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In the mirror in front of me, I can see his reflection.Definitely an ass man. I smile to myself.
“Before most of our written records, society was centered around women. They were revered for their mysterious life-giving powers, honored as priestesses of the great goddess. They reared their children to carry on their line, created both art and technology, and made important decisions for their communities.”
“How do you know this if there were no written records?” I interrupt.
“Hush,” he says. “I’m telling you a story.”
I frown, but I keep my mouth shut. I want to hear this.
“Then a transformation occurred—whether through a sudden cataclysm or a long, drawn-out change—and society was thereafter dominated by men. The culture and the mindset that came after was ‘patriarchy.’ The discovery of paternity, and that sex caused childbirth, was as cataclysmic for society as, say, the discovery of fire. Gradually, the idea of male ownership of children took hold...”
“For thousands of years,” I add. I’m facing him again, charmed by the sound of his voice and by the things he’s saying.
“For thousands of years,” he repeats.
His voice is gravelly and his eyes are hooded as he stares at me. I shift on my feet. My whole body is tingling and I don’t know why.
“So what does this have to do with psychology?”
Jackal’s smile is faint.
“We’ve been on this planet for a very long time, and we keep making the same mistakes. It’s a cycle.”
“And now women are at the top of the food chain again,” I say slowly.
“But for how long? This time we’re going extinct as a race.”
I swallow. He’s right, of course. It’s the monster in every room, among every nation; the one we’re trying to ignore while simultaneously trying to find a solution.
“So you study human psychology to answer the greatest question we’ve ever been asked?”
“How do we survive?” he says quietly.
My tongue feels thick and useless in my mouth. I was expecting him to say something stupid, something I could pick apart and laugh about when I was alone. He’s just a man...a sex toy.I wanted him to make me dislike him even more. I didn’t expect to...respect his answer.
“So...how do we survive this?”
“We need harmony between the sexes. A true yin and yang.”
He walks toward me, his steps so sure, so fast I don’t have time to move, and then he’s right in front of me. He places a single finger on my jaw, lifting it up until I’m forced to meet his eyes, our lips only a breath apart.
“You’re familiar with harmony, aren’t you, Phoenix?”
I keep my face still, all but my nostrils, which are flaring out of control.
He wraps an arm around my waist, resting a hand on my lower back. With one firm pull, I’m crushed against him. This shouldn’t be a big deal, I’ve been touched on every square inch of my body, it’s my job to be touched. Dancers have no personal space.
“Agreement,” I whisper.
He cocks his head, pretending he didn’t hear me, though the look in his eyes says he’s toying with me. Bastard.
“Agreement,” I say louder.
“Do you not agree to this?” he asks.
He’s inching toward my face like he’s going to kiss me, both of his hands wrapped around my waist now. I lean slowly away from him, too fascinated by what he’s doing to pull myself out of his hands. I don’t want him to think he has any effect on me; I’d rather show him my power to withstand his advances. Lower...lower...my back is now a perfect arch, the top of my head pointing to the floor, and he still holds me, his hands hot on my waist. The thin material of my leotard does nothing to protect me from the feel of him. He slides one hand higher up my waist toward my rib cage, and one thumb moves in an arch and skims the underside of my breast. I keep my body stiff like we’re dancing, but my body has never burned like this for a dance. It’s there—the urge to allow him access to my feelings. It’s a good thing I’m a pro at controlling my urges. I lift myself upright and find myself in the exact position I was avoiding—face to face with Jackal.
My hair has fallen over my eyes. I leave it where it is to shield my eyes from his. But then he does the unexpected. He lifts a hand from my back to sweep it away. Instead of tucking it behind my ear, he leaves his hand there holding it away from my face. And he smiles at me, not a happy, toothy smile; it’s a wolfish grin.
