I watched Edward play kissy-face with Madge. He was much better at role-playing than I was. He was also a much better liar.
I would not tell, and Edward had known I would not tell. In his own way, he knew me, too. He had bet his life on my integrity, and that pissed me off. I hate to be used. My virtue had become its own punishment.
But maybe, I didn't know how yet, I could use Edward the way he was using me. Perhaps I could use his lack of honor as he used my honor now.
It had possibilities.
26
The auburn-haired woman with Edward came over to the couch and slid into Phillip's lap. She giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck with a little kick of her feet. Her hands didn't wander lower, and she didn't try to undress him. The night was looking up. Edward followed behind the woman like a blond shadow. There was a drink in his hand and a suitably harmless smile on his face.
If I hadn't known him, I would never have looked at him and said, there, there is a dangerous man. Edward the Chameleon. He balanced on the couch arm at the woman's back, one hand rubbing her shoulder.
“Anita, this is Darlene,” Phillip said.
I nodded. She giggled and kicked her little feet.
“This is Teddy. Isn't he scrumptious?”
Teddy? Scrumptious? I managed a smile, and Edward kissed the side of her neck. She snuggled against his chest, managing to wiggle in Phillip's lap at the same time. Coordination.
“Let me have a taste.” Darlene sucked her lower lip under her teeth and drew it out slowly.
Phillip's breath trembled. He whispered, “Yes.”
I didn't think I was going to like this.
Darlene cupped his arm in her hands and raised it to her mouth.
She bestowed a delicate kiss over one of his scars, then she slid her legs down between his until she was kneeling at his feet, still holding his arm. The full skirt of her dress was bunched up around her waist, caught on his legs. She was wearing red lace panties and matching garters. Color coordination.
Phillip's face had gone slack. He was staring at her as she brought his arm towards her mouth. A small pink tongue licked his arm, quick, out, wet, gone. She glanced up at Phillip, eyes dark and full. She must have liked what she saw because she began to lick his scars, one by one, delicate, a cat with cream. Her eyes never left his face.
Phillip shuddered; his spine spasmed. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the couch. Her hands went to his stomach. She gripped the fishnet and pulled. It slid out of his pants, and her hands stroked up bare chest.
He jerked, eyes wide, and caught her arms. He shook his head. “No, no.” His voice sounded hoarse, too deep.
“You want me to stop?” Darlene asked. Her eyes were nearly closed, breath deep, lips full and waiting.
He was struggling to talk and make sense at the same time. “If we do this … that leaves Anita alone. Fair game. Her first ply.”
Darlene looked at me, maybe for the first time. “With scars like that?”
“Scars are from a real attack. I talked her into the party.” He brought her hands out from under his shirt. “I can't desert her.” His eyes seemed to be focusing again. “She doesn't know the rules.”
Darlene leaned her head on his thigh. “Phillip, please, I've missed you.”
“You know what they'd do to her.”
“Teddy will keep her safe. He knows the rules.”
I asked, “You've been to other parties?”
“Yes,” Edward said. He held my gaze for several seconds while I tried to picture him at other parties. So this was where he got his information about the vampire world, through the freaks.
“No,” Phillip said. He stood, bringing Darlene to her feet, still holding her forearms. “No,” he said and his voice sounded certain, confident. He released her and held out his hand to me. I took it. What else could I do?
His hand was sweating and warm. He strode out of the room, and I was forced to half-run in my heels to catch up with my hand.
He led me down the hall to the bathroom and we went in. He locked the door and leaned against it, sweat beaded on his face, eyes closed. I took back my hand, and he didn't fight me.
I looked around at the available seating and finally chose to sit on the edge of the bathtub. It wasn't comfortable, but it seemed the lesser of two evils. Phillip drew in great gulps of air and finally turned to the sink. He ran water loud and splashing, dipped his hands in, and covered his face again and again until he stood, water dripping down his face. Droplets caught in his eyelashes and hair. He blinked at himself in the mirror over the basin. He looked startled, wide-eyed.
The water was dripping down his neck and chest. I stood and handed him a towel from the rack. He didn't respond. I mopped up his chest with the soft, clean-smelling folds of the towel.
He finally took the towel and finished drying off. His hair was dark and wet around his face. There was no way to dry it out. “I did it,” he said.
“Yes,” I said, “you did it.”
“I almost let her.”
“But you didn't, Phillip. That's what counts.”
He nodded, rapidly, head bobbing. “I guess so.” He still seemed out of breath.
“We better be getting back to the party.”
He nodded. But he stayed where he was, breathing too deep, like he couldn't get enough oxygen.
“Phillip, are you all right?” It was a stupid question, but I couldn't think of what else to say.
He nodded. Mr. Conversation.
“Do you want to leave?” I asked.
He looked at me then. “That's the second time you've offered that. Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would you offer to let me out of my promise?”
I shrugged and rubbed my hands over my arms. “Because … because you seem to be in some kind of pain. Because you're a junkie trying to kick the habit, sort of, and I don't want to screw that up for you.”
“That's a very … decent thing to offer.” He said decent like he wasn't used to the word.
“Do you want to leave?”
“Yes,” he said, “but we can't.”
“You said that before. Why can't we?”
“I can't, Anita, I can't.”
“Yes, you can. Who are you taking orders from, Phillip? Tell me. What is going on?” I was standing nearly touching him, spitting each word into his chest, looking up at his face. It is always hard to be tough when you have to look up to see someone's eyes.
But I've been short all my life, and practice makes perfect.
His hand slid around my shoulders. I pushed away from him, and his hands locked behind my back. “Phillip, stop it.”
I had my hands flat on his chest to keep our bodies from pressing together. His shirt was wet and cold. His heart was hammering in his chest. I swallowed hard and said, “Your shirt's wet.”
He released me so suddenly, I stumbled back from him. He drew the shirt over his head in one fluid motion. Of course, he had a lot of practice in undressing himself. It would have been such a nice chest without the scars.
He took one step towards me. “Stop, right where you are,” I said. “What is this sudden change of mood?”