The first of June came and went and he still is on that damn island. I did not make a fuss about him coming home because I knew, somehow, that he was not. If I had to take a guess on when he is coming home, I would say midweek, around the 9th.
And then we are going to go camping, damn it.
I do not know where, I just know that it is going to happen.
That is all I had to say.
(let me explain the message above:
the one and only time Eirik was at my house, we were a bit off of our heads and that was when he told me that he was possibly taking this job in Rørvik for 18 months. “Hey”, I said, “I have a friend that lives there!” As soon as I finished my sentence, something felt wrong at the base of my skull. And then in the pit of my stomach. “Tell him not to go”, I heard from somewhere in my living room. I opened my mouth to tell him that I had a weird feeling about this job but then I stopped. Would he think I was telling him not to go because I was suddenly crazy about him (side note, I was not at the time)? I felt uneasy. This job was a bad idea. Really bad. I could not say so, the words were trapped in my throat. I got up and started to eat candy out of the bowl that was on my antique table. We started to talk about something else but the ominous tone stayed with me for a few more hours. “Tell him not to go, Melinda”. I shrugged it off. How bad could it be? He said he would be home every fourth week.
This was the first weekend of February 2020.
The champagne and the hash that lightly laced the peanut butter won and my brain was taken over by giggles and hormones. It was not until the early hours that I was tucking him into a taxi and kissing his face (not knowing it would be three-quarters of a year before I would do that again) good-bye did I hear, “Tell him not to go, Melinda!”
I shook it off. All of it. His touch, his smell, the premonition. I went into the shower and thought, half-heartedly that I would probably never talk to him again, anyway. It was too fucking nice. We had too much fun. It was not mine to have. Nothing good ever was. So, what difference did it make if he took this job that was a bunch of hours away, and maybe I might not see him? Whatever. Who is to say that I will after today anyway? I know I frowned, I can still feel that frown when I think of how foolish I was that morning.
I refused to let the tenderness of what I experienced penetrate me in any way. I built a wall up immediately so I could keep him out. I already knew he was going to hurt me, why should I pave him a freeway directly to my delicate pink parts?
Even though I knew he was not the heart-hurting type. I just felt so vulnerable.
And I just let him walk into a trap.)