“It’s because of Erik, isn’t it? He doesn’t want me to come home; he doesn’t want to see me.”
Ela denies it at first, but when I persist, she eventually shrugs. “And can you blame him? Do you know what he’s gone through this past week? He’s in a really bad way, Jo, and he needs to get his feet back on solid ground again.” She gives me a warning look. “Without you crossing his path, knife or no knife.”
Hopping yellow smiley faces grin up at me from my coffee cup. If it didn’t belong to Ela, I’d smash the thing. What are a few more broken shards in my life right now, after all? “He called you?”
“No. But I’ve known him longer than you have.” She takes a sip of coffee and reaches for the sugar. “Is it so hard to believe that he might want to have some peace if he’s discharged today? Not another confrontation with the woman who went from loving him to no longer recognizing him, then let him come close again, only to almost stab him to death.”
I lower my gaze to the stupid smilies.
“If you need some things from the house, I can get them for you. And you can make your calls from here; I’ll give you all the privacy you need.”
I agree to everything, acquiesce completely to what she says, finish my coffee, and then curl up on the couch again. I pretend to be asleep. Ela’s phone rings three or four more times during the morning, and each time she goes out of the room to talk. Is she talking to Erik? I’m longing to ask her, but don’t dare to. I sit on the sofa until just before two o’clock, then I can no longer bear it.
I shower, change, throw everything into the small travel bag. I call a taxi from the bathroom.
“I’m sorry, Ela. I’ll tell Erik you did your best. But I have to see him and apologize before I go into the clinic.”
She shakes her head, but doesn’t try to stop me. She’ll probably call Erik as soon as I leave.
The closer the cheerful taxi driver brings me to my destination, the more nervous I become. Do I really want to see Erik? What’s the point of apologizing for something that’s inexcusable? No matter what I do, it’s not going to undo what happened.
It’s the fear of being rejected, of the repulsion in his eyes; I realize that shortly before we turn onto my street. I’m afraid of seeing my feelings toward myself reflected in his face.
I give the taxi driver an overly generous tip, partly to compensate for my bad mood and partly from my desire to make at least somebody’s day a little better.
Only my car is in front of the house. Of course. Erik had an accident with the Audi. Totaled.
My hand trembles as I take the key out of my bag; I can barely get it in the lock.
Maybe Erik isn’t even there. Maybe they’ll only discharge him tomorrow. But as I walk into the hall, I see his shoes on the floor and his jacket hanging on the hook.
The door to the living room is ajar. Before I lose the courage and simply turn around and leave, I push it open.
Erik is sitting on the sofa, staring straight ahead, toward the terrace door. He doesn’t turn his head to look at me as I walk in; it’s as though he didn’t even hear me coming. There’s an empty whiskey glass on the coffee table in front of him.
“Hello.” Two syllables, and they sound so pathetic. Like I’m about to burst into tears.
He doesn’t answer. Nor does he move; he just keeps staring outside, where it’s just started to drizzle lightly.
Fine then. I’ll say what I have to say and then disappear upstairs, into the bedroom. Get out of his way and out of his sight.
“I know you don’t want to see me, and I understand that, but I really wanted to tell you once more how sorry I am about what happened.”
No, not about what happened.
“About what I did,” I correct myself. “I’ve tried to understand what was going on inside me, but I simply don’t know. I realize that I need help. I’m going to check into a psychiatric clinic tomorrow and only leave again when the doctors say I can.”
My voice gets stronger with every sentence I speak, but now my throat starts to close up again.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat helplessly. “About all of this.”
At the very moment I’m about to turn around and leave, Erik turns to face me. “All of it?”
It’s neither a harmless inquiry, nor a peace offering. From the cold expression in his eyes, it’s clear that he’s getting at something specific.
“Yes.” I swallow in an attempt to ward off the tightening in my throat. “Of course.”
“If that’s so, then please be so kind as to tell me who that was last night, in the car behind me.”
I don’t understand what he means. “What car?”
“The car that forced me off the road.” He straightens up and faces me. The outline of a bandage is visible beneath the right sleeve of his shirt. “It wasn’t just an accident, Joanna. It was another attempt to kill me. The car rammed me from behind first, then from the left, until it pushed me completely off the road.”
He narrows his eyes. “It’s too much of a coincidence, isn’t it? First you tried to stab me, and when you don’t manage, someone else causes me to have a car accident. Just half an hour later.”
I want to say something in response, but I don’t know what; I had thought the accident happened because of the state Erik was in at the time.
“You got pushed off the road? Ela didn’t te—”
“Don’t bother,” he interrupts me with a smile. “Any idiot could figure out that there’s a connection. I might have been na?ve for a long time, but that’s over now.”
There’s a good reason I have a guilty conscience, but this is unfair. “I had nothing to do with that, I swear! I don’t know anything about anyone wanting to push you off the road.”
Erik laughs. “And even if you don’t—how much would that say? What do you actually know for sure, anyway?”
The fact that he’s right makes it worse. What he’s saying feels so unfair, but it’s true. I can’t remember him, I’ve lost control over my own actions—who knows what else there might be.
Suddenly I wish that it were already tomorrow, that all I had to do was lie down in a freshly made hospital bed, close my eyes, and let the doctors do their job.
I feel so tired. “If you really believe what you’re saying—why don’t you report me? Why didn’t you do it yesterday?”
Now he lowers his gaze and, for a moment, looks so vulnerable that I long to go over to him and hold him. We were so close, for a short time.
But the rift I’ve opened up between us with my knife can no longer be healed. If I were to give in to my impulse to embrace Erik, he would push me away. He would have every right to.
And he does it as well, using words. “I didn’t report you because I have this insane need to protect you. And, believe me, even I’m finding it more and more laughable with every day that goes by.”
He looks me in the eyes, and there’s an iciness in his expression that I’ve never seen in him before. “Maybe I still will. The more I think about what happened, the clearer it is to me that I’m the one I need to protect.”