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CHAPTER 32

Frieda thinks I am crazy.

She doesn't say it, but from the look in her eye, I can see she is horrified at everything I have said to her. Initially she'd been calm, almost understanding – but with the sun having risen, a new dawn has arrived and a light is being shone on her true feelings. The plan I had masterminded as a child had become a stupefying mystery to her. Not only was she horrified, she was disgusted  by my antics and she couldn't hide it. Her feelings were as true as the sunset. 

On the journey back to Reece's flat, we do not talk: she walks a few steps ahead and I follow closely behind as we stalk into his building, up the stairs and into his flat. As soon as we enter the premises, we split: Frieda goes straight over to Konni and I take Reece into his room as I had before.

From my demeanour alone, he knows something is up but does not pepper me with questions.

"I want them out," I whisper to him.

He side-eyes me. "Frieda and Konni?"

I nod affirmative and start undressing.

"I want them out now."

"How do I-" he stops when he realises that I am not simply undressing to change clothes but to strip naked.

"Figure it out," I say as I grab his bathrobe and a towel. "When I'm done showering, I expect them gone."

He hesitates and stumbles on a question in his mind before nodding. My lips stretch into a vinegar smile as I stroll to the bathroom and close the door to the outside world. 

In seconds, I am blasting my body with the shower hose and as the room mists up, I recoil into my own world, lavishing at the sensation of heat and fragrance splitting and soothing my skin. I am lathering for the final time when I hear a rap on the door and turn off the hose.

"Yeah?" I yell.

I hear the doorknob rotate but it is locked so I have to step out to open it. Quickly I rinse off and dripping wet, I swath myself in a towel and open the door to see Reece.

"We're alone."

He sidesteps me and enters the bathroom.

"Thanks," I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Why did you want them out so badly?"

"No reason," I lie.

"Hmm."

He fiddles with the window to let the steam out but I know he is distracting himself from looking at me. I watch him move over to the sink, splash his face with water, grab his toothbrush and line it with paste before scrubbing the insides of his mouth. Focused, he attacks his teeth like they are bearing arms before spitting directly down the drain. It takes him a maximum of three minutes to finish but all the while he stares at his reflection and I stare at him, the globs of saliva infused spit he has left on the mirror from scrubbing so hard and his bare knuckles gripping the rim of the sink like his life depends on it.

"You think I'm crazy."

"I don't think you're crazy."

I am surprised at his response but say nothing, analyse him from head to toe: his neck is stiff, joints locked, feet spread. My eyes pore over the white rug he is standing on and I pause on a stain. It is brown but remarkable against the porcelain tufts.

"You got that from Tasha?" I point it out and watch his expression grow alarmed.

"Got what?"

I point a bare toe at the rug he is standing on and he steps back like it is made from lava.