me an explanation. And I intended to get one, as well as my money, in this marriage.