Sterling looks to Quinn.
“No can do.” Quinn shakes his head slowly. “Andras ordered me to watch you. You’re lucky I’m giving you the bathroom to yourself.”
I narrow my gaze on him, my awkwardness slipping away to make room for my irritation. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.” Quinn stares back at me, unfazed. “When Andras gives an order, we carry it out. To the fullest extent.”
I scowl back. “You sure Andras didn’t want you to actually watch me shower, too? Should I undress out here just so you can make sure I’m not hiding anything on me?’
“Are you?” Quinn asks, a hint of a smile playing on the corner of his lips.
“No,” I grumble, rolling my eyes.
“If you wish to give us a show, I’m sure both Sterling and myself would have no objections over watching you undress, Angel. But something tells me you’re all talk and no game.”
“Don’t call me that,” I bite back. But he’s right, I'm exhausted, too weak to argue. I want nothing more than to disappear under the stream of that shower and wash off the evidence of the abuse I’ve been dealt.
“That’s what I thought.” He pushes off the door, placing his hands on my shoulders and turning me towards the bathroom. “Now, I suggest you get that tight little ass in there and stop fucking around. That hot water only lasts for about ten minutes.”
Before I can argue, he’s pushing me through the door and pulling it closed behind me. I open my mouth to yell at him, to argue. To fight. But the fight in me has died. At the hands of my attacker last night, at the hands of Tamiel and all of her experimentation on me. At the hands of my father, who abandoned me.
So instead, I turn and stare at myself in the mirror. I force myself to watch as I undress, to take account of the marks that sully my skin. Even as I’m standing here they are fading, thanks in joint effort to whatever Tamiel did last night and Laurel’s efforts to heal my new wounds today. Before long, I will be back to normal. As if none of it ever happened.
And yet, the weight on my soul feels exponentially large. The evidence of the hells I’ve endured and the hells I’vedamned myself to cut bone deep, burrowing inside me to a place that I will never be able to dig it out from. I drop my soiled clothes on the floor, tearing my gaze away from the pale, bruised skin and hollow amber eyes that stare back at me from the mirror. But it’s not until the warm water hits my skin that the tears start to fall.
I stand in the shower like that, crying silently, until the water goes cold. I pray to whatever the fuck gods may or may not exist that they can remove this pain inside me. Fix whatever it is that’s wrong with me, cleanse me, purify me. Do whatever it takes to make me worthy in my fathers’ eyes. But I know they won’t.
Because they have not done so yet.
So instead I scrub my skin raw in the ice-cold water, using the foreign soap and shampoo to wash away the dirt and grime and sins that stain me. The calming scent is something I’m not used to, something earthy and thick. The soap from home is medicinal, antiseptic in its qualities. The scent of it burns my nostrils and sours my stomach every time I use it, but father insists. Between the treatments and the experiments, the risk of infection is too high, or so he says. But I’ve always thought he secretly enforced it because he knew how much I hated it.
By the time I turn the water off and step out of the shower, I’m shivering from the cold. But I don’t even care, because I’m the cleanest I’ve felt in weeks—years, even.
I wrap myself in the towel Sterling provided, looking around the small bathroom for my clothes, only to realize they're gone. My eyes go wide as I spin in circles, checking every corner of the cramped space to quadruple check I didn’t somehow overlook them. My eyes land finally on the slightly cracked door, just the smallest sliver. But I know Quinn latched it when he led me in here.
I storm forward, teeth grinding as I push open the door and stand in the doorway—seething, shivering, and wrapped in a towel barely big enough to cover myself.
“Where the fuck did you put my clothes?”
Quinn has a smirk already plastered across his face from where he’s taken a spot upon the bed. His legs are crossed, his eyes closed as he leans back against the headboard.
“They were dirty, were they not? So I sent them where dirty clothes usually go.”
I clench my fists, clinging to the towel so that it doesn’t slip away as I stomp up to the edge of the bed. “Then give me something else to wear.”
Quinn sucks in a breath through his teeth, popping an eye open. “I’m sure we could think of an activity to do that doesn’t require any clothing at all.” He closes his eye again, settling back even further against the bed. “Ya know, while we wait.”
I’m moments away from hitting him—one swift punch to the gut that is bound to make him hurt—but Sterling steps forward from where he's leaning against the wall in the corner. “I can lend you something, Evangeline.” He doesn’t laugh, but I can hear the amusement in his voice and it irks me that he’s egging Quinn on. He steps up to the dresser on the other side of the bed and pulls out a large T-shirt, tossing it over the bed to me.
I catch it at the last minute, but the motion causes the towel to slip, just enough to make me squeal as I turn and run back to the bathroom, attempting to hold on to any dignity I have left. Both of them chuckle as I grunt in frustration and I slam the door shut. I can hear their laughter grow through the closed door.
“Assholes!” I yell, loud enough that I know they can hear me even with the door closed. I hang my towel on a hook on the wall and pull the T-shirt over my head. It’s massive—far too large even for Sterling’s frame. But I’m grateful for the length as he conveniently neglected to give me any bottoms. I run my fingers through my hair, letting the damp, lavender ends fall against my chest in hopes it will provide me a little more coverage. Since I no longer have a bra, either.
I muster as much courage as I can before turning and heading back out the door. Both Quinn and Sterling’s laughter is still ringing in the air, but I can feel the way both of them tense—just a little bit—as they take me in.It emboldens me, reminds me that while I'm the foreigner here, there’s still a power within me that I could use to my benefit.
I look from Sterling’s attentive eyes to the dresser behind him, and something suddenly occurs to me. “Sterling, is this your room?”
His eyes rake over the length of my legs. He doesn’t hide his intrigue, doesn’t even pretend to not notice the amount of skin I’m showing. But he forces his gaze back to my eyes, grabbing at the back of his neck. A hint of heat rushes his tawny skin and it is just what I need to level the playing field.
