“Do you come here often?” Chris asked.
That repulsive perfect smile again.
“To Tegnérs? Well, there’s not many options when you’re too young.”
“Or too old,” he said.
That was actually funny. I appreciated his self-awareness.
The taxi braked suddenly and my stomach gave another worrying lurch. A thick clump stuck in my throat.
“Everything okay?” Chris asked.
I took a deep breath and muttered something about how he’d managed to choose the worst taxi driver in town, what were the chances?
“Have you tried Tinder?” I asked. “Happy Pancake? Those are full of people your age.”
“Happy what now?”
“There’s this new thing. The internet. A worldwide digital zone. Mostly for us young folks, maybe.”
He chuckled, but soon a more serious expression passed over his face.
“I’ve had some bad experiences.”
“With the internet?”
“With girls.”
I laughed a bit, but Chris’s smile seemed forced and sad. The taxi took a left and braked. More gently this time. Maybe the driver had heard my dig. My stomach was seriously upset, though, and I was afraid I might throw up at any moment.
“This is me,” Chris said, and only then did I realize that the car had stopped. “I’ll pay for the whole trip, so just tell the driver where to let you off.”
He leaned between the front seats to swipe his American Express.
My phone buzzed. Another text from Amina.
Youve got your pepper spray right?? You never know!
What did she think? I began a response, but the puke was rising up and my cheeks filled with saliva and I couldn’t wait any longer. I opened the door and staggered out.
With my eyes on the asphalt, I stumbled over to a bush, tossed my purse on the ground, and threw up.
It took a long time. I gagged and coughed and more came out. Until it was just bile. How had I gotten so drunk? I hadn’t had all that much to drink.
This was why I hated drinking.
Surely no one had put anything in my drink, right?
When I was sure I was done, I tried to fix myself up a little using a wet wipe from my purse. Then I turned around, shame-faced, only to discover that the taxi was gone. Farther down the sidewalk was Chris, something hard in his gaze.
“Come on,” he said. “You can come up and freshen up a bit.”
I thought of Amina’s text and felt for the pepper spray in my bag. Rummaging and rooting. What the fuck? I shoved half my arm in. Nothing. I always have that little bottle with me. Always.
But it wasn’t there.
56
Chris lived one floor up in a yellow building pretty close to Polhem School. The door said C. Olsen.
What was I doing there? Drunk and dizzy and totally wrecked after puking out half my stomach.
As I bent down in the hallway to pull my shoes off, I nearly fell onto my head. Chris caught me and held me up, his hands on my hips.
“Lie down on the sofa for a minute,” he said, guiding me gently into the living room.
I collapsed onto the sofa and lay there like a beached whale, staring up at the fancy plasterwork on the high ceiling. Meanwhile, Chris was clattering around in the kitchen. My eyelids were heavy and I was halfway into a fog.
“Are you asleep?” Chris asked.
He set a large glass of water on the coffee table.
“Drink this.”
My eyes swam as I sat up. I took big gulps of the water.
Chris watched me expectantly.
When I put the glass back down, it struck me how ridiculously na?ve I was. I knew full well that there were rape drugs you couldn’t taste. Why was I being so careless? But, okay, we were in his house and at the moment I was northern Europe’s least sexy pick-up. So there probably wasn’t anything to worry about.
“That thing you said. About girls,” I said. “What did you mean?”
“What did I say about girls?”
“You said you had some bad experiences.”
“Oh, that.”
He sucked at his lower lip and looked like he regretted mentioning it.
“It’s fine,” I said. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
Chris leaned back on the sofa and rested his hands in his lap.
“You know that stalker I mentioned?”
“Oh, right, the stalker.”
The memory gradually returned.
“It wasn’t just some random. It was my ex.”
“Your ex?”
He nodded and scratched his chin.
“She couldn’t deal with things ending between us. I didn’t handle it well, I’ll admit that. I met someone else and fell for her. Not a pretty story, but you can’t help what your heart wants, can you?”