Dandelion Girl

by Isa Hansen

  He shot the door open with a bang and stormed out.

  Celia was right behind him.

  Her skin was hit by frigid cold.

  They both stood, nose-breathing in an empty room.

  The door out to the yard was swinging open and creaking on its hinge.

  Celia hurried to get the door shut. The room wasn’t insulated for winter, and the open doorway only made it colder. She cursed inwardly. “I must have forgotten to close the door when I went out to the compost,” she said to Oskar. She thought back to when she’d gone out. She had the big bucket in her arms. But she couldn’t recall whether she had locked the door after her. She couldn’t believe herself. How incredibly stupid, to forget something like that.

  “Did you hear anything else?” Oskar asked, “Or just this?”

  “Just this, I think, but I’m not sure.”

  “Let’s do a check, just to be safe.”

  While they went through every room in the house, Celia’s jittering heart slowly calmed. They turned on lights, listened for sounds.

  There was nothing out of place.

  Nothing to be found.

  Once they’d gone through the entirety of both floors, they returned to the living room.

  Oskar settled back down on the sofa and Celia sat down next to him.

  Even though they’d secured the house, she was still unsettled. She couldn’t imagine going back to bed alone right now. Although there was a possibility she was using the fright as an excuse when she asked: “Can I stay and sleep here with you?”

  He responded instantly. “Of course.”

  They climbed into the sleeping bag, him first, holding it open for her.

  At first she tried to figure out how to navigate. She lay stiffly, keeping several good inches between them. Should she continue to keep the distance, or should she…? She didn’t have time to finish the thought.

  Oskar wrapped his arms around her. “Is this OK?” He bowed his head over her shoulder, his hair brushing against her neck.

  “More than.” To show she meant it, she wiggled closer to him.

  His heartbeat drummed against her back. She tucked her arms into his. Still cold from being out in the veranda and from the shock of the scare, she couldn’t get enough of his warmth.

  Resting her head against his forearm, she just lay, basking in being so near, feeling the rise and drop of his chest and the beating of his heart.

  To hell with stalkers and fears, she decided. Tonight she’d push that all aside and fully be there, with him.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Mmm,” he said.

  “How many times have you been in love?”

  A little pause behind her. “Four times, I think. Although the first one wasn’t real. So just three. The first girl wasn’t real, that is.”

  “Oh?” Celia angled toward him. “I wouldn’t have seen you as the type to have imaginary friends.”

  “Not quite like that,” Oskar said. “I mean, she was a fictional character, my first love. When I was eight.”

  “Ooh. A fictional character.” She half turned and lifted herself up on one elbow. “Anyone I would’ve heard of?”

  “Do you know the children’s author Astrid Lindgren?”

  “Oh my gosh,” Celia giggled, bouncing. “You were in love with Pippi Longstocking!”

  Oskar laughed and shook his head. “She wrote more than that one book.”

  Celia settled down. “OK. Who then?”

  “No, this was Ronja. She was daughter of the leader of a band of thieves.” Oskar shifted his weight to the side, snugging his arm around Celia. “She would ride galloping horses, swim against the current, fight murder birds, and defy every danger in the forest. And she had a companion with her—a boy her age—named Birk. I even looked a little like the actor in the movie. So it was easy to imagine myself into her life and away from my own.”

  He pulled his fingers through Celia’s hair, flicking the strands with his finger tips. “I was in awe of her. She was wild and fearless and a little bit crazy. She actually became my type then. When I started falling for girls for real, they were often like her: a bit crazy.” There was a smile in his voice. “I’d probably have been better off liking girls who were more like me, boring and tame, but those girls never attracted me as much.”

  “Huh,” Celia said.

  Oskar stopped playing with her hair. “Do you find me boring?”

  “Boring? Why?”

  “Because I’m safe and predictable.”

  “No,” she said. She slowly twisted her body around so that she was fully facing him. “I don’t.”

  They were just inches away from each other. His chest was rising and falling faster and her own heartbeat quickened.

  If she was ever going to kiss him, this was the time. She lifted herself a little. He moved in at the same time and their lips met.

  She was immediately hit by insecurity. Tongue, no tongue? Just stick it in? She’d kissed before but it was more like guys forcing their tongues into her mouth; wet and sloppy. It was nothing she wanted to emulate.

  So she just grazed his lips and retracted.

  She pushed herself up, letting the sleeping bag fall to her waist. “I want to do things with you. Hug and kiss and be close, but I’m not good at this, and I don’t know how far I want to go…” She cut herself off, thinking how silly she must sound to him.

  He raised himself so their eyes were level. “We won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. If something doesn’t feel good, tell me right away, OK?”

  She nodded.

  Oskar contemplated her. “You said before that you don’t respond sexually to people but that sometimes you do sensually. So then, what on a person do you find sensual?”

  “Oh,” Celia said, straightening herself a little. “Well. Hands, lips, eyes, definitely the neck.” She thought some more. “Arms and chests on guys, the curve of the back on girls, and, I have a thing for wrists, too.”

  “Wrists?” Oskar said. “That’s not something I’ve paid much attention to.”

  “Then you’ve been missing out.”

  He laughed and took her hands in his, angling them around. “You have very nice wrists.”

  “Yours aren’t so bad either.”

  They went quiet, small smiles, eyes locked on the other.

  She moved up and brushed her lips against his cheek. And when she kept still it didn’t take long for his mouth to find hers.

  This time she didn’t have to think, it just happened.

  The first kiss was soft and subtle.

  Mostly lips touching.

  After that, they slowly tangled into each other, deeper, his hands slipping down her back, her arms hooked around his shoulders.

  She settled down into the sofa. He lay down next to her. Her heart was like a furnace, warm and glowing, radiating from within.

  For a few moments they beheld each other; his eyes wandered over her face.

  He lifted his hand, slightly tipping her chin.

  Then their mouths drew back together, their bodies pressing close, her feet wrapped around his legs just above the ankles.

  She took a pause from the kissing to softly say in Southern belle: “Well, Oskar Wiklund, I do declare…”

  Making out was different when it was with someone she cared for and felt completely secure with. Not that she knew what making out was supposed to feel like.

  And maybe she didn’t experience it the way other people did, but for what it was worth, she liked it. The elated tingles that spread through her. The solid comfort and warmth of his body—how his embrace felt like a shelter.

  They sank deeper into the sofa. She was pretty sure he’d have taken things farther if given the chance, but he didn’t grope and he didn’t pressure.

  He murmured something inaudible into her hair, and the thought struck her that if she and her friends were in a bubble, then she and Oskar were in an even smaller and tighter bubble.

  S
he knew it wouldn’t last; they couldn’t stay there forever. Sooner or later things would change between them. Eventually they’d get bound down by decisions and labels and parameters. But right in that moment, none of that mattered. Right then, there was something so easy between them, so comforting, and she just kept thinking how she wanted to stay there with him—in that warm, safe place—and never leave.

  ***

  When Celia woke up hours later, a bleak stream of light was shining in through the living room window. She was tucked into the sleeping bag with Oskar like a double bratwurst in a bun. Oskar had his one arm wrapped around her, his head resting on the other. Carefully she moved his arm so she could sit up. She leaned toward the kitchen and scanned the clock on the microwave. It was past noon.

  Now Oskar shifted, too. He moved slowly from behind her, sitting up as well.

  The doorbell rang.

  She disentangled herself from the sleeping bag and stumbled to the kitchen door.

  The door was unlocked. She froze for a second.

  Had she not locked it the night before?

  She was sure she did. Damn, how could she be getting so careless?

  A young DHL delivery man stood opposite her. “God morgon,” he said, his voice cheerful and a bit teasing, probably in response to Celia looking newly awake well into the day.

  “Package for Celia Lindberg.”

  He handed a signing device to her.

  She wrote on it and handed it back.

  The DHL guy gave her the package and parted with a greeting. She closed the door, making sure to lock it this time.

  Her parents had said they’d sent her a package that should arrive a few days after Christmas. She’d have to let them know it had arrived.

  She set it down on the counter.

  By now Oskar had loped into the room.

  “What do you want to eat?” she asked him.

  They’d been rotating between light European and heavier American style breakfasts.

  “American pancakes?” Oskar said.

  The face on him was so hopeful that Celia laughed. “I’m on it.”

  American pancakes was one of the few things she could make well. She’d made them with blueberries the other morning and Oskar had been enthralled with them.

  Personally, Celia preferred the thin, buttery and delicate Swedish pancakes, but she’d make American pancakes for Oskar all the time if that would bring him joy.

  They turned out just as well this time, Celia was pleased to find.

  It wasn’t until after the meal when they were cleaning up that it happened. She was doing some dishes that wouldn’t fit into the dishwasher and Oskar was wiping down the counter.

  He stopped what he was doing: “Celia...”

  She glanced up from where she stood with her hands in the soapy water. “Yeah?”

  He stood by the package that had arrived earlier, his hand tightening into a fist around the rag. “Did you look at this?”

  “It’s from my parents. I’ll open it later.”

  His body was tense. “It has Liv’s name on it.”

  “What?” Celia pulled out her sudsy hands and wiped them. “No, it was for me.”

  She crossed the room and he handed the package to her.

  Her eyes immediately went to the label.

  Celia Lindberg

  Then under it:

  c/o Liv Sörensson.

  “Shit,” she said.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  She set the parcel on the kitchen table and drew her hand from it like it had just burned her.

  Oskar approached. “Do you want me to open it?”

  “No, I can—” she found a scissors and stabbed at the package.

  Clawed off the layers of paper.

  It was an iPhone.

  She set it down and gripped the tabletop. Fumbling for a chair, she seated herself.

  Oskar was staring at the phone as if it were about to explode.

  “Well, let’s see what we have,” she said, working to keep her hands and voice steady.

  She pressed the power button. The screen lit up.

  The interface looked like that of a completely new phone.

  She scrolled through the apps.

  No messages, no emails.

  Except, when she clicked to the camera, there were two images.

  A picture and a video.

  There was a quiver to her words when she said, “Here we go.”

  She clicked on the picture first.

  Celia stared at it for a second, her brain trying to assimilate.

  Then she sprang up from her chair, stepping backwards, her hand over her mouth. “Oh no. Oh my God…”

  Soon after a hiss of Swedish expletives came from Oskar.

  The picture was of the two of them.

  Together on the sofa, sleeping.

  Last night. The stalker had been there. In the house.

  Celia stood paralyzed, her hand still over her mouth.

  “The door wasn’t locked this morning,” she mumbled through her fingers. “That’s why: he let himself out that way.” Her eyes darted around the kitchen, not falling on anything in particular.

  “What’s in the video?” Oskar said, his voice shattered.

  She slumped back down on the chair.

  Clicked on the video and pressed play.

  Oskar leaned in, close to her shoulder.

  At first she had a hard time seeing what is was; the image was dark and coarse.

  But then nausea sank through her.

  It was her in the video.

  Sleeping.

  She was being filmed from only a few feet away.

  He had been in her room.

  He’d been right there.

  In the video she moved.

  She was waking up.

  The image slowly withdrew.

  Pulled itself down.

  Then went black.

  Her heart clattered while she tried to understand.

  The flicker of light she saw when she woke up; it had been a phone.

  “Under my bed…” she said, her throat hoarse. “When I woke up last night, he was under my bed.”

  Oskar was rubbing his arms fervently. With a sudden move, he shot up from the table. “OK, we have to decide—how are we going to do this?”

  Hazily, she looked up at him.

  His voice was all business: “Let’s get this over with. Should we take the car to the station? Or call first? I’d say let’s just go.” He pointed. “Bring that phone. And your phone. They need to see all the messages.”

  Celia stared down into the graininess of the video. She’d restarted it and was watching from the beginning. She knew Oskar was right; they’d lost control.

  It was time to get help.

  And yet she was stalling.

  Because as strong as her fear was, another instinct was soaring higher, taking over every fiber of her being: the urge to fight. The urge to win. It rushed through her so vigorously that it brought the taste of iron to her mouth.

  The truth was, she had become addicted to it all in some twisted way. It had turned into a game. A dangerous game, but a game nonetheless. And she wasn’t willing to give it up.

  With her face down in the phone, she said. “Maybe I can still figure it out. Maybe with just a little more time…”

  “You don’t need more time.” There was a hard edge to Oskar’s words. “You need to end this right now.”

  “Yeah, I get what you’re saying, but—”

  “No. It’s enough now.”

  Celia pulled up her head from the phone.

  Oskar held his eyes on her, resolute, unwavering. “We’re going to file a report. It would be better if you did, since you’re the victim, but if you don’t, I will. One way or another, it’s going to happen.”

  Victim. Her mind caught on the word. It seemed wrong, out of place. She didn’t feel like a victim, though she realized that’s what it must look like to anyone else.

  “I
t’s my fault for getting you involved in this,” she said, thumbing the phone. “This is my problem, not yours, and you—”

  “What is wrong with you?” Oskar pressed his hands flat against his head. “You have a psychopath after you. You’re being stalked. He was there!” Oskar pointed, “Right there in your room while you slept. Filming you. And what do you do? Pretend that it’s bloody raining!” Oskar’s eyes were large, his hand still in the air. “This needs to end. How can you not see that?”

  She pressed her palms against the table, her anger rising. Not at Oskar, exactly, but at the taunting. This constant lack of control. She brought herself to her feet. “No, I don’t want to make a complaint. Not yet, not until I—”

  “I don’t care what you want,” he snapped.

  She began to speak, but he went on, a heated anger flashing across his face: “You’ve proven that you don’t think logically. You have no, what is that word in English? Konsekvenstänk. You don’t consider the danger around you and what might actually happen if you push things too far. You think like a child, but you’re not a child. You’re an adult. Start acting like one!”

  She stared at him, mouth open. She had wondered what would happen if enough of his buttons were pushed. This was definitely a side of him she hadn’t seen before.

  “Why are you being so unfair? Why do you expect me to be perfect? You don’t think I’m under pressure?” Her voice rose to a yell. “You don’t think I’m about to crack?”

  “I don’t expect you to be perfect,” he shouted back at her. “Do I understand you’re under pressure? Yes, huge amounts of pressure! That’s why you’re not going to fix this on your own. And neither am I.”

  They stood staring at each other, eyes wide, breathing hard.

  Oskar locked down his gaze on a spot on the floor and leaned back against the counter, gripping the edge with fists that quickly turned white.

  There was a knock on the door, then voices: Zari and Ebba.

  On autopilot, Celia crossed to the door to let them in.

  “We thought we’d come over and see what you kids are up to,” Ebba said, bounding into the kitchen. Once she saw Celia wild-eyed and Oskar clamped against the counter, she stopped. “You’re fighting,” she said, looking from Celia to Oskar then back to Celia. “Why?”

  There was a silence.