Erik has gone pale. He is standing close to Bartsch, no more than two feet away, and his hands are balled into fists. “What do you mean, in light of recent events? Come on, let’s hear it.”
The psychologist doesn’t look at Erik, but instead at me. “An unusual accumulation of problems. I’m sure you would agree with me.” Speaking in an ostensibly calm tone, he leans over toward me. “Joanna, would you answer a few questions for me? Only if you want to, of course, but perhaps we might find out why you were so afraid?”
I try to make eye contact with Erik, but he’s not even looking at me. He’s standing in front of Bartsch, looking as though there’s nothing he’d like to do more than go for the man’s throat. “You’re meddling in my private life.”
“That’s a sign of esteem, Herr Thieben.” There’s still not even a glimmer of impatience in Bartsch’s voice. “We are offering you help, and I promise you that every single word spoken here will be treated in confidence.”
Erik laughs contemptuously. “You don’t even believe that yourself!”
Is it because of the stress of the past few days, or is he always this undiplomatic at work? I discreetly try to wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. I’m not sure why this situation is making me so nervous—whether it’s Bartsch or Erik’s blatant rage, I only know that I want it to stop. And the quickest way for that to happen is probably if I agree to speak with Bartsch; I might even be able to say a few things that put Erik in a better light than he’s putting himself in right now. Whoever he is, whatever our connection to each other is—he was so caring with me when I was in the hospital. So willing to help. There’s no harm in trying to return the favor.
“Ask me your questions, Dr. Bartsch.”
Erik wheels around to face me. “You can’t be serious!” He sinks down next to me on the couch. “But you’re doing better, Jo. You don’t need him, we already have help…”
* * *
I smile at him. My God, I’m so tired. “It’s just a few questions, it’s not like I’m agreeing to a therapy session.”
“Exactly,” Bartsch affirms. He has pulled a small notebook and a pen out from his jacket. “Bernhard Morbach said that you didn’t recognize Erik the other day. Is that correct?”
This is beginning differently than how I had imagined. A little too direct for my taste. Nonetheless, I nod. “Yes.”
Bartsch makes a note. “But now you recognize him again?”
No, I don’t. I’ve been unable to find anything that Erik has told me over the past few days within my own memory. There has been no sudden flashback of shared experiences. But never mind, that’s not what matters right now.
“Yes,” I lie. “Everything’s OK again.”
He looks at me for a little too long before noting down my answer. As if he doesn’t completely believe me.
“Could you tell me what happened before that evening? Before you were so distraught about Erik’s presence?”
I shrug my shoulders in a vague gesture. Everything that came before that seems as though it’s months ago. “I was working, I think. I cleaned up a bit and then took a shower. I was planning to make tea and read something.”
On the couch. Right where Bartsch is sitting now.
“That was everything?”
“I think so, yes.”
He makes another note. “What about before the accident with the boiler? Can you still remember what you were doing before that?”
Before I can answer, Erik places his hand on my arm. “What are you getting at? Are you accusing her—”
“I’m not accusing her of anything,” Bartsch interrupts. “It’s a completely harmless question. I don’t know why you’re so against this conversation, Herr Thieben. Why you’re so determined to refuse the help being offered. You said yourself that your girlfriend was confused. Both to Herr Morbach and Herr Gabor.”
I don’t know why, but his last two sentences hit a nerve with me. Until now I had thought that the psychologist was here because this Bernhard Morbach guy saw me running out of the house in my bathrobe, but now it turns out that Erik has been discussing our situation with his coworkers. So I’m confused, am I?
Who knows who else he’s talked to about me. If we really are a couple, then that’s an unforgivable breach of trust, and for some strange reason it really feels like one too.
I press my hand against my eyes. If I start to cry now, can I blame it on how tired I am?
I feel an arm around my shoulders. “Please go, Dr. Bartsch,” I hear Erik say. “You can see for yourself that she’s not back to full health yet.”
I straighten up. Turn around to face Erik. “Who else have you talked to about me?”
A frown forms above the bridge of his nose. “What do you mean?”
“I’d like to know: who else did you tell that I’m supposedly confused?” My tone doesn’t sound accusatory, but exhausted instead. And now tears are welling up in my eyes after all, as if the impression I’m giving didn’t already look pitiful enough. I turn away, away from Erik’s embrace, and wipe the back of my hand over my face.
“Jo … I didn’t say anything that Bernhard hadn’t already spread around. Believe me, if he hadn’t turned up here, no one would know anything about this.”
The sound of a throat being cleared from the other side of the coffee table. “There’s really no reason to be annoyed at Erik. He wasn’t gossiping about you, he was just concerned—”
Erik jumps up, and this time it really does look as though he’s about to launch himself at Bartsch. “You stay out of our business, you hear me? I don’t need your mediation or your professional support. Unlike Joanna, I know exactly why you’re here, and I’m not going to play your game.”
Bartsch waits for Erik to finish, with a calm demeanor that must be the result of years of training. Then he turns to me. “Joanna. The most important thing here is you and your safety. Do you want my help?”
If I say yes now, it’s an open declaration of war on Erik. But I would do it regardless, if I thought I had something to gain from it. And if my stomach hadn’t started to cramp up. Is that still the lack of oxygen? But my tests were fine. So now what’s wrong?
“Joanna? Take your time.”
I can feel both of them waiting. Bartsch full of patience, Erik full of impatience. I take a deep breath in and out, fixing my gaze on the kitchen door.
All of a sudden I can’t bring myself to tear my gaze away from it. As if there was something there that I need to resolve. Urgently.
All of a sudden I realize how I must look.
Confused.
I summon all my strength. “No. Thank you, Dr. Bartsch, but I don’t think you’re the right person for me to talk to. If I need help, then I’ll find someone myself.”
I hear Erik breathe out a sigh of relief next to me. Bartsch looks a little concerned, but doesn’t make any move to get up.
“Can I ask you something in return?” The words are out before I even realize that they’ve formed in my mind.
Bartsch inclines his head lightly. “Please do,” he says politely.
This time I know what I want to say, but I’m not sure why. And I’m sure the two men in my living room will feel equally clueless, no doubt about it.