Chapter 8 #2
"How does a woman decide whether she's interested in a man?" Number Eight asked. "What is she looking for in someone she might consider as a romantic partner?"
The corner of her mouth lifted again. "You are starting at the very beginning."
"Yes."
"All right." She laid down a card. "Physical attraction usually comes first, but that doesn't mean that the man has to be very handsome.
Sometimes the personality that shines through his eyes is the thing she's attracted to.
Confidence is attractive, but only as long as it doesn't turn into arrogance and a sense of entitlement.
He shouldn't assume that she wants him. He needs to put in an effort to charm her, to show her that he wants her, and then wait for her to respond to him. "
That advice was very confusing because it wasn't concrete. How was it possible to determine when confidence seemed like arrogance? How was a man supposed to show a woman that he wanted her without frightening her?
Especially when she'd had a lifetime of bad experiences with men, as Sullha had.
"We don't know how to be charming," Number Six said. "We need actionable line items."
Anita looked like she was stifling a laugh, which was good because it meant she was having a good time, but it was also bad because it might mean that the question was stupid.
"Let me see." She tapped her lips with her finger. "It has been so long since I've been courted by a decent man that I don't remember, but I can tell you what Konstantin does that makes me like him."
"That could be helpful," Number One said.
"He tells me funny stories. Things from his past that he can turn into humorous tales.
He listens attentively when I tell him about things, and he looks into my eyes, making me feel as if what I tell him is important enough to commit to memory.
He makes me feel appreciated." She smiled.
"And desired, but not like a piece of flesh to be used.
He desires my company as much as he desires my body, and that's special.
" She looked up from the cards in her hands and scanned their faces.
"It's important to be seen for the person I am on the inside.
Not as someone to be used and discarded. "
The collective processed her words and felt ashamed for the way they had treated the brothel women in the past, before their ascent. None of them had been cruel or disrespectful, but they hadn't considered these women as people.
They hadn't known any better because that was what Mortdh's teachings claimed. According to Mortdh, women had been created to serve men, for pleasure and for childbirth, nothing more, and they had been too young and brainwashed to think for themselves.
"More questions?" Anita said.
"Have you ever been in love?" Number Two asked.
She nodded.
"How did it feel to be in love?"
"Wonderful." She sighed. "When a woman is in love, she wants to spend every moment with her beloved. She thinks of him constantly. She is willing to do anything to see him smile, to know that she is pleasing him."
"How is it different for men? Do they feel the same way about the women they love?"
"Of course." She pursed her lips. "But a woman wants a man to prove that he's worthy of her love. Men, on the other hand, rarely think in those terms. They don't think in terms of worthiness as long as the woman is beautiful. Sometimes that can lead to disappointment."
That was an interesting observation, and the collective tried to reflect on the love they had witnessed between Mattie and Dimitri. Did he need to constantly prove to her that he was worthy? Had he been blinded by her beauty when he'd first met her?
They had no answer for that.
"How does a man prove his worthiness?" Number One asked.
"By being honest and respectful." She smiled. "In the outside world, a well-paying occupation was also a consideration women took into account."
"Honest and respectful," Number Three repeated. "That's probably not something you encounter often in this place. Other than with Petrov, that is, and with us."
She didn't comment, probably was afraid to, but she nodded.
"How does a man show a woman that he's those things?" Number Four asked.
Anita set down a card. The pile was getting high.
"A woman who is loved wants the man to tell her he loves her without making her ask, and she wants him to mean it when he says it.
And she wants him to never weaponize the love.
Not to use it as a leash. Not to remind her of it in a tone that indicates she owes him for it.
Love needs to be offered freely, and love should be the only thing expected in return. "
The scents of sadness and disappointment she was emitting indicated that she hadn't been speaking in hypothetical terms. She had been speaking from experience. Someone she'd loved had treated her badly.
"What do you mean by weaponizing?" Number Four asked.
"Using something that should be a gift as a punishment."
The collective didn't understand what she meant, but they didn't want to ask her to give them an example because the subject was distressing her.
Number One played a card. A jack of clubs. Anita matched it. The game went around. Number Seven played an eight and called diamonds. Number Two won the hand on the next turn.
"Beginner's luck," he said.
His individual intelligence and skill had nothing to do with it. The game was between Anita and the collective, not Anita and eight others.
Number Four shuffled the cards for the next hand.
"Do you have more questions?" Anita asked.
The collective decided to stay away from the topic that was causing her pain and shifted to something a little different.
Number One looked at her across the circle. "How does a man know if a woman likes him, not just as a friend but as something more?"
The collective went very still.
That was not a planned question. It was Number One's question. He had not run it past them. He had pulled it out of nowhere and asked it directly.
She looked at him for a long moment, and her expression softened.
"It's easy when you know what to look for.
It's mostly in her eyes and the way she looks at you.
She might act more shy around you than others, but she still wants you close," she said.
"She might tell you things she hasn't told anyone else, and she makes time for you when she does not have time. She trusts you."
Number One looked down at his cards.
He did not say anything.
The other seven did not say anything either. The collective held the moment without commentary, because Number One was processing something, and pushing him would not help.
Anita watched him. "Are you thinking about someone in particular?"
Number One couldn't answer that question. None of them could. The breeding enclosure was off limits for them.
"It's a general question," Number Eight said. "We are curious about how things work outside this island, and you have lived in that world. You have the experience. We don't."
Anita looked doubtful. "It's okay. You don't need to tell me anything. It's none of my business."
It was quite astonishing that she was so lucid despite the drugs that should have dulled her mind. Perhaps that was something she and Petrov had in common. He was sharp no matter how much vodka he consumed, and she was sharp no matter what she'd snorted or had been injected with.
"But I will say this," she said as she set her cards face down on the carpet.
"If you are asking whether a woman likes you in that special way over a game of Crazy Eights, the answer is probably yes, and you already know it.
Men do not ask the question when the answer is no.
They ask it when the answer is yes, but they find it hard to believe. "
Number One went very still. "How do you know that?"
"I just do." She shrugged. "I'm honest and direct when the drug is wearing thin, so I tell you things as they are."
The collective registered the offhand reference to the drug. She had said it without emotion, like she was talking about the weather. It came and went. It was wearing thin now. She was more present at this moment than she had been at the start of the game.
"How long does it last?" Number Three asked. "The drug?"
"Three hours, maybe four. Less when I have eaten." She glanced at the food cart. "I have not eaten today. If I were back in the brothel, I would get another hit."
So that was why the guard wanted to escort her back.
Just like them, she needed a steady supply of drugs, but for different reasons. They needed the drugs to stay coherent and not devolve into chaotic behavior, while she needed it to stay numb.
To endure.
Number Five reached for the fruit platter and pushed it toward her. Number Eight cut a slice of cake, put it on a plate, and slid it to her across the carpet.
She looked at the cake, and then at them, and then she picked up the fork.
"You are strange, but not in a bad way," she said. "Definitely not what I expected."
"What did you expect?" Number Six asked.
"Eight immortal soldiers. I was worried about being bitten eight times. I've built up quite a tolerance to the venom by now, but still. At some point, all that euphoric goodness might become deadly." She shrugged. "Not a bad way to go, though."
There had been a note of longing in that last sentence.
She had talked so casually about her own death, as if her life didn't matter, as if she was looking forward to ending it all.
Perhaps she'd reached her limit right when escape was on the horizon. Regrettably, they couldn't tell her that she needed to hold on because freedom was near. They would have to wait until the last moment and tell her the plan right before they whisked her onto a ship.