“Did you open the drawer?” Linda asked.
I nodded.
“Chris made me go along with stuff I didn’t actually want to do. He said if I truly loved him I would show it. When I finally dared to put my foot down, he was enraged. He tied my hands behind my back and stuffed a ball gag in my mouth. I could hardly breathe.”
I gasped for breath automatically. Memories struck me like lightning.
“He raped me. I suppose he must have wanted me to resist. That was how he liked it. I realized that then.”
I thought of Chris’s gentle hands in the bathtub at the Grand. The water lapping rhythmically against our bodies. Nothing that Linda said seemed to match the Chris I knew.
“Why didn’t you go to the police?”
“I did, but they closed the investigation. Chris’s mom is a law professor and knows every prosecutor and judge in this country. Chris is a successful entrepreneur and a millionaire. Why would anyone believe me?”
“When did you file the police report?” I asked.
Linda shifted side to side.
“In April.”
“After you left him?” Amina asked.
Linda nodded.
“After you left him?” I said. “Or was it the other way around?”
She closed her eyes for a brief moment and dried her cheek.
“The other way around,” she said quietly.
I spat on the sidewalk. Ahead of me, another bus pulled up and a woman with a suitcase jumped aside as the water splashed over the sidewalk.
“That’s my bus,” I said, running after it.
70
I stretch out on the bed in my cell and stare at a stain on the ceiling until it starts to grow and come to life and float into an optical illusion of blurry colors and patterns.
I think about Chris. Maybe there is something to Shirine’s chatter about brain chemistry and emotions and the need for stimulus. But does that mean I shouldn’t blame myself? In the end, I suppose everyone has to take responsibility for their own actions. Dopamine and serotonin and adrenaline can never be held accountable. Extenuating circumstances? I don’t know.
I knew who Chris Olsen was. At least I should have.
Impulses and feelings only exist for a moment. I’ve always thought that love is different, a choice you make. A crush flames up and fades out. Jeez, I fall in love, like, ten times a day on any given random Tuesday in October. But I didn’t choose to fall for Chris. Or did I? Was I even capable of choosing?
Why does my stomach hurt when I think about it?
Everything comes back around. Confusion and disgust.
Betrayal.
When I think about Amina, it’s like my skin starts to split. The sorrow and guilt swell up and give me total motion sickness.
I think about Esther Greenwood and Holden Caulfield. Is it even possible to survive this life with reason intact?
I’m not at all prepared when Shirine shows up. I fly to the edge of the bed and hide my tears behind my hands.
“What is it?” she asks, putting her leather briefcase down on the desk.
“Nothing,” I mumble. “Just tired.”
She bends down and places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
I slowly turn my face up toward her and let the tears come.
71
On Friday, Amina and I split a kebab platter on the sofa, even though Mom and Dad had made me promise only to eat in the kitchen or at the dining room table.
“Don’t disappoint your father” was the last thing Mom said before they left.
Story of my life, in some ways.
“I can’t believe you inflicted that psycho on me,” I said, glaring at Amina.
“What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t get rid of her.”
“Honestly, Amina. That Linda Lokind found out who you were and tracked you down. She must have stalked you. Just like she stalked Chris.”
Amina bit her lip. She so clearly wanted to protest, but I guess she realized it wasn’t the right time.
We’d searched online for more info about Linda, some sort of proof that she was a few sandwiches short of a picnic, but Linda Lokind was as good as invisible.
“You’ve got something there,” Amina said, pointing with her plastic fork. “No, there. Higher up.”
I moved my finger up my cheek and wiped away a smear of sauce.
Amina sighed. She gets embarrassed whenever I’m messy and sloppy. She uses her utensils like surgical instruments, making tiny mouse-sized portions that slip into her mouth so she hardly needs to open it. You can never see her chewing.
“Tegnérs tonight?” she said. “Please, please, please.”
“No way.”
I’d had a headache all afternoon and all I wanted to do was crash on the couch and sleep for ten hours. This day was made for a crappy night in. And I didn’t have to worry about Chris. He’d texted to say he was going to meet up with an old friend and we would talk another day. For some reason I was trembling at the thought of having to break up with him. I didn’t know whether I should take the bull by the horns and tell the truth or let it just kind of fade away.
“Please,” said Amina. “I’m begging you.”
She wanted to dance, party, meet people. She said she was feeling more stoked than ever. And, of course, like the best friend I want and try to be, I rallied. We goofed around, dancing to old Eurovision songs, crowding in front of the mirror in the hall, changing and exchanging outfits. Just before midnight we got on our bikes and breezed down the hills toward Tegnérs.
* * *
We tossed our hair and sweated beneath explosions of light on the dance floor. Amina held my hand as we slalomed between whirling nightclub bodies, and we soon landed at the bar, breathless, to order ciders from the bearded bartender.
I was drenched with sweat and my head was pounding.
“Look at that!” Amina said, pointing across the bar. “Wasn’t he supposed to be with an old friend?”
Chris was standing with his back to the bar, leaning slightly over a bare-shouldered girl with silver earrings. They were laughing, and her hand gently brushed his elbow.
“Who is she?” said Amina.
I grabbed my cider and rounded the bar. Chris was just about to turn around—he was still laughing when he discovered me.
“Stella! You’re here too?”
I tensed my whole body in protest when he hugged me. The girl with all the earrings looked at me in surprise.
“This is my friend Beatrice,” said Chris.
I sized her up as we shook hands. She was around twenty-five, or maybe thirty, and wore a lot of makeup. She had big lips and a tight body.
“Sorry,” I said. “When you said ‘old friend,’ I thought…”
“Old?” Beatrice said with a laugh.
Chris faked a look of shame.
“So how do you know each other?” I asked.
“Originally through Chris’s ex,” said Beatrice.
Chris pretended not to hear and said something about how much he liked my top. He didn’t seem into this conversation at all, but I wasn’t about to let it go.
“You mean Linda?” I asked.
Beatrice looked at Chris, who yielded to her with a shrug.
“Linda and I became friends back in school,” said Beatrice. “I was actually there the first time she and Chris met. We hung out quite a bit back in the beginning of their relationship, before she … got sick.”
She lowered her head a little.
“Sick?” I said.
Beatrice nodded, but didn’t elaborate.
“Linda tracked me down,” I said, turning to Chris, who face-palmed.
“Seriously?”
“She even found Amina. She wanted to warn us about you. She claimed you did some pretty sick stuff.”
“Jesus Christ,” said Chris. “I’ve had enough of this. She’s out to ruin my life, no matter what it takes.”
“It’s so sad,” Beatrice said, patting Chris’s
arm. “Linda was the sweetest girl in the world when I first got to know her. So kind and considerate. Yeah, maybe she was a little paranoid and jealous even then, but who would have ever thought things would end up like this?”
“Can’t she get help?” I asked. “Like, from a psychiatrist?”
“Linda’s been seeing therapists since she was a teenager,” said Chris.
“Unfortunately it’s only getting worse,” said Beatrice. “When Chris broke up with her, she totally lost it.”
More or less as I had suspected. Linda Lokind wasn’t entirely right in the head. I shot Amina a meaningful look.
She placed a hand on my shoulder.
“Bathroom,” she said.
“But…”
“Now please. Before I pee myself.”
* * *
We closed ourselves into a stall and took turns peeing. I felt warm and out of sorts; my head was heavy. Was it some sort of virus? Maybe I had just been working too hard.
“What’s up with you?” Amina asked.
“I don’t know. I’m beat.”
Really, all I wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed.
“Now do you believe me?” I asked. “Do you get that Linda Lokind is totally disturbed?”
She slapped her forehead to illustrate how dumb she had been.
“How was I supposed to know? I didn’t want to take the chance.”
“It’s fine,” I assured her.
“He’s awfully yummy,” Amina said with a sly smile.
“Who?”
“Your summer fling.”
I smiled, but an instant later I was struck with an urgent sense of unease. I didn’t know where it came from or what it meant, but it crept through my body.
“Now, come on!” Amina said, opening the stall door. “I’m so freaking hyped!”
We wound our way to the center of the roiling dance floor. I battled my sleepiness as Amina put on a show. She pumped her arms and laughter rose from her mouth like soap bubbles.
I looked for Chris in the crowd and found him standing at the bar. Amina followed close behind me as I walked up to him.
“Where is Beatrice?” I asked.
“She went home to her boyfriend.”
My head was heavy. The beats throbbed in my belly and my legs felt weaker and weaker.
“I’m not feeling well. I think I need to leave too.”
Both Chris and Amina looked at me in concern.
“Should I come with you?” Chris asked.
“No, stay here with Amina. I’ll bike home and go to bed.”
I gave him a quick peck and hugged Amina.
“You sure?” she said.
“Sorry,” I replied.
The fresh air did me good. My head didn’t feel as heavy any longer and I felt new strength in my legs as I biked home through town. After two Tylenol and a Hydralyte, I collapsed in bed with my phone and was out like a light.
* * *
I woke up because my pillow was vibrating; I flew up and tracked down my phone, which had slipped between the headboard and the mattress.
“Hello?”
Amina was gasping on the other end.
“I have to tell you something.”
“What’s going on?”
“I went home with Chris.”
I felt a stab of pain in my chest. What did she mean?
“It just happened. We shared a taxi. I forgot I had my bike at Tegnérs.”
She took a breath. My heart was pounding.
“Did anything happen?” I asked.
“No, no, nothing.”
“Nothing?”
I flopped back down on my pillow.
“Of course nothing happened. What the hell did you think?”
“No, of course not.”
“I just wanted to tell you I went home with him.”
I said something about how that was just fine, no problem, nothing had happened.
I had made up my mind to end things with Chris. But now I wasn’t so sure.
“Are you feeling better?” Amina asked.
“I think so.”
I checked the time. Four thirty in the morning.
“Now get home and into bed before Dino starts to worry.”
Amina laughed nervously.
“He’s already called twice.”
“Talk tomorrow. Love you.”
Five percent battery. I found the charger on the floor and was just about to plug it in when I realized I had a new text from a number I didn’t recognize.
Please, stay away from Chris. He’s dangerous.
72
I wake in a cold sweat, no idea what time it is. It might be before midnight, or almost morning. In here, the passage of time means nothing.
Something is chasing after me. I vault out of bed and spin around the room. The smell is just as pungent, just as strong as when I first arrived.
I pound hysterically on the locked door as terrifying images press into my mind. So true to life that the boundary between dream and reality is erased.
“Let me out!” I roar at the door, still beating at it although my fists throb and ache.
In my mind I see Chris’s blood-drenched body on the ground. How it jerks and writhes even as fresh blood pumps from the cuts in his stomach.
“Open the door!”
I bang my forehead against the hard metal and sink to my knees as my fingernails tear desperately at the door.
At last the hatch slides open and a frightened eye stares down at me. It’s Elsa.
“Help,” I croak.
I’m drowning. My body just keeps sinking even though I’m already in a pile on the floor. I force my way upward and reach out my arms, but the air is too thick. It’s like trying to swim in cement.
“Mom! Mom!”
Elsa orders me to back away from the door and slowly I manage to crawl away as I hear Elsa calling for help.
I lie on my back and stare up at the ceiling as they examine me. Their voices are far away, like faint whispers in the distance.
The image of Chris dying comes back over and over. That pulsating, bloody body on the ground.
A medic slaps my face. I explain that I’m having trouble breathing, that there’s something wrong with my throat. He brings a glass of water to my lips, but most of it ends up running down my chin and cheek. He gets help from a guard to sit me up.
There are several strange hands in my face. Rubber gloves feeling inside my mouth. Someone shoves two pills into me and says I’m going to sleep.
“No!” I roar, flailing my limbs.
Sleep is dangerous. I don’t want to go back there.
“I don’t want to!” I scream.
They’re behind me, restraining me.
I take a deep breath and hold it. I can actually feel the oxygen streaming into my blood and my pulse starts to calm down.
I see Elsa, backed into the corner and trembling, looking like a lost child.
“The police,” I manage to say. “I want to talk to the police.”
I don’t know what I’m going to tell them: the whole truth, part of the truth, or something that has nothing at all to do with the truth. I just know I need to talk. I have to tell, before I explode.
73
Chris wanted to come over to my house.
I want to see how you live, he texted. I’d love to meet your parents too, but maybe we should hold off on that. Anyway, it’ll be perfect since they’re off on their trip.
I looked around. Clothes, bags, and random objects were strewn all over. The kitchen smelled like something had died in there and I had built a mountain of underwear and tank tops in the laundry room.
Okay, I responded. But give me two hours.
I had to talk to him. This couldn’t continue. Even if I enjoyed his laid-back attitude and his desire to live in the moment, I had to make sure that we were on the same page about what we were doing. I was afraid someone was going to get hurt.
After the incident with the car,
it sure couldn’t hurt to make the house look nice before Mom and Dad came home on Friday. I started with the living room. I straightened, vacuumed, and scrubbed the table. On to the kitchen. I emptied the dishwasher and reloaded it, put stuff away in the cupboards, and scrubbed the counter until it gleamed.
At last I had a whole pile of garbage bags in the entryway. The stench prickled my nostrils as I lugged them through the door.
I absolutely adore those warm summer nights when the sun has set, but there’s still a little bit of light left in the sky, when the air stands perfectly still and the birds are singing lullabies.
After I’d dumped the garbage bags in the bin, I lingered on the driveway, just enjoying a rare sense of peace in my body.
Suddenly something flapped around in the bushes. A quick movement. A bird, maybe?
I walked over to check. More flapping. A large shadow against the wall.
My heart flew into my throat. I didn’t dare breathe.
“Is someone there?” I asked out loud.
Five meters away, the bushes moved again. Rustling leaves, the crack of a twig.
“Who is it?”
I dug through my pockets for my phone but realized I must have left it in the house.
I ran back and pulled the door shut behind me. I flipped both locks and listened to my own gasping breath.
Was I imagining things? Was I becoming paranoid?
Maybe it was just a bird. A large bird. Or some other animal. A cat?
Or was someone sneaking around out there?
* * *
Chris brought a bouquet of roses. I didn’t mention what had happened when I was taking out the trash.
He walked through the house like a museumgoer. The first thing he did in my room was sit on the bed and bounce as if he wanted to check its durability. Then he caught sight of the wall with my map of Asia on it, with pins in all the spots I wanted to see.
“You had a map already?”
It was pretty awkward. I hadn’t been able to say anything when I received the present from him, and I didn’t know what to say now either.
A Nearly Normal Family Page 24