Page 72 of The Bargain

Julian, oblivious to my thoughts, oblivious to anything that’s not his own existence and pleasure, frowns, eyes following the motion of my hand as I raise it⁠—

And dash his phone to the ground.

It lands on the marble floor with a hard, dry crack, but I’m not done. Standing next to it, I raise one knee and drive my heel into the phone, hard. A lifetime of training and tennis—and I use every ounce of strength that’s coiled up in my muscles. My heel stabs clean through the screen. I kick it off, and it clatters away, disappearing under a table.

“I’m not going to let him put his hands on me,” I say, turning back to Julian, who’s staring up at me slack-jawed. “I already have.”

Julian’s friends glance at him, waiting for their cue to react. But he’s frozen, eyes wide and bloodshot as he stares at me in a mixture of hurt and shock.

“I already have,” I repeat, “and it felt so good—better than I ever knew it was possible to feel. Better than you could ever dream of making me feel. And you know what?”

I lean down over him, and he cringes back in his seat, pinned by my gaze.

“And I can’t wait for him to do it again. It’s all I think about, at night, alone in my bed. Him. His body, his voice, his dirty hands and mouth—and just how much I want them on me.”

I straighten myself and give a cold, low laugh.

“I’d say you’re not half the man he is, but that would still be an exaggeration. You’re not even worthy enough to compete with his shadow. You’re pathetic, Julian—and you make me feel pathetic for ever having gone out with you in the first place.”

I look around the table at his friends, their tuxes, the empty bottles of champagne, their bewildered faces.

“Have fun pacifying his fragile ego,” I tell them. “I could never stomach it myself—but somebody’s got to do it, and it’s not like any of you have anything better to do, is it?”

No reply. I smile.

“As I thought.”

And I turn and walk away.

The Pearsons and their staff are on Elias like a pack of hyenas on a young antelope by the time I reach them. He’s reading out loud from a piece of paper while they watch eagerly on, Mr Pearson nodding while Mrs Pearson’s eyes are pinned to Elias’s facial expression, which is bland and passive, like he’s not fully occupying his own existence.

Despite his outward obedience, he appears like the magnetic centre of this solar system, everyone’s attention fixed on him. They realise he’s important—they just don’t understand why, or what makes him special.

“Remember, Elias,” Mrs Pearson is saying with a tinkling laugh, loud enough for nearby donors to hear, “a smile will take you further than any scholarship.”

“He’s a fine boy,” Mr Pearson adds. “You’re going to do us proud, aren’t you?”

Elias nods, looking like he’s miles away.

I stride right past the staff, who scatter to make way for me, and snatch the paper out of Elias’s hands, handing it to an assistant without looking.

“Ah, Desdemona,” Mrs Pearson says. “How wonderful you could join us. It’s lovely to see youth take an interest in civic duty.” Her eyes skim over me, evaluating, appraising. “I’m so glad you and Elias have found one another. Amazing what a little polish can do for raw material, isn’t it? A few years ago, I doubt anyone would have imagined him keeping such fine company.”

I resist the urge to physically recoil from her.

“Yes,” I reply smoothly instead. “You must be proud of your work.” And then I turn from her, looking straight at Elias. “I’d like to leave, please.”

His eyes widen. I lock away that expression in my heart, with the innate sense that I’ve captured something rare and precious: Elias, taken by surprise.

“Oh, Desdemona,” Mrs Pearson immediately intervenes. She smiles, all elegance and warmth, but I’m from her world: I’ve seen this sort of smile a thousand times, displayed over a thousand faces, each as bland and insincere as hers. “I hope you’re not feeling unwell?”

I don’t bother to smile back.

“Thank you for inviting me to this event,” I say with withering formality. “But I’m ready to go now.”

“Ah, of course, and thank you so much for coming.” She smiles, though her husband’s glance betrays worry. The staff shift around us, exchange uneasy looks, the spaces between them vibrating with nervous energy. “Elias will escort you out just as soon as he’s finished here.”

As his wife speaks, Mr Pearson lays a hand on Elias’s shoulder. The gesture is ostensibly fatherly, but Elias’s back stiffens ever so slightly, and there’s a twitch in the delicate vein near his eyes.