At the realisation, she withdrew, opened her eyes and held Anna at arm’s length. She cleared her throat.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” she said.
A streetlight switched on outside the window, stretching its glum fingers into the room. Iris observed Anna’s face, soft and serious.
“I’m sorry,” Anna said. “I don’t normally cry, at least not in front of people I have only just met.”
“Don’t worry. I prefer emotions to no emotions.” She’s strong, yet vulnerable, Iris thought. I need to lighten the mood, make her feel comfortable. “Now we’d better read Karin Boye,” she said.
Anna laughed. “I guess so. In case I bump into Lena!”
“Which I sincerely hope you don’t,” Iris said quietly, as she led Anna down one of the aisles.
Together, they located the dystopian Boye novel Kallocain.
“It was her last novel and I dare say the most read one,” Iris said. “It’s dark, a mixture of sci-fi, horror and drama.”
No sex or intimate relations, but Iris did enjoy the experimental premise in Boye’s novel.
Chapter 23 – Erik
March 2016
Shaking his arms out, Erik wakes himself up. He’s spent hours going through the documents on Anna’s laptop. It’s tedious and hasn’t been fruitful so far, and as much as it is an intrusion into his wife’s private life, he feels he has the right to do it. They’re married, right?
Tina has told him there was no Adam in any of Anna’s classes. Yet he feels this Adam could be important. It’s his tone of voice, his outbursts. Erik feels he needs to find him.
Almost everything on Anna’s laptop seems to be related to her job. His eyes have scanned through files as mundane as tests to passages from books. Literature. Her newfound love.
“I’m a teacher, Erik. I am expected to read.”
“You always read.”
“I stopped reading fiction for pleasure, Erik,” she said, as if that was his fault. “Now I have found my way back.”
“I wish you could find your way back to my bed.”
“Everything isn’t about sex,” she said.
He doesn’t want to think about his wife’s rejections. It’s easier to think about the early days, when she had no inhibitions.
He’s had enough of her boring documents. He clicks back to Outlook. Maybe there will be a new email from blackadam4321? There isn’t, but he goes to the ‘Deleted’ folder, opens the emails from Black Adam and reads all twenty-six of them. Every single one starts with Hi Anna. Most of them are one-liners (This is bullshit, I’m going to quit). Most of them are demanding (You need to listen, you need to talk to me). Only a couple of them are longer (You know what it’s like. You have seen it. Please will you just help me? I want to be like everyone else. Normal, you know?). And one is truly revealing (I wish I had done better in the test, I wish I had made you proud. You deserve that.) He refers to a test. So it definitely must be a student, except his name can’t be Adam since Tina hasn’t seen him listed in Anna’s file. Who is he then?
Erik has made some notes and has almost picked up the phone to call Kent several times. Instead he tries to think of other teachers he could contact. Anna invited a bunch of them to the house once. End of year drinks. It was totally lame. Someone pulled out a guitar and encouraged Erik to play along to their folk songs. It was like sticking rusty needles in his eyes. And he can’t remember anyone’s name.
He decides to write another email to blackadam4321 instead. Time is ticking; the police seem sidetracked and he needs to move them back to the real issues. He needs to help. He writes: I know you cared about Anna. The guy wanted to make her proud so he must have cared? I cared about her too, he continues. I did well in her tests. She appreciated that. Would that rile him up? Get him to respond? Knowing there was someone else who wanted to be her top student? Or would it be viewed as entrapment? He looks at his words. Entrapment is awesome in the movies but very illegal in Sweden. Boring square Swedish Government doesn’t think it’s fair. He erases the last two sentences and writes: Please can we talk? I need to talk to someone else who cared about her. I feel so alone.
He feels fairly pleased with the words. Writing was never his strength but this isn’t bad. Erik clicks ‘Send’.
He’s so engrossed in the email that he’s almost late for pick-up at day care. At least the teachers don’t raise their eyebrows now. He has a reason not to follow the rules. His wife is in a coma. Thankfully, no one wants to talk about it. One must maintain a cheerful attitude: ‘the boys were so good today’ or ‘the boys ate really well’. Even though Sebastian and Lukas have a tendency to fight when surrounded by other children. They are also fussy eaters. Therefore, he can’t trust anything they say. It’s all bull.
*
The boys are missing Grandma and so is he. Although he is trying to stay on top of it, the house is already a picture of total chaos. He hasn’t had time to do any dishes so the sink is now full. Clothes, toys, mail… He will deal with it. Later.
“Did you sing to Mummy today?” Sebastian asks.
Shit, he forgot. He only spent a couple of hours at the hospital this morning before heading home to Anna’s computer. No one can blame him. It would drive anyone insane to wait by a hospital bed. Sometimes it feels like a wake, she’s so still.
“I will take my acoustic guitar to the hospital tomorrow,” he promises. “I don’t think the nurses will like the sound of my Gretsch.”
Sebastian giggles. “She will love it,” he says confidently, although Erik isn’t sure that Anna will enjoy it as much as the boys would. She never attended any of his gigs anymore. Only a few months ago she promised to be there but then something came up. As usual. Stupid book meeting probably.
*
That evening, when the boys are finally sleeping, Erik attempts to clean up the kitchen. Filling up the dishwasher seems to be the best use of his time. Then a knock on the door and the dishes remain in the sink.
His heart sinks when he opens the door. Pernilla.
“Now is not a good time,” he says but either she’s deaf or she’s ignorant because she’s already on her way in, pushing him to the side, sliding her leather jacket off her shoulders.
“Seb and Lukas in bed?”
Seb? They hardly ever call him that.
“Yes, Sebastian and Lukas are sleeping,” he says.
“Good.”
She walks into the kitchen as if she’s been there before, opens the fridge and pulls out two Pripps Blå.
“Opener?”
He can’t believe it. What is she doing? He is about to tell her to leave but the sight of the cold beer makes his taste buds stir; let’s face it, no one likes to drink alone.
“Just one beer,” he says and digs out the opener from a drawer.
“Sure,” she says and hands him one.
He expertly opens it, takes a swig and closes his eyes, relishing the cold bubbles, the dark malt slipping down his throat. Sighing, he opens his eyes again, slightly more relaxed than a second ago. Pernilla stretches her own beer out, still unopened.
“Oh, shit. Sorry,” he says.
She doesn’t seem the least offended. While he opens her beer and hands it back to her, she keeps smiling. She doesn’t even comment on the visible mess. They clink their bottles and take a couple of sips.
He has to talk to her about the police. Their suspicions are creating an unnecessary stress. Pernilla twirls her curly hair with one finger, a cheeky grin on her face. She’s wearing a white summer dress even though it’s only just spring and still chilly outside. No bra, he notices. Just two straps holding her large bosom up. It was only the one time, he reminds himself. One time. One beer. That’s all.
“Let’s sit down,” he says. He’ll think more clearly then.
“I’m here for you,” she says as soon as they’re parked on the much too comfortable navy linen couch. Her fingers rest on the sleeve of his shirt.
“Thank you
.” He clears his throat. “I appreciate it, but Pernilla, you’re making it difficult…”
Her eyes, wide like a reindeer’s.
“I don’t understand,” she says.
“You can’t tell the police that we’re seeing each other.” He feels himself getting worked up. “I mean, it’s not even true. And I need to focus on Anna, on her getting better. And the boys.”
“Like I said,” Pernilla says calmly. “I’m here for you and I won’t say anything.” She hesitates. “If…”
“If what?”
“If we, you know… keep meeting up. No strings attached if that’s what’s bothering you.”
“I don’t want to cheat on my wife.”
“Too late.”
Touché. He leans back, takes another swig, swallows, gaining time. Her fingers are squeezing his arm, moving up towards his shoulder.
“Pernilla…”
“Yes?” Her other hand is now working his crotch; she’s leaning in, her warm breath on his throat. Soft lips against his. I should throw her out. He’s just so tired; he closes his eyes, lets her playful tongue into his mouth. Then her body moves in, straddling him, her breasts in his face, her perfume intoxicating.
The doorbell. Somewhere in the background he can hear it, the annoying tune like a cheesy song.
“Just ignore it,” she whispers, but it’s persistent.
He can’t block it out it; he sits up and pushes her off.
“Have to get that,” he says, rushing to the door, hoping it’s Mum. She won’t approve of him getting cosy – or even just sharing a beer – with the boy’s teacher but he doesn’t care.
“Hey, man.”
“Rob?”
His mate is looking dishevelled; spiky hair held down by a well-worn Arsenal cap.
“Sorry to just come over without calling first. It’s just, well… there’s a football game on…”
“Come the hell in!” Erik grabs his arm and pulls him in.
“Okay, okay,” he laughs. “I’m coming. Have one of those for me?” He points to the beer.
“Of course.”
“Hi there.” Pernilla is standing in the doorway, seductively leaning against the door frame. Is she hitting on Rob? He can’t be jealous. He has no right to be.
“Hi.” Rob’s tentacles are out.
“Pernilla was just leaving,” Erik says. “She’s the boys’ teacher. We were just discussing… the boys.”
He takes her jacket from the hallway and hands it to her.
“Another time,” she says.
Then she’s out the door, leaving it open, the cold evening air washing over Erik, finally waking him up.
“That’s the boys’ teacher?” Rob’s eyes follow her down the street. “I need to get some children, man.”
*
Six beers and a football victory later, Rob leaves. Erik feels restless. Perhaps it’s the beer or it’s Pernilla’s fingers, still etched on his cock. Going to sleep is out of the question. He needs to do something, perhaps watch a movie? The TV is still on and he zaps through the channels. Except he can’t hear anything. The mouths on the screen are moving but it feels as if he’s accidentally pressed the ‘Mute’ button. Nothing registers.
He switches the TV off and opens Anna’s laptop instead; clicks on Safari and logs in to his new Gmail account. There are still no emails from blackadam4321. Anna’s Outlook folder doesn’t contain anything new either, not counting irrelevant junk mail. He clicks back to her folders and scrolls down the list. He’s looked at most of them already. It’s all pretty dull apart from the emails from blackadam4321. There are a couple near the bottom of the screen, which he hasn’t seen yet. One is called ‘House’ and another one simply ‘Other’. The first one is full of bills and maintenance issues, everything predictably related to their house. He opens ‘Other’ instead, expecting it to contain random messages that don’t fit anywhere else. Except it only contains messages from one sender [email protected]. Nothing about the name is familiar. He opens the first email.
I can’t wait to see you this week. To be near you, to taste you. I miss you.
An uncomfortable feeling takes hold of his body. It’s a total body freeze. He doesn’t want to read this. He closes it down. Then opens it again.
What is Xeroxwed?
Despite himself, he clicks through to another message at random.
Your fingers clasped around my nipple, tugging. I can still smell you on my fingers. What have you done to me?
He stares at the screen. Then shuts it down. All of it. Power off.
Part Two
Chapter 24 – Rolf
November 2015
A naked woman was strapped to the bed. Pale arms above her head, heavy breasts with mole-like nipples; dark-blue nails harsh against the skin. Another woman, dressed in a PVC corset, a stereotypical German bun on her head, bore down on the first woman, a leather whip entrusted to her strong hand. Muffled sounds of lashes hitting bare flesh; slivers of red across thighs, stomach and breasts. Rolf watched the two women, their perfectly shaped bodies and immaculately made up faces, making the right noises, their aim to arouse him. Finally, the dominant woman pleasured the submissive with a dildo, bringing her to a climax that was restricted due to the straps holding her down.
“How original,” he said.
He felt bored, his erection separated from his mind.
“Well, I’m turned on,” Måna said. She mischievously took the remote control out of his hand and clicked ‘Pause’.
He turned to Måna, her bronze-coloured cheeks, abnormally plump lips, the brown ringlets of hair reaching her full bosom. She was a goddess and there was no way he wouldn’t finish what he had started.
He tied her up, her bed the perfect set-up: a black wrought-iron four-poster with leopard print throws and pillows. The scarves were strong and Måna agreeable.
Once his work of art was complete, Rolf admired his own skills along with her spread-eagle position. Grabbing her long hair, holding it in a firm grip, he bore into her. She gasped, laughed and moaned, but after a while he felt like it was merely skin rubbing against skin, rather than fucking. He couldn’t climax.
Måna was loud when she came, a trait he loved in a woman, but he had to focus, close his eyes and think of… Iris. Pressed up against Lena in the library kitchen, their bodies barely visible from the street. That did it. He groaned and exploded into the condom.
Climbing out of bed, he felt hot and sticky and quickly started to get dressed.
“You’re not staying the night?”
He smiled sweetly, leaned down towards Måna’s rosy face and kissed her long and hard (leaving a lasting Rolf impression). Then he stood back and studied her intently, taking a mental picture. He wanted to remember them all.
“Your hair is incredibly shiny,” he said. “Would you let me cut a lock off to remember you by?”
It wasn’t unusual for women to appear in his work in one form or another, each piece a collection of DNA. Måna chuckled, so obviously comfortable in her nakedness, her glistening body crumpling the bed linen.
“If anyone else had said that, it would sound creepy,” she said. “But I know your work so I will agree.”
This threw him. He never told anyone his real identity. He was Fredrik, the journalist, or Niklas, the art critic. There had been a time when he had chased the fame to pay the bills, but then he had chased the fame for fame. Iris had warned him about the added exposure, how it could compromise their lifestyle, but he had told her she was paranoid. Should the papers get hold of his personal affairs, then well… bad press was also good press. As long as it was all legal. Kinky was legal. For the most part.
“Don’t worry,” Måna said. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“Scissors?” he asked.
She nodded her head towards a desk in the far corner, and he walked across the carpeted room, opening the drawers until he found a large pair, probably meant for sewing. Her eyes were gleaming with excitement
as he cut into the brown hair.
Then he kissed her one last time and made to leave.
“Are you not going to untie me?”
Her smile faded.
“You got yourself into this,” he said. “I’m sure you can get yourself out of it.”
*
Rolf walked through the streets, making his way back to the car. He would tell Iris that his meeting with a gallery owner had gone well and she would congratulate him. Or he would be honest. He wasn’t sure yet. Perhaps it was old age but he felt jaded after a life of sexual exploration. He had tried everything except monogamy: having Iris all to himself.
The air was cold, the pavements lined with drunk youngsters, beers in their hands, shrieks of laughter, open jackets revealing skimpy outfits. He walked past them, not even noticing the young breasts on display.
He stopped at a bar and ordered a whiskey on the rocks and downed it.
“Tough night?” the bartender asked, a tattooed snake wrapped around his muscled arm.
If only you knew, Rolf thought. You would be jealous as hell.
“I miss my wife,” he said instead.
“Gotcha.”
Tattoo man poured him another whiskey. “On the house, mate.”
“Thanks.” Kindness offered by strangers always surprised him.
“So, you’re on a business trip?”
“Something like that,” Rolf said distractedly, the fingers in his pocket wrapped around the silky smooth hair.
“Your wife couldn’t join you?”
He imagined Iris standing next to him, the two of them on a weekend trip. No more women. No more extramarital sex. Was that really what he wanted? He nodded to himself: yes.
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