“It never occurred to my sister to ask if I was all right. She refused to sit next to me at the funeral. She and her family sat on the opposite pew. Afterward, she came up to me and said if I ever contacted her again, she would have me charged with assault. Our dad was eaten up by cancer, but according to her logic, I had killed him with a vase.” For a moment Troels looked exasperated.
“When I called my sister that evening to attempt a reconciliation, it soon became clear she had no intention of forgiving me. When I hung up, I had a small breakdown. I was thinking about Johannes all the time; I was scared of what I had done, scared he might file charges against me, and all the while I just wanted to be with him. Karen suspected nothing. We met a couple of times; we had coffee and Karen chatted away about the great reunion that was to come. Suddenly, I had to see you. It seemed to be the only right thing to do. Perhaps you could speak to Johannes . . . I don’t know what I had imagined. I waited for you—twice. Found your address online and got into your building, hoping you would be there. I deliberately didn’t call you first, because I didn’t want you to turn me away. I was convinced that if only I could speak to you, everything would be all right again. I chickened out both times. One time I panicked. The woman below you came up to check on your daughter. I found out you had gone for a run. She left the door open, and I followed her in. I sat down and pretended to be an old friend. She threw me out. Told me I had to wait outside. She gave me such a hostile and suspicious look, her eyes flashed as if she had seen through me, caught me in the act. That’s when I panicked. I ran down the stairs and suddenly I heard you come back. The door downstairs opened, you were out of breath, I could hear that it was you. You coughed. I hid in the meter box. You and your neighbor looked for me, as if I were a criminal, as if I were a danger to others.” His voice sounded tired. “Just like when we were back at school, right? My dad had to be strict or he wouldn’t be able to control me, he told my teachers. No, of course he didn’t hit me. But he made himself clear, he assured them, he set boundaries. They understood that. They, too, had a job controlling me. Your parents were the only people who didn’t buy the story.
“I curled up inside the meter box, and you walked right past me. When I heard your footsteps above, I got out and ran. I found myself in Vesterbro. In front of Johannes’s building. I looked up at his windows. The light was on, and after a while Johannes appeared—he was on the phone. I stood outside for a while, then I knocked on his door. And when he answered it, I forced my way in. I had called him every day for two weeks, I had sent flowers, I had begged for his forgiveness, and sent him several e-mails. I had heard nothing from him.
“He was very scared when I got inside his apartment. I’m much bigger than he is, that’s what made it so perfect between us. I got aroused. There was something in his eyes; I caught a glimpse of something in his eyes. He wants me to, I thought. He wants to be dominated, controlled, humiliated; at that moment everything became clear. He had tricked me, tricked me good.” Troels’s eyes shone now.
Anna carefully slipped her hand inside her pocket and shivered, as though she was cold.
“I closed the door behind me and unzipped my jeans. It was what he wanted. I felt so sure. He walked backward, just as he was supposed to. I held my dick, I rubbed it, while I ordered him to take off his clothes and told him to suck me off. He was good at acting scared, he got it just right. He resisted. I called him lots of names . . . and suddenly I came. All over my hand and the floor. I buckled, consumed by a deep urge to hug him, to snuggle up. I closed my eyes for a second and when I looked at him again, he was armed. I don’t know where he got it from, but he was holding a knife. His eyes grew black. I said something. I raised my hands. ‘You mustn’t threaten me,’ I said. I wanted him to calm down, but he attacked me. Waved the knife in the air, stabbing at me. I tried to warn him, told him to put down the knife, to stop. His tenderness was gone, as was the fragility, which I loved about him. His voice had changed, too. It was dark and strange. He wouldn’t stop. He came closer to me wielding the knife and ordered me to leave. He screamed in a high-pitched voice, I felt drops of spit on my cheek.” Troels glanced at Anna.
“This time I didn’t run. I wanted him to shut up. He had to shut up.” Troels fell silent.
Anna got hold of one of the cable ties in her pocket and curled it up so it lay like a coiled snake in her hand. She pretended she wanted to change position and leaned forward. Her heart was pounding.