“Sometimes I wish I could be more like Amina,” Stella said. “That I knew who I am and what I want, like her. I hate that my brain is like a fucking pinball machine.”
“I don’t want you to be like anyone else,” I responded, a lump in my throat. “You’re perfect the way you are.”
I stroked her cheek but couldn’t bring myself to look her in the eye. The shame was such a burden, the shame I felt because I, too, had wished Stella was more like Amina.
* * *
Stella whispers and gestures at Michael. She seems annoyed and confused. I wonder how much she understands.
“I don’t need a break,” Amina says, crumpling yet another tissue.
Adam grabs my arm.
“What is going on?”
I shush him without looking at him.
“Then the prosecutor may continue her questioning,” says G?ran Leijon.
Jansdotter is consumed with paging through her documents. The assistant prosecutor hangs over her, pointing and discussing.
“I don’t understand, Amina,” the prosecutor says. “Why didn’t you tell this to the police?”
“I couldn’t.”
“But now you can?”
“I have to,” Amina says. “For Stella.”
The prosecutor picks up her pen again and brings it to her chin.
“What happened after…？” She swallows the last word. “What happened afterwards, Amina? Did you come back to Lund with Christopher?”
“I cried the whole way in the car. But I didn’t have a choice.”
“Why didn’t you have a choice? You could have—”
“I was so damn scared!” Amina interrupts. “I understood that everything Linda Lokind had said was true. Chris was a psychopath. I tried to text Stella, but Chris noticed and he took my phone away. I figured if I could just get back to town I could run away as soon as I got the chance. I had my pepper spray in my purse and I thought if I sprayed him when he stopped the car I could jump out and escape.”
Jenny Jansdotter leans forward, propped on her elbows.
“Why did you have pepper spray in your purse?”
“I always carry it. As a girl, you have to be prepared to defend yourself.”
Jansdotter doesn’t seem convinced, but she lets it go. She clicks her pen and makes a brief note in her papers. Then she asks Amina to describe what happened when Christopher Olsen stopped the car outside his building.
“As soon as he turned off the engine I sprayed him. I grabbed my phone and threw myself at the door, but I couldn’t open it. Chris was screaming. My eyes, my eyes. Finally, I found the lock button and then I ran as fast as I could. I’ve never been so scared in my whole life. I was sure he would kill me if he caught up to me.”
“Which direction did you run?”
“No idea, I was just trying to get away. I remember I saw Polhem ahead of me, the school, but otherwise it was all a big blur.”
“What about Christopher, what did he do?”
“When I turned around the first time, he was still in the car. But then I saw that he had gotten out. I knew he was after me, so I just ran as far as I could.”
Jansdotter tries to ask another question, but Amina won’t give her the space.
“I saw a bunch of guys in the parking lot at the Ball House. So I slowed down and walked right behind them, all the way to the station. I kept turning around, but Chris wasn’t there. It seemed like he had given up.”
“Did you call the police?”
“Obviously that was my first thought, but then…” Amina shook her head. “Then I started thinking about what would happen.”
“What do you mean?” Jansdotter asks.
Amina is breathing heavily. I see her back moving slightly.
“There was one week left before I would start medical school. I’ve been dreaming of that since I was little.”
“So you didn’t tell anyone you were raped?”
“I didn’t dare to. I was thinking about Dad. I know how stupid it sounds, but it would destroy Dad if he found out. I was afraid of what he would do. Plus, Linda Lokind had already reported Chris, and it never led anywhere. Guys like him always get off.”
I can hardly bring myself to listen any longer. I just want this to be over now. Adam is glaring at me from the next seat, and I’m afraid of how he’s going to handle hearing the truth.
Amina raises her voice a notch.
“Stella was raped too.”
It takes a moment for the words to sink in. My gasp is so loud that the journalist in front of me turns around.