Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 117920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117920 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 590(@200wpm)___ 472(@250wpm)___ 393(@300wpm)
“Fine. But you better call me soon.” She hangs up.
I throw my phone across the bed and curl up on my side. Funny how heartache and yearning makes your body go into the fetal position, like you’re in pain and trying to get through it.
And yet that’s what this is.
I want him.
I can’t have him.
I am in pain.
And I don’t know how I’ll ever get through it.
* * *
At least the girls are happy I’m back from my trip. They’ve been clinging to me all day long, afraid to let me out of their sight. Even Maja is glad, though probably more relieved than anything. She looks a bit worn out and I don’t blame her.
Aksel has gone back into his default mode, which is to be distant. He was warm and welcoming when he first saw me yesterday, but there was still this wariness to him, like he had to watch how he acted and what he said. Then he disappeared and I still haven’t seen him.
Perhaps the week away did more harm than good.
Or maybe he realized that we’d become too close for comfort and that he needs to drive a wedge between us.
If that’s true, it’s probably better this way. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“Here you are,” Karla says to me as she shuffles into the room, handing me a glass of wine.
I’m sitting in a chair in front of the roaring fire. It’s just after dinner and Aksel had gone out somewhere for dinner this evening, so I decided to take a few moments to rest and gather my thoughts, even if my thoughts are of the brooding and depressing kind.
“What’s this for?” I ask her.
She gives me a kind smile. “You seem a little blue,” she says. “This will help.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, grateful that she noticed, if not just a little embarrassed. “Do you know when Aksel will be back from his dinner?”
“He came back about twenty minutes ago,” she tells me before going back to the kitchen.
For some reason I thought if he came back he’d come right here, to have his brandy by the fire. I am in his usual chair after all.
Maybe he saw you and decided to avoid you, I think.
I’m probably fucking right.
I sigh heavily and take a big gulp of wine, hoping that it will cure my blues a little, though at this point I think only one thing is going to cure me.
I’m almost done with the glass when Maja’s head pops in the doorway. “I’m taking the girls to see the pig. They want to say goodnight,” she says. She never calls Snarf Snarf by name, it’s always “the pig.” “Oh and Aksel would like a word with you. He’s in his office.”
“Okay,” I say, my voice faltering as she walks off down the hall with the girls. I finish the rest of the wine in one swallow and take in a deep breath. Why do I have a feeling this isn’t going to be good? That’s the problem with distance, with going away. What if everything our relationship has evolved into has been razed to the ground?
I get up and slowly make my way up the stairs to the second floor. It’s quiet and empty and cold.
I’ve been in Aksel’s office a few times for one reason or another so there’s nothing out of the ordinary about this. It’s just everything else that’s putting me on edge.
I knock on his door, my hand shaking slightly.
It’s fine. It’s just Aksel. Nothing to worry about. Probably wants to go over tomorrow or something.
“Come in,” he says. Even though the door is muffling him, he sounds rather gruff.
Mr. Fucking Moody. Can’t he just be consistent for once?
I open the door and step inside.
He’s at his desk, staring down at some papers and still in the fancy black suit I saw him leave for dinner in, the top buttons of his crisp white shirt undone. Even though I’m the one who came back from a week in the sun and I’m still pale, his skin somehow stays this eternally bronze color.
“Shut the door, please,” he says, not looking up.
Gulp.
I shut the door quietly and stand in front of his desk, gnawing on my lip. There’s a strange energy in the air. It reminds me of the days in the desert when the storms would come after months of no rain. The air was electric and charged and promising change.
But what kind of change?
I swallow thickly, waiting for him to say something. I spot the Christmas gift I gave him hanging up on the wall and decide to comment on it. “I’m glad it found a home.”
“Hmm?” he asks, finally glancing up at me. That same electricity in the air is swirling in his eyes.
I gesture feebly to the photo. “Your gift.”