I would nod, if it didn’t hurt so much. “OK,” I say instead.
“Then good night.” He moves to stand up, but I’ve reached out for his hand again. “No. Please.”
Now the expression on his face is one of disbelief. “You want me to sleep here?”
Yes. No. What I don’t want is to sleep alone; I don’t want my subconscious to completely take control and provoke me into jumping out of the window or doing something just as crazy.
“I want you to stay with me,” I whisper.
He looks at me for a long while. Gently touches the lump on my right temple. “You know how much I’d like to do that. But all this back and forth has to stop, Jo, it just hurts too much. I’m telling you, honestly, I’m at my wits’ end here.”
“OK.” I try to smile at him. “There’s a blanket, over there in the trunk and…”
“I know where our things are,” he interrupts me. “But thanks.”
Five minutes later, he’s lying next to me. Enough of a distance away not to be able to touch me, not even by accident. But on one occasion during the night, when I wake up for a moment, I feel his arm around my waist, hear his calm breathing behind me, and hope for a few seconds that I might be able to retrieve some memory of him after all. But there’s nothing. Nothing at all.
* * *
The next day I feel better, in every sense. The pain has subsided, along with the fear of losing control over my actions again.
As soon as he notices I’m awake, Erik gets up. “I’ll make us some breakfast.” He goes into the bathroom, and a few moments later I hear the shower being turned on. My stomach cramps up, but I remind myself that the scarves are gone now, the boiler is fine.
Ten minutes later, as I hear Erik go down the stairs, I get out of bed.
The sight of my face in the bathroom mirror is a shock. The swelling has gone down considerably, sure, but the right side of my face is bruised purple, from my forehead to the top of the cheekbone. The slightest of touches makes me wince. The fine jets of water shooting out of the shower head feel like pinpricks.
Should I put makeup on to cover up the bruises? I decide against it. Not unless I have to go out, be among people who might ask questions I can’t answer. I fell down the stairs. The classic response of abused wives.
But I will brush my hair so it covers part of my face, so Erik doesn’t constantly have to be reminded of my insane behavior every time he looks at me.
The scent of coffee drifts up toward me from downstairs, and I realize that I’m really hungry. A good feeling. A normal feeling.
“Sit down,” says Erik, pointing the spatula toward the already set table. “I’m making ham and eggs. Would you like some orange juice?”
My favorite mug, the foamed milk almost spilling over the edge. Ham, a little plate of cheese—everything the way I like it. Is it possible that he does know me after all?
He has barely set the plates on the table when the doorbell rings. My heartbeat quickens at once. Damn, is every noise going to throw me off like this?
“Maybe it’s the mailman,” says Erik with a sigh. “But whoever it is, I’ll get rid of them. Dig in, otherwise it’ll get cold.”
I nod, lifting the first forkful to my mouth, but let it sink again as soon as Erik leaves the kitchen.
What if it’s that psychologist again?
“Good morning!” A woman’s voice. “Yes I know, this is a bit of a surprise, but I thought I’d check on you both. I’ve brought rolls. And croissants!”
A few seconds pass before Erik says something. “Listen, I thought I’d made myself clear.”
“You did. You guys aren’t doing too well, that was quite clear. And that’s why…”
The sound of heels clicking on the floorboards. “Hey, that smells delicious.”
She is already standing in the kitchen doorway. Dark curls, short skirt, high heels and an almost aggressive cheerfulness. She gives me a beaming smile, teeters over to me, and stretches out her hand. “You must be Joanna, right? I say we go straight to first-name terms. After all, you guys in Australia are quite informal, aren’t you? It’s lovely to finally meet you!”
I let her shake my hand, completely overwhelmed in the face of so much energy. I notice how her gaze hovers over the right side of my face and then, as if I’d caught her in the act, glides away again.
Erik appears behind her, with the rolls she brought in his hand. “Jo, this is Nadine.”
He says her name like it should mean something to me, until my expression makes it clear to him that it doesn’t. “She’s a colleague. And—”
“We used to be an item,” Nadine interrupts. “But I’m sure you know that.” She turns to look at Erik over her shoulder. “Would you be a darling and make me a coffee too? That would be great, thank you.”
Just one glance at Erik’s face is enough to tell me that he wants to end this visit as soon as possible, but without the same means he used with Bartsch yesterday.
“Milk?” He asks. “Sugar?”
Her smile widens. “Come on, you know exactly how I like it.”
It sounds like she means something completely different. If my problems weren’t overshadowing everything else, including my vanity, then I’d be wondering about the contrast between Nadine and myself, in terms of our appearances. She’s obviously made an effort; her makeup is perfect, her blouse and skirt fit her so well it looked like she’d been poured into them.
Quite a lot of effort just to bring some breakfast to a good friend on a Saturday morning.
And it certainly couldn’t be said that I’d made an effort. A washed-out T-shirt and an old pair of track pants, along with the bruises on my face—I look as though Erik had picked me up off the street.
But I don’t care, as I realize with some amusement. The only thing that matters right now is that I’m able to look at the doorframe without feeling the need to ram my head against it.
Erik puts a full cup of coffee down in front of Nadine, a little too forcefully; a few drops slosh over the edge.
We all act as though we didn’t notice. “It’s great that you two have made up,” Nadine says, beaming at me. “Erik hates arguments.” She sips at her coffee, which is the same color as her hair. “I was really worried, he sounded so distraught last night.”
“Nadine!” A single word, but it contained both a warning and a great deal of repulsion.
“What?” She turns around to him, crossing her legs. “But it’s true. You didn’t call me just to say hello.”
He called her? Talked about me with someone who is a complete stranger to me, poured his heart out to her? Described my insane behavior to her, even? I clench my teeth and avoid Erik’s gaze, but at the same time tell myself how silly it is to be so sensitive. It shouldn’t bother me in the slightest what his tarted-up ex thinks of me. He needed someone to talk to yesterday. And it’s not like I don’t understand that; after all, I could do with someone to talk to myself.
When I look up again, Erik is shaking his head silently. Apologetically. “I’d prefer it if you just go now,” he says, looking at Nadine. “Thank you for the rolls. But we’d really prefer to be alone.”
She nods, smiles. Puts on an expression of understanding. “Can I finish my coffee first?”
“If you must.”
Now, as she looks at Erik, she looks genuinely hurt. “Your tone was completely different yesterday. But I understand why my being here is uncomfortable for you.” Now she’s openly staring at the right side of my face.
I almost grin. “You’re wrong.”
She understood exactly what I mean, but she feigns innocence. “Wrong about what?”
“That my injuries have something to do with Erik. That is what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”
She hesitates only briefly. “It all adds up though, doesn’t it? He calls me, completely beside himself, and when I try to check up on you the next day…” She makes a vague hand movement in my direction. “Erik was never violent when he
was with me,” she adds more quietly.
It’s clear now that she’s crossed a line. Erik comes over, positions himself behind me, and puts his hands on my shoulders. “You’re totally right, Nadine,” he says, in a dangerously low tone. “I wasn’t. And I never will be violent, especially not with Jo, for whom I feel much more strongly than I ever did with you.”
She recoils as if he’d slapped her in the face and takes a few seconds before she answers. “Oh really? Then—no offense—but your taste has gone downhill of late. I didn’t know you went for the boring, pale, and frumpy look nowadays.”
Even while she still speaking, she realizes she’s making a mistake, I can see it in her eyes.
“OK, I shouldn’t have said that,” she adds, giving me an apologetic smile. “I know that you’ve only just got out of the hospital. But it’s still unusual—normally Erik goes for a completely different type.”
I can feel his grip tightening on my shoulders. “Do you want to hear it again? You do, don’t you? I love Jo, and I think she’s beautiful. I told you so yesterday, and I can tell you again, as many times as you want to hear it.”
Now Nadine visibly gears up for an attack. “And I told you that the two of you don’t match. You told me she forgets things about you. What kind of relationship is that?” She looks me up and down quickly, this time without any trace of sympathy. “And you’re clearly hitting her. Even if she denies it, but apparently that’s quite common in codependent relationships. And just look at the way you’re holding on to her now. Pushing her down, to be more precise.”
Erik laughs, but Nadine doesn’t stop. “It was never like that with us. Don’t you remember? We had our differences, but more than anything we had fun and a wonderful trusting relationship and—”
“This is unbelievable,” Erik says, interrupting her. “Did you really come here to tell me that, first of all, I’m mistreating Jo, and, second of all, that you’re the better choice for me? Have you lost your mind? How did you think this was going to go? That I’d have a quick think about things, break up with Jo, and go back to you? Really?”
There’s no way she can say yes in response, and she doesn’t try. “I came here to remind you of the fact that a relationship doesn’t have to be like the mess you’re in right now. Regardless of who it’s with. If you didn’t want my help, then why did you call me?”
“To be honest, I’m wondering that myself,” Erik replies. “I’m very aware of the fact that it was a mistake. To be fair, I already knew that yesterday, even while we were still on the phone. Now, Nadine, would you please leave?”
She takes a sip of her coffee, acting as if she didn’t hear him; she’s probably thinking up a new strategy.
I watch her in silence, feeling a little bewildered. Suddenly she turns her attentions on me again, her eyes narrowing. “Erik says you have gaps in your memory, specifically in regard to him. You know, I think that says a lot. It may well be that he loves you, but do you feel the same way?”
Her question actually makes me feel embarrassment. The answer that lies on my tongue—I barely know him—is not one I can give. To say no, in this situation, would be completely heartless and disloyal to Erik. And … I’m actually beginning to like him. Maybe that’s inadvisable, risky, or even crazy, especially considering his fit of rage yesterday, but it’s true. He’s still standing behind me, the warmth from his hands on my shoulders spreading through my whole body. Just like Nadine, he’s waiting for an answer.
“I don’t think I need to give you an account of how I feel,” I say, lacing my tone with the appropriate level of sharpness. “I don’t know you. My feelings for Erik are none of your business.”
She laughs. “Well, if that’s the case … Then have a nice life together. But I know Erik, and I’ve known him longer than you. He’s not in a good place, and if you’re the reason for that, then you won’t be part of his life for much longer.”
Erik takes his hands from my shoulders and moves a step toward Nadine. “You don’t know me quite as well as you think. Otherwise you’d know just how pitiful I find this whole act. You wanted us to stay friends, didn’t you?” He leans toward her, propping his hands on the surface of the table. “Well, there’s no chance of that now. And I’ll happily spell it out for you again: I love Joanna, and you’re the last person who could do anything to change that.”
Now there’s so much raw hurt in her expression that I even feel sorry for her. “OK,” she mumbles. “I only meant well, I wanted to…” She stands up, reaching for her handbag. “Whatever. I guess I was wrong.”
In the doorway she turns around one more time, looks at Erik, then leaves without another word.
20
I feel that Nadine showing up here has unleashed something. Maybe for Joanna as well, but definitely for me in any case. Within me.
That special warmth I used to feel when Joanna was close to me, when we looked at each other, when we talked … I couldn’t feel any of it yesterday. I was searching for it, hoping it was still there. The fear that it might have vanished forever—that was probably what was making me despair the most.
But now the warmth is back. I can feel it quite clearly.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and they’re not just empty words, I really am. “Calling Nadine was a stupid mistake. I was just…”
“It’s OK.” Her voice, her gaze. How could I think, even for just a second, of giving this woman up? Whatever happened to her, it’s not her fault. At this difficult time, she needs me more than ever.
Was I really going to abandon her?
“She’s still in love with you.” There’s no accusation, no anger in her voice. It’s an observation.
No. I don’t want to talk about Nadine now. She’s a nuisance, especially at this moment, when all these feelings have come back.
“That’s not important. She’s not important and hasn’t been for some time. She never meant to me what you do, Jo. No woman ever has. And none ever could. I only wish you wouldn’t just believe me, but that you’d know it again for yourself. Just like you did only a few days ago.”
“Yes, I wish that, too.” She takes a couple of steps toward me. She hasn’t done that even once these past few days. Every movement had always been away from me. Our eyes are fixed on each other, joined as if by some invisible bridge, over which this wonderful warmth seems to be flowing from her body into mine.
“I believe you, Erik. I still can’t remember any of the things you told me about us. But I believe you. There’s this sense of familiarity. Maybe that’s the beginning of a memory.”
“That would be nice.”
Another step. Only a couple of feet are separating us now.
“I’m frightened. You understand that, don’t you?”
I think about the situation she’s in. She doesn’t know whether she’s being completely deceived or whether she’s simply losing her mind. Or has already lost it, perhaps.
“Yes, I understand very well, Jo.”
“I believe you, but I’m still terribly frightened of getting involved with you. If I do that and it turns out you’re…”
I can feel her looking for the words to describe what she means without hurting me.
“That I’m lying to you?”
“That you’re pulling the wool over my eyes, for whatever reason. I wouldn’t be able to deal with that. It’s hard enough as it is. The uncertainty, the doubts. The fear that I’m going insane.”
Just one step between us now, and I’m the one who takes it. As my hands search for hers, they brush her thigh. She doesn’t shy away. Our fingers meet, become entwined. My heart is beating so quickly Joanna can probably see the artery in my neck pulsating. How often have we stood like this before, looking at each other, touching each other? And yet it’s completely different this time.
There’s that sense of excitement that comes at the first touch, that sense of anxiety about whether this tentative attempt to get closer will be reciprocated. But also, the certainty of know
ing how it will feel when the hands you’re holding are stroking your skin, all over your body. It’s a paradox, a crazy mixture, a state of being I’ve never experienced before.
My heart is set to burst out of my chest when her face, suddenly, is only mere inches away from mine. Not only can I feel her breath, I suck it in, almost as soon as it’s left her slightly parted lips. It soothes me, numbing the glaring emotional pain I had felt just moments before.
Something pulls me in even closer to her, a vortex I can’t resist, don’t want to resist. Across the now almost nonexistent distance between us, her eyes look ever so big. Like misty blue oceans, and I let myself fall into them.
Our lips touch, tentatively at first, almost shyly. We breathe into each other’s mouths, slowing time down to a mere fraction of its normal pace. It no longer meanders along in seconds, but by the same rhythm to which we breathe, taking each other in. Her hand pulls away from mine; two heartbeats later I feel it at the nape of my neck. The tip of her tongue playfully traces over the contours of my mouth, but immediately withdraws like a timid animal when I try to respond. It’s back the next second, as if she were trying to tease me.
Everything within me is pushing me toward Joanna, wanting to get as close to her as possible, with an intensity I’ve never known before. And yet I willingly surrender myself to the gentle play of her lips and tongue. A tentative exploration, the way it would usually be on the first kiss.
The events of the past days, the pain, the despair, the anger, they all become meaningless for that one moment. I don’t know if we’ve been standing here like this for minutes or seconds when she finally lets the tips of our tongues touch. Time becomes insignificant. Everything around us completely loses all meaning as our timid game turns into an intimate kiss and we succumb to each other.
My hands move around her waist, stray to her back, and pull her closer toward me. I feel her body next to mine, hear her breath getting quicker. We kiss with increasing passion; our hands glide over each other’s bodies. Caressing, feeling, exploring. My lower abdomen is pushing against hers; there’s nothing I can do to stop the grinding of my hips, and I don’t want to either. I feel her adjusting to my rhythm, letting me lead her like we were dancing. Not only do I hear her moaning, I can feel it on my lips. It fires me on; our kiss becomes ever more intense, ever more expectant.
Strangers Page 13
