I bite my teeth together. It won’t happen again, it won’t. Slowly, exerting all of my powers of concentration, I crawl out of the kitchen on all fours. And yet I can barely manage to drag my gaze away from the doorframe, which simultaneously entices me and frightens me to death. I actually do almost stumble, practically as soon as I turn my eyes away from it, but this time I at least manage to turn my head to the side, and it’s only my shoulder which bangs against the edge. It hurts, but it’s a partial victory nonetheless; I’ve managed to resist the urge to harm myself more. Limited the damage.
Once I’m in the living room it gets better. Nonetheless, I don’t dare to stand up yet. I don’t trust myself, not even a little.
I straighten up just once, to pull one of the cushions off the couch. I keep the edges and corners of the coffee table completely in my sights, even though they frighten me less than the doorframe.
It feels liberating to lay my head on the cushion. Even if I should feel the urge to hit my head against the floor again—now I won’t be able to hurt myself that badly.
When I straighten the cushion a little, I see a red stain on the yellow fabric. Blood. Not much, but it’s there. Just seeing it gives me a worrying sense of pleasure.
I tightly grasp the cushion and force my eyelids shut. I count my breaths, and hope that Erik will come back quickly, hope that he’ll be here again soon.
Out of the two of us, he poses the lesser threat by far.
18
I can’t even recall how I got to the small park. All my thoughts have been tangled up with Joanna and the past few days.
Clearly my subconscious hasn’t just taken over the control of my legs but the navigation too.
Now I’m sitting on this wooden bench with my eyes closed. I’ve shut out the world. Not that I’m feeling any better for it.
Nadine! All of a sudden her name pops up in my head. Why, of all people, am I thinking about her? Because these thoughts, about everything that’s happened, everything that’s been said, are crushing me? Because I feel the pressing need to talk to someone who knows me really well? Is it crazy that I would think of my ex-girlfriend?
No, I think it’s more because Nadine, despite all her faults, has always been a good listener. And she usually finds the right words to pick me back up when I need it.
At work she’d asked me if I was having problems. She’d seen it in my face. No wonder, really. We were together for almost five years; you learn to read your partner’s moods in that time.
“Are you OK?”
I jump, and find myself looking into the eyes of a white-haired woman. The years are engraved in her face as furrows; deep ones on her forehead and at the corners of her mouth, but not quite as pronounced around the eyes. Her expression is one of concern.
“Yes, thank you, I…” I don’t want talk to her. Even if she does mean well. “I’m very tired, that’s all. I’m fine.”
She hesitates. Eventually she nods and leaves.
My thoughts return to Nadine. I ended our relationship back then because I couldn’t deal with her jealousy anymore. Her keeping tabs on me all the time; having to justify myself for every conversation, for every time I’d go for a drink without her.
We were almost always together. At work during the day and at home during the evenings and at night. I had felt like I couldn’t breathe anymore.
Nadine wouldn’t accept I was leaving. Again and again, she would profess just how much she loved me and that she’d change. But it was too late.
Once she’d realized, she’d put some distance between herself and me. At first anyway.
Two months later, there she was all of a sudden, right in front of me when I went to my car in the company parking lot. Could I spare just half an hour for her, she’d asked. Just one drink at the bar around the corner. I didn’t want to go, but when she assured me she wouldn’t try to talk me into getting back together, I went with her.
She said she knew that she’d made a lot of mistakes and that we wouldn’t be able to get back together. But she wanted to be friends. After all, you couldn’t simply sweep away five whole years just like that, she said.
I hadn’t been able to promise her a real friendship, but I said we could interact in a friendly way at least. Maybe a drink or a chat here and there.
Sure, I mean why not? Five years. That’s a really long time, after all.
The view in front of me becomes blurry; the different shades of green flow into one another. A tear rolls out of the corner of my eye, slowly trickles over my cheek and down to my chin.
My phone’s in my pocket; Nadine’s number is saved on it. Two rings and she picks up.
“Erik! Thank goodness. How are you? I’m glad you called. I heard about that awful business. The boiler. What happened, tell me?”
Damn it. I wasn’t expecting that. What an idiot I am. Of course she’s going to ask me about that. Everyone at work will probably have heard about it already. Now what am I going to tell her?
“I … don’t know, exactly. The fire department’s not sure either. They said that it was probably the weather conditions pushing carbon monoxide back into our bathroom. An accident.”
My voice sounds uncertain and hoarse.
“How’s your girlfriend? Is she at home?”
“Yeah, she’s feeling better again. She was … We were lucky.”
All of a sudden there’s a pause, I can almost physically feel that Nadine’s waiting. Waiting for me to tell her the reason for my call. I don’t usually just call her out of the blue, I haven’t done that for over a year.
In the end she can’t hold back the question. “Why are you calling?”
“Because I wanted to talk to someone.”
“Well, it’s very nice that you thought of me. Where are you? At home?”
“No, I’m in a park.”
“Do you want me to come over to you?”
“No. Let’s talk on the phone.”
How do I start? Where do I start?
“You probably heard at work that we’re having some problems at home.”
“Apart from the thing with the boiler, you mean?”
“Yes. I’m sure Bernhard must have told everyone.”
“No, he didn’t. Not me, at least. What exactly do you mean?”
Is she telling the truth?
“It’s about Jo. I … Christ, it’s idiotic of me to be talking to you about problems that Jo and I are having.”
“No, it isn’t. As I said already, I’m happy you called. And that means something, don’t you think? I always knew there was still something there from the time we spent together. More than just being superficially friendly to each other.”
This conversation is taking an unpleasant turn.
“That’s not what this is about, Nadine. Jo has … gaps in her memory. She can’t remember certain things. Things concerning us. Her and me.”
That was the understatement of the century right there, but something inside me is fighting the impulse to tell Nadine the whole truth. It feels like by telling her, I’d be exposing Joanna. Betraying her, even, to Nadine of all people, the bitterly jealous person from whom I had always wanted to protect her. I even went to all the work parties by myself to prevent the two of them from meeting each other. I know Nadine well enough to know that her meeting Joanna would inevitably lead to trouble.
“That would never happen to me. I haven’t forgotten a single second of the time we spent together.”
“Nadine…” Fuck. Calling her was a mistake.
“Never mind. So? Did she already go to see a psychiatrist? Something’s obviously not right in her head.”