Tell Me You're Mine(30)

But at the last group therapy her questions were very intense. She also demanded answers, inhaled every word I said. It felt off. She didn’t seem like herself.

And last week I saw her in Vällingby. I thought. She was standing below our apartment building staring straight ahead, as if she was thinking about something sad.

Maybe she was just headed to the mall for some shopping, maybe she lives nearby. Maybe it was just someone who looked like her.

Either way, I have a lot of homework today, that’s no lie. Maybe we can meet an extra time next week instead.

“Is there room?” I’m pulled out of my thoughts and look up. Fredrik is smiling down at us, Victor and Mehdi right behind him.

“Are you working on mechanics?” he continues.

“Yes, we are,” Johanna replies. “Join us.”

I’m glad I don’t have to go anywhere.

We sit here often. At Stories café outside the library. It’s more comfortable than the group workrooms or classrooms.

The café is full of students. It’s noisy, but that doesn’t bother me at all. Most of the tables look like ours, strewn with open textbooks, notebooks, calculators, pencil cases, napkins, old coffee mugs, and soda bottles. It’s wonderful. I love everything about college life. Even the stress of exams.

“Do you want some coffee, Fredrik?” Mehdi asks. “Victor’s buying.”

“Yes, please,” Fredrik replies.

Johanna bounces up. “I need some coffee. Want some?” she asks me. I shake my head.

“So, Einstein, have you come up with any good solutions to question three?” Fredrik says after they leave. He gives my hair a gentle tug.

“Well, what do you think about page fifty-three?” I answer. The book is in front of him, so I bend over him to flip through it. He makes no effort to move. I feel his gaze on my neck, making it hard to concentrate. I can’t find the right page. He helps me and his hand grazes mine. I glance at him over my shoulder, laugh nervously, and toss my hair. He looks into my eyes.

“They’re almost green,” he says.

“What?” Do I sound as breathless as I feel?

“Your eyes. They’re nice.”

“Thanks.” My cheeks are burning. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. I hate blushing.

“And your hair is so beautiful. Is that black your real color?”

He loops it around his finger.

“Witch black, as my mother always says.”

“Maybe you’ve bewitched me.”

I’m the one who feels like I’m under a spell. When Johanna thuds down onto her chair, the spell is broken. I self-consciously back up again. Fredrik takes his coffee from Mehdi and smiles at me. I smile back.

When I’m with him, life feels easier. He makes me forget. Forget that Dad is dead, that Mom is so demanding, that it’s really difficult sometimes to be social.

Fredrik’s hands circle around his coffee cup. He says it’s cold in here. He’s right, I’m freezing, too. His hands are quite large. Big hands that feel so good when they’re touching my back, cupping my butt, caressing my thighs. I’m staring at them. His fingers are long. I blush again. Turn even redder when I look up and meet his eyes. I suspect he knows exactly what I was thinking. He chews on his pen, sweeps his hair to the side.

He is absolutely perfect.

Mom would despise him.

We discuss things passionately, we laugh and spend at least as much time talking about other things as we do mechanics.

“Are you from Falun?” Mehdi asks.

“Borlänge,” I answer.

“Maybe we’ve bumped into each other there,” Fredrik says. “But just didn’t know each other yet.”

“Where would we have done that?”

“At the Peace & Love festival. I was there in 2011.”

I laugh. Do I sound hysterical?

“Surely you were there?” he asks.

“No, I was not.”

“Why not? You lived there. It’s not exactly a big city.”

“We could hear all of it from home.”

“That’s not the same thing,” Victor says.

“I’m not really a festival person,” I say.

“Oh, come on,” Fredrik says.

“It’s true,” Johanna says.

Fredrik looks at me curiously.

“We should do an experiment,” he says.

“Am I gonna like this?” I wonder.

“Come with us to Way Out West next summer. Maybe you’re a festival person and you just don’t know it.”

“Yes, do it,” Johanna bursts out. “I’m going, too.”

“Have you all considered the possibility that I might get lost?” I say. “You’ll end up spending your time searching for me instead of seeing any bands.”

They roar with laughter at me. “I guess we’ll just have to make sure you stay close.” Fredrik balances on the back legs of his chair and won’t stop looking at me.

“I won’t know a single song. Or any of the artists.”

“That’s a long ways off now,” Victor says.

“I could freak out,” I say.

“Freak out?” Johanna raises her eyebrows and grins at me. “That would be interesting.”

“This is a conspiracy,” I complain and have never felt happier in my whole life. Except for that night, when I made out with Fredrik and felt his hands on my body. I wonder if he’s thought about it as much as me. I believe he has. I hope so. I want him to think about me. In that way. Like I think about him. And I want to do more than just kiss next time. Much more.

“Do you think we’ve got you beat yet?” Medhi says. “Fredrik never gives up once he gets something into his head.”

“And where are we going to stay?” I say.

“I have an uncle in Gothenburg,” Victor says.

“We can all crash there.”

“We’ve crashed at Victor’s uncle’s the last few years,” Fredrik says. “He’s used to it. But sleeping arrangements will be tight.”

Again, that smile.

“That’s fine,” I say.

One person who would definitely not think that was fine is my mother. She would be furious. If she even knew I was considering sleeping in close quarters with a young, handsome guy, she’d have one of her outbursts. They’ve only got one thing on their minds, Isabelle, remember that. Is it terrible for me to say that’s exactly what I’m hoping? I’m already wondering how to get away without her finding out. I definitely can’t tell her where I’m going, then she’d give me hell. I haven’t forgotten how she reacted when I planned to slip away to Sälen with Jocke. The boy who kissed me in the car outside our house. Somehow she found out and threatened to report him for rape. Jocke stayed away after that.

But I have the right to break free sometimes, don’t I? I am twenty-two years old, after all. I’m a virgin. In more ways than one. It can’t be wrong to do what I want. For once.

Long before the lunch rush begins, we think we have most of the assignment figured out.

“I’m hungry. Shouldn’t we just get some food here before this place gets overrun?” Johanna looks over toward the counter. There are already a few people in line. Within half an hour, the line will snake all the way around the entrance hall.

“Good idea. No need to go out in that crappy weather. Are you staying?” I say to the guys.

“Me and Mehdi have to go,” Victor says. “Our group is having a lunch meeting.” He grimaces as he looks outside, and sees rain pouring down. We wave as they go.

“I brought some food,” Fredrik says, “but I don’t want to go out there.”

Yes!

“Get in line, Johanna,” I say, “I’ll take care of the table.”

I stand up. I raise my arms over my head and stretch. I notice Fredrik watching me. His gaze slides slowly over my body. Over my breasts. I pretend I don’t notice and stretch a little more. I run my hands through my hair. The shirt I’m wearing is tight and low cut. As I stretch, the shirt rides up to reveal a bit of my stomach. I’m glad I chose to wear it with my light blue stretch jeans. I think I look pretty good. And judging by the way Fredrik’s staring, he does, too.

I put my pencil and eraser in my pencil case. Gather up the used napkins, coffee mugs, and papers we were making our calculations on. I bend over the table. Accidentally brush against him and lean over to reach some scraps on the other side. I can feel him put his hand around my waist, on my hips. Steadying me. I linger for a moment. Longer than I need to.

“Everything all right?” he murmurs.

“Uh-huh.” I look into his eyes again. Put my hand on his shoulder. I want to stay like that, but it feels silly. I go over to a garbage can and throw away the trash.

When I go back to the table I look out through the big windows. Rain is streaming down outside. It’s almost cozy. Calming. Feels like no evil could reach me in here. A childish feeling, I know. But I am childish.

A movement outside makes me take a step back and look again. Is that Stella? A woman in a gray coat and a colorful scarf, holding a red umbrella. I’ve seen her before, below our window. Long, dark brown hair.

It’s her.

It’s Stella.

Why?

There’s no reason for her to be here.

Does she know I lied? Does she know I’m not sick?