Make Me Believe

by Karen Ferry

  “You so are, honey.” I switch to English because I can feel my tired brain can’t take anymore Danish for today. “I love you, always and forever.”

  When my throat begins to close up with suppressed emotions, I cough lightly. “Right, enough of this. I promise to think hard about what you’ve said. But now I need details! Who’s Thomas and does he have a gorgeous friend I can borrow for a night of wild monkey sex?” I take a big bite of pizza and moan as the delicious flavours hit my tastebuds, and I lick some sauce from my lips.

  Suzy smiles and picks up her glass. “Well, this is what he’s told me so far…”

  As my friend begins to talk about her new possible love interest, I listen attentively, but a thought niggles in my mind at the same time.

  Is it time to stop hiding?

  I decide to push the thought away, for now at least, and I make an effort to only pay attention to my friend’s news the rest of the evening.

  Chapter 5

  It’s Sunday . . . the bane of my existence. I always have trouble filling the day, but it’s easier to do when I’m at university and working at the book shop; now that it’s summer and classes don’t start up again for another two months, I have way too much time on my hands.

  Suzy told me last night that she plans on seeing Thomas today, so I can’t really text her and find out if she wants to meet up.

  I sigh as I lie in bed. Well, at least I didn’t dream last night. Hoorah! I look at the clock, and I curse at the early hour: seven am. How typical: it’s summer, I’m young, and I don’t have classes, but do I manage to sleep in? Nooo, of course not. I turn on the TV that hangs on the wall opposite my bed, but after zapping through the channels twice, not finding anything remotely interesting to watch, I groan and get out of bed.

  The trouble with me is that once I wake up, I can’t lounge in the bed for hours like some people are able to do. I have to get up, I have to move, and I really can’t stand it if I don’t get to brush my teeth quickly enough.

  Yep, I’m weird, I know. Deal with it.

  I scrutinise my makeup-free face in the bathroom mirror as I go through my usual routine. My friend’s words hover in the back of my mind, but I refuse to acknowledge them. I will, however, cut back on the drinking because I know Suzanne’s right: I do drink too much.

  Why is it that we always seem to overindulge even when we know it’s wrong? At least I don’t do drugs anymore.

  Okay, this morning sucks already, and I mentally slap my cheek and try to force my thoughts to more pleasant things. Such as . . . Daniel. Uh-oh, not going there, either. That intense stare of his was a bit strange, but even worse is how my belly flips wildly when I think about him. My curiosity is piqued because I have never before felt like that when I met a guy, not even when I’m on the prowl, looking for my next hook-up.

  The words of my boss come to mind, and I reflect on his request. Sure, it can’t hurt to befriend his nephew, and I suppose I could always use another friend. It can’t be healthy that I only have Suzy to rely on, can it? And if I do want something to do, I guess I can always offer to be his tour guide.

  Pleased with my resolve, I turn on the shower before walking to my iPod station. I can’t decide exactly on what to listen to, so I press shuffle. And I immediately groan when I hear the song: “Need You Now” by Lady Antebellum.

  “Suzy, honestly!” I mutter, but something prevents me from pushing down on the forward button like I usually do. And I listen closely to the lyrics.

  “Huh. This song isn’t too bad,” I say out loud, and without thinking too much about it, I head to the shower, not bothering with closing the door behind me.

  Turning this way and that as I put on some clothes, looking more closely at my body, the thought about getting another tattoo comes back to me. I have three already: the ten stars on the back of my neck, and I also wear the Celtic symbol of the Tree Of Knowledge on the inside of my left wrist. My first tat was some hideous tribal tattoo I have on my lower back. I don’t know what I was thinking when I got that one, though, so I plan on getting it covered up at some point.

  There’s a certain design I’d love to wear on my body, and I’ve been saving up for it for a while now. It’s a dream catcher with blue feathers, and I want it on my left side, starting from the side of my breast, down my ribs, and ending at my hip bone. To tell the truth, I’m a bit nervous about having it done, because I know that the size of such a tattoo, and at that part of my body, will hurt a great deal. Yes, getting a tattoo isn’t a walk in the park, I know that. But the tattoos I already have are small, and they didn’t take long for the artists to make, so that’s why I’m hesitating about this latest one.

  As I put on a tank top, I promise myself that I’ll have made up my mind about it by the end of the summer. I love the symbolism of having a dream catcher on me forever. I could use the help of some unseen force to take away my nightmares.

  I’m sitting outside on my balcony, enjoying my coffee and breakfast, when I hear the familiar ping of my phone I have lying beside me. I look at it and mutter, “Shite.” It’s from my brother.

  Steven: Hey, little sis. Are you enjoying your summer?

  Well, there goes my positive thinking for the day.

  I know he’ll keep texting me if I don’t reply, so I quickly type back, my hands clammy with apprehension.

  Me: Much. How are you?

  A couple of seconds pass and I stare unseeingly down on the park. But then I notice a couple, obviously lovers, is sitting on one of the benches, smooching and whispering. Yuck. I turn away from them, and my heart begins to race the longer I have to wait for Steven’s reply.

  The ping makes me jump, though, and I swipe the screen to see what he says.

  Steven: I’m good. Listen, the office is sending me on a business trip to Copenhagen in two months, so can we meet up while I’m there?

  “Fuck!” I shout, and I cover my eyes with a hand. I really don’t want to see him . . . but if I refuse, he’ll just tell mum and dad about it, and then the shite will really hit the fan. The rift between us hurts them, I know, but that’s Steven’s fault. Not mine.

  I take a couple of deep breaths.

  Me: Sure. Just text me a couple of dates, and we’ll have lunch. I’ll fake some kind of illness on the day and then he won’t be able to do anything about it.

  I wait for his reply, sipping on my coffee. I refuse to let the nausea win this time. I chance a look down at the lovers, and both of them are so lost in each other, I very much doubt they heard me cursing before. When the next text lights up my screen, I quickly read it:

  Steven: Great! I’m looking forward to seeing you. I really want to talk with you about something important.

  “Ugh,” I mutter. “Yeah, yeah, you always say that, big brother.”

  Me: Okay, fine. See you in two months.

  I hit send one last time and quickly stand, gathering up my things to head back inside my flat. I’ve left a whole piece of toast with cheese and jam, but I can’t force anymore food in me.

  That’s what my brother does, causing me to lose my appetite.

  I quickly clear away the dishes, my movements jerky as edginess overcomes me, and I know I have to get out of the flat for a while. I can’t stay inside all day. Besides, it’d be a shame to do that seeing as it’s another beautiful summer’s day.

  I stand in front of my closet, wondering about what to wear, when I hear a new text.

  “Honestly?!” This day really sucks. But I relent and look at the caller ID: Unknown, it says, and I frown.

  I swipe the screen and read the text:

  Hi, this is Daniel. The Professor gave me your number. Can I come over to your place?

  “What the fuck?!” I’m completely taken by surprise, and I think a whole minute passes before I text back:

  Me: Actually, now’s not a good time. I’m headed out for the day. I huff, and I can’t help but crossing my fingers that Daniel will take the not-so-subtle hint that I don’t want to s
ee him.

  A knock follows, and I jump. What on Earth?

  I look down at myself and curse: great, I’m only wearing yoga pants, and my ample bosom is just begging for a guy to zone in on it now that it’s bra-less and close to falling out of my grey top. Also, I haven’t even put on any of my usual make-up -- blast!

  I stand there for a couple of seconds, undecided, until the door bell rings, and I walk quickly to the peep hole. Who do I find? Daniel, of course.

  “Shite!” I yell, and I cover my mouth, cringing.

  “I can hear you, you know,” he says, and -- yep, you guessed it: a blush forms on his neck.

  I frown, contemplating on being the rude Goth girl many people mistake me for, and tell Daniel to go away, but an ingrained sense of being polite takes over. Plus it’s Mr. Andersen’s nephew, so he’ll only think my behaviour mighty strange if he hears about this.

  “Sod it,” I whisper, and I unlock the door and stare hard at the unwanted guest standing before me now.

  “Don’t you think it’s pretty rude to just show up at some person’s doorstep? At an address not given to you by said person?” I snap.

  “Ummm . . . ” He seems taken aback by my questions. “Didn’t my uncle tell you that he’d given me your number? Or that I’ve moved in right next door?”

  Wait, what the what?

  “What?!” I shriek, and he looks even more nervous now. Then, lo and behold, his eyes zero in on my boobs. Typical!

  I snap my fingers in front of his face, and he immediately raises his eyes, swallowing audibly.

  “Hey!” I say. “My eyes are up here.” I narrow my own, but then I sigh and take a step back. “Listen, Mr. Andersen told me that you’d just moved here a few days ago, but he didn’t say anything about you now being my neighbour. So forgive me if I sound rude, but I’m really confused about why you’re here, okay?”

  He nods. “Sure, I understand.” He puts his hands in his pockets, and we stare silently at each other for a while. Those eyes . . . I snap out of this unusual kind of daydreaming on my part.

  “Okay,” I finally say. “How about you give me 10 minutes to get some more decent clothes on, and then come back?”

  I try to smile at him, but I can’t. I really don’t get what’s happening, and I need him to let me be for a bit.

  With relief, Daniel smiles at me, clasping his hands behind his back. “No problem. See you soon.” He takes a step back, and I quickly shut the door.

  As I lean my back on it, I take a deep breath before saying to myself, “Mr. Andersen, what are you playing at?” No voice replies back, of course, and I rush to get ready for Daniel, wondering all the time what he could possibly be doing here.

  Chapter 6

  I’m just applying the last coat of mascara when I hear the expected knock on my door. I sigh and turn my neck from side to side, gearing myself up for whatever Daniel could be up to, and I hurry to get the door for him.

  “Hi,” I say, and I take a step back, allowing him to come inside.

  He remains silent as he walks through and into my living room/bedroom. He takes a look around and I stand in the doorway, unsure of what to do. I look at the time on my phone: it’s only ten am. As the silence continues, I become more and more uncomfortable, and I cross my arms in front of me.

  “Do you want a soda or something?” I ask him, trying to break the awkward silence.

  Daniel turns away from my bookshelf and looks closely at me. I’ve only put on a pair of capris and a sleeve-less black top, and I haven’t put any shoes on. My hair hangs wildly around my face, and I curse at not having the time to do something about it. But then it hits me: Why do I even care?

  “Just some water, please,” he answers, and I go to the kitchen. I hear him follow me and I groan on the inside.

  “Listen, Daniel, I really don’t know why you’re here, so . . . ” I hint as I stand with my back to him, reaching for a glass on the shelf above the sink.

  “I know . . . ,” he answers, and I can hear how nervous he is.

  As I fill a glass of water for him, I turn to him. “Come on, out with it, then.” I smile, but I know it doesn’t look genuine.

  “You put on make-up,” he blurts out, and I roll my eyes, fed up with his stalling.

  “Yes, I know. So what? Don’t get the idea that I did it for you, though. I always wear make-up when I’m around people.” I walk closer to him and hand him the glass of water.

  “We can sit outside on the balcony,” I tell him, and I brush past him.

  I take a seat and surreptitiously look down to the hidden pack of cigarettes I keep behind the door as Daniel takes the other chair beside me. I only smoke when I drink, or when I can’t fall back to sleep after having a nightmare, but I’m seriously thinking about lighting one up right about now.

  Daniel takes a sip of water, and then he sighs. “I need your help,” he mumbles, but he doesn’t meet my eye. In fact, his entire body language seems withdrawn and definitely embarrassed.

  “What do you mean?” I ask him, and I’m more confused than ever.

  “Well . . .” He hesitates before finally manning up and meeting my stare. “I’m dyslexic,” he blurts out.

  I shrug. “So? Many people are dyslexic, Daniel.” My voice softens. “It’s nothing to be ashamed about, you know.” And it still doesn’t tell me anything about why he’s here.

  He looks away, towards the park across from the complex, and a flush starts to spread on his neck again.

  “It is when you are about to study English at the university,” he answers back.

  “Oh, I see.” But I really don’t. I mean, I can imagine that it’s bound to cause some trouble, and it’s far from easy being a student at all these days.

  Daniel remains silent, still staring straight ahead. I allow him more time to get to the point, but, finally, I lose patience and ask him, “So why do you need my help?”

  He ignores my question. “You know, I’m 24 years old, and I’m just now about to start classes. I’ll be considered an “older student”, and lots of people will ask me the same questions over and over again; they’ll be wondering about me, because, on top of the dyslexic part, I have problems with my speech as well.” He looks at me but then turns away again before continuing, “It’s not easy for me to look at someone while I talk. I mean, I can’t seem to focus on both speaking properly as well as taking in what the person next to me is talking about. So it’s not exactly easy being around girls, either. But at least I don’t stutter that much anymore.” The blush deepens, and I’m beginning to understand why he won’t look at me.

  I look straight ahead. I might be rude and unable to keep my mouth shut sometimes, but I don’t want Daniel to think that I’ll just brush him off now that he’s opening up to me.

  We sit in silence for a while, just taking in the sounds of birds around us. I regret not pouring myself a glass of water now, because the sun is beating down on us, and I can feel small beads of sweat gathering on my neck. I really should think about buying a parasol and setting it up here; the sun can be very brutal to my sensitive skin.

  Daniel takes a deep breath. “I need you t . . . to,” he starts to stutter, and he stops talking. I wait again. “I need you to tutor me,” he finally gets out, and I’m not sure I follow him.

  “Sorry?” I look at him more closely, confused.

  “I need a tutor, for the summer, I mean,” he says, and finally turns in his seat to look at me properly. His green eyes instantly mesmerise me, but I force myself to appear calm. “Before the university starts up in September, I need a tutor to go through some course material with me.” A crooked smile appears on his face, and my tummy begins to flutter. Oh my . . . “And who better to tutor me than a British girl?” he adds softly.

  I quickly turn away from his gaze, my thoughts all scattered. This is not good! I try to reject him as kindly as possible: “Daniel, I think I understand why you think I would be a good tutor, but you are so wrong. I mean, I’m too im
patient, I’ve got absolutely no filter -- which, I’m sure, you’ve already noticed -- and to top everything off, I don’t have time. I’ll be working at your uncle’s bookshop full-time all summer.” So there . . . yet I still can’t look at him.

  “It’s actually my uncle wh- . . . ” Daniel’s voice falters, and I feel bad for him. “My uncle suggested that I ask you,” he forces out. “He also said that he’d cover your wages as if you’re working at the shop all day even though you’ll be tutoring me from noon every day.”

  “He said what?!” I shriek and turn to take in Daniel’s profile. “He can’t mean that, Daniel. It’d put him in a bind if we leave him on his own.” I shake my head. “No, I can’t and won’t do that to him.”

  Daniels sighs as he looks down at his jeans, lost in his own thoughts. He rubs his knee absentmindedly.

  We’re both quiet for some time, and I honestly don’t know what to say. In some mysterious, completely ridiculous way, I want to help him, but then I shut down that thought completely. What else can I do? Being around Daniel everyday is bad enough, but also tutoring him? Definitely stupid of me to even consider the notion.

  Don’t say yes, don’t say yes, don’t say yes, I chant silently.

  A thought occurs to me, and I blurt out, “Why did you move in next door? You don’t own it, do you?”

  Daniel shakes his head. “It turns out Mrs. Hansen wants to go travelling for a while, and she knows The Professor from somewhere. When she mentioned that she was looking for someone to sub-let it while she’s away, he thought of me.” He hesitates for a bit. “When he gave me your address, I was shocked.” He chuckles and looks at me again. “If it wasn’t for the fact that I don’t believe in these things, I’d call it fate.”

  My mouth pops open. “Fate?! Oh no . . . no-no-no-no. Absolutely not.”

  Suddenly, some new-found confidence sets in because he winks at me. Um, what?