“You don’t need those. You done?” Arnauld snapped.
“Yeah. Are you armed?”
“Always,” he replied honestly.
“Holstered?”
“Yes.”
Satisfied for the moment, I moved the bed frame until it gave enough space for Arnauld's head to appear, but not large enough for him to squeeze his wide-set shoulders through.
His eyes gave me a once-over, then met mine. “Looks good.”
“It looks like a fucking penguin suit.”
He chuckled and motioned me closer. “Now get out here and put your shoes on.”
I stayed rooted to the spot, just out of arm’s reach. “What are they?”
A smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth. “High heels.”
“Fuck.” I sniffed and lifted my chin, not bothering to hide my annoyance. “Get back from the door.”
His eyes followed my hand as I reached for the shower hose, letting it hang at my side while I waited.
“And what do you expect to do with that?” he scoffed.
“I could kill you with my bare hands, but I like using toys,” I replied with a head tilt.
He cleared his throat and hid his smirk, then took a step back. “Out here, now.”
“Pass the shoes first. I’m absolutely not bending over to put them on out there.”
An impatient growl left his mouth as he kicked them into the room, then crossed his arms over his chest with a huff. “Fuck you’re testing my patience.”
“So you’ve said already,” I snapped, standing after slipping on the beautiful rose-gold high heels. They fit perfectly, which irritated me even more. “Step back.”
He glared, yet complied, then glowered harder as I slipped through the narrow door-space with ease, shower hose still in-hand. I set off in the direction he gestured but came to an abrupt halt outside my childhood room.
I swiveled to face Arnauld. “Where exactly did you get these clothes from?”
A simple nod at my room was his only explanation.
Despite knowing I shouldn’t, I toed the door open and cautiously stepped into the bedroom that many of my childhood nightmares revolved around. The ghosts of seven-year-old me crying and yelling for help still echoed over the embossed wallpaper, and visions of my little fists pounding on the window had my chest clamping with the residual fear. I thought I’d never see my mom again, and those memories crippled me on the inside while renewing my purpose to find her.
“How long have you known my mom?” I asked Arnauld as I wandered through the nostalgic room.
“Ever since she arrived here, three years ago.”
“And you know her well?”
When he paused, I turned my head his way to catch fleeting softness in his expression. “I do.”
“Is she happy here?”
His eyes found mine. “No.”
“Then why hasn’t she left?”