“Lots of people like that stuff,” I said. “Bondage and S&M. Tying each other up and things. It’s more common than you think.”
“But honestly. Could you do something like that?”
“Not me.”
The very thought of not being in control, of being restrained while having sex, made me shaky.
“Why did Linda want you to see those things?” Amina wondered.
I didn’t know. In the locked drawer I had found a black leather gag with that ball thing that gets stuffed in someone’s mouth. A plastic bottle full of transparent liquid, a dark-gray rag, and a pair of sturdy metal handcuffs. At the bottom was a jackknife, its blade glaringly sharp.
“I suppose she wants to scare me off. It’s not exactly proof that Chris is a psychopath.”
“But the knife. Why does he have a knife?”
“You tell me.”
I hardly dared to think about it.
“Are you going to ask him?”
“What the hell would I say? That I happened to find the key to his locked drawer?”
He’d already sent three messages I hadn’t responded to. I didn’t know which way was up anymore.
“He lied about his age,” said Amina.
“It was only a white lie.”
Amina sighed.
“Can’t we do something else?” I asked. “Go somewhere?”
Too many thoughts were buzzing in my brain.
“Jerker Lindeberg’s having a party,” Amina said, swiping her thumb across her phone screen.
“Lindeberg. Doesn’t he live in Bj?rred?”
“Barseb?ck.”
Even worse. That was like fifteen kilometers away.
“I guess we could borrow Dad’s car,” I said. “They rode with some friends.”
Amina’s nose wrinkled.
“Just for a little while. If it’s lame we’ll leave right away.”
This wasn’t the first time I’d “borrowed” Dad’s car. It’s one of those big cars, unnecessarily big if you ask me; it feels like driving a delivery truck. I really prefer to practice for my road test in the driving school’s little Fiat.
I drove us through town, past Nova Mall, and toward the coast. Amina plugged her phone into the stereo and turned the volume to max. We were ironically digging some sax-heavy dance-band song about high mountains and low valleys when out of nowhere a tiny but flashy Audi TT pulled out in front of us.
I rammed the passenger side of the little German car, sending it flying off the road into a strawberry field. The driver was a wrinkled man in a toupée who rolled up his pant legs to keep from getting strawberry stains on them before chewing me out and informing me that he’d always said women were horrible drivers and, why, here was proof.
Dad and Mom had to drop everything to leave the party at the castle. They met us at the police station. Dad’s expression was dark and I sobbed inconsolably.
Luckily enough, it never went to court. I signed an order of summary punishment and had to pay a fine, and went home to curse at my own fucking stupidity.
The incident with the car, Dad called it.
The police called it driving without a license and reckless driving. Increased insurance premiums and income-based fines. Thirty thousand kronor right down the drain.
I was so furious at myself that I locked myself in my room and cried. Thirty thousand. That was half of my savings. There was no longer any chance I’d get away in the winter.
I was back to being stuck.
I lay in bed with music on my headphones, reading about psychopaths and sex. I knew I had read more or less the same stuff before, but I had to refresh my memory.
For a psychopath, sex is all about power.
In the beginning, the psychopath often places all the focus on their partner during the act of sex. But psychopaths are drawn to excitement and variation. Soon he will want to spice up their sex life, often with activities that seem uncomfortable to the partner. The psychopath slowly pushes the partner’s limits and in this way gains power over her. If the partner refuses to give in to his suggestions, he responds by making her feel guilty or threatening to find someone new.
Suddenly there was a bad taste in my mouth.
I thought about our walk along the beach, how Chris smelled when I rested against his chest, how he fed me strawberries in the sunset, how his hand squeezed my knee firmly on the roller coaster.
It couldn’t be.
When Chris called, I froze and stared at my phone as if it was a red-hot coal.
“What happened?” he asked.
I held the phone away from my cheek as I told him about the accident.