Only then did I feel safe enough to discard the rest of my violated clothing. It sat in a pile of revulsion that I vowed to get retribution for.
I strode into the adjoining bathroom and shut the door firmly behind me. Autopilot took over. The memory of physically stepping under the scalding water became lost in the urgency to cleanse the unseen fingerprints off my body.
The ghosts of Mandla and Arno’s prohibited touch washed down the drain but lingered like a haunting essence. Invisible and inescapable, they rose to meet my skin each time I washed off the fresh layer of suds.
Over and over, I lathered my skin with the provided shower products and scrubbed relentlessly until my arms, legs, and abdomen turned raw. I shampooed my hair excessively and cursed when the bubbles stung my eyes, all the while damning Mandla to Hell. I’d have my vengeance, even if it ended me.
Shutting off the water, I reached for a nearby towel while drawing strength off the unease in the pit of my stomach. I used it to fuel my simmering rage and thirst for redemption as I dried off.
After discarding the towel and tugging on an awaiting white robe, I then wrenched the shower hose from the wall, tossed aside the head, and let the water drain from it; I’d use it as a weapon if necessary. The length would easily strangulate with a single wrap around someone’s neck.
Angry pounding on the bedroom door and raised shouts of impatience greeted me when I emerged from the bathroom.
“Helga! Helga, open this door right now!”
“No,” I shouted back.
A hissed curse came through the thick wood, and the door handle jiggled again. “Your father wants to meet with you immediately. Open the fucking door!”
“Absolutely not.” And most definitely not while I didn’t have clothes to wear.
“I’ll shoot my way in if I have to.”
I snorted. “I’d like to see you try.”
“I’m not playing around, Helga. Open up, now!”
“It’sHallie,not Helga.”
“You are testing my patience, Miss van Staden.”
“Good, because you’re testing mine.”
“Enough of the games.”
A bitter laugh left my mouth. “If only this was a game.”
Arnauld’s voice dropped so low that I had to lean close to hear the hushed murmur. “There’s a lot you don’t know or understand, Hallie. Things I can’t tell you, but despite appearances, I’ve got your best interests at heart. Believe it or not, you can trust me.”
I scoffed. “I’ve heard that enough before to know it’s bullshit.”
His next four words caught and held my attention. “Your mother trusts me.”
Hungry for more information, I crawled across the bed and spoke against the doorjamb. “What do you know about my mother? Explain.”
“I can’t. Not here and not now,” he murmured after a short pause.
“Well, I’m not coming out, then.”
His sharp curse made me jolt. Indistinguishable mutters came through the thick wood before he added, “Meet with your father, then I’ll arrange a time for us to meet—butonlywhen it is safe to do so.”
“How long?”
“As long as it takes.”
I swore and sat back on the mattress, my heels underneath my bum. Strategies and questions ran through my head, and I took a minute to process them.
“I won’t meet with my father until I have something to wear. My clothes are…” I cast a despising glance at the pile. “...ruined.”