Read Obsessed with Me - When she rejected him, he set out to destroy her - book 1 for Free Online

shaking me.
    “Hey!” a woman says to me. “Wake up!” She’s light-skinned, around fifty, plump and short. A slight limp makes her waddle. Her frizzy hair escapes from under the black-and-white scarf around her head. She wears a black and white maid’s uniform, flesh-toned stockings and white sneakers.
    “Hi!” I croak, even though she only spoke Afrikaans.
    She doesn’t bother to introduce herself, so I don’t either.
    Behind her is a younger woman – also coloured (a mixture between black and white South Africans), thirtyish, tall and thin.
    I get out of bed and rub my eyes, while they openly check me out. “ Meneer wants you to join him at the party.”
    “Oh.”
    In the background, I hear music, laughter and the tinkling of glasses. I look at the clock on the wall – 7 PM. Crap! I slept for so long.
    I get out of bed and look out of my window at the pool below. At least thirty men and women are dancing and swimming. My eyes scan the place for Tarago. I spot him with a blonde on his lap, both of them are laughing.
    “Put on your bikini and go join the party,” the plump woman who they call Charlene says, unzipping my suitcase and rummaging through it.
    I glance at the party again. I barely drink and I don’t wear bikinis, just one-piece bathers. As for dancing, I’d only do it when I’m happy. Right now I’m miserable as hell.
    “O…kay,” I say. “Is there any way I can get a cup of coffee?” I really could do with some perking up.
    The older maid Charlene, moves her head slowly to look at me.
    Did I say the wrong thing, perhaps?
    “The kitchen is that way,” she says, pointing all her fingers to the ground.
    “Oh, okay,” I say, not knowing what else to say. Somehow, since I am Tarago’s guest, I expected them to bring me coffee. But, I guess that’s not the case here, and I feel like an idiot.
    “ Can jy Afrikaans praat (Can you speak Afrikaans?)?”
    I can with difficulty. I can also understand the language if they don’t speak too fast. Most importantly, I know a heap of swear words.
    “English,” I mutter. It’s safer to say that instead of giving them a long explanation.
    She looks at the younger woman, who has her hands in my vanity case. I wish they wouldn’t touch my stuff. It’s all so personal.
    “Hear that, Julia? She does not speak Afrikaans. Only English.”
    “Only English? Reeeeally?” Julia pauses with her riffling to drop her jaw. “A lanie coolie ne ! (Rich Indian, huh)?”
    They exchange amused smiles and simultaneously resume their rummaging.
    “Where you from?” Charlene asks as she lifts up a cashmere sweater of mine and inspects it.
    “Rondebosch. And you?”
    “Rondebosch?” A puzzled look flits across her face.
    “Born in Durban, raised in Cape Town.”
    “I seeee. How long you staying for?” she asks, ignoring my question and picking up my dressing gown.
    I shrug. “Not sure.”
    She nods slowly. “So if you are from Rondebosch, why do you have such a weeeeird accent?”
    “I lived in the States for five years,” I say.
    “The States?!”
    “Yes, the US. America. Atlanta.”
    She gasps and holds her chest. “Hear that, Julia? She lived in the States for five years. Ameeerika noggal.”
    “Waaaat? Tarago’s got his latest whore all the way from America?” Julia asks in Afrikaans, her hands on her hips.
    Charlene nods. “Maybe we should treat this whore with some respect then?”
    Julia looks at the ceiling and appears to think about it. Then she shakes her head from side-to-side.
    Both of them cackle, hold their sides and mock me.
    Anger rips through me. I want to tell these bitches that I understand what they are saying and that they can to hell. But they’re half right – I am Tarago’s whore, so what can I say? I’m intimidated by them enough to say nothing.
    I’m certain of one thing, though – I don’t like these two women and I wish they’d take their nasty arses out of my room and leave my clothes alone.
    “You need to