“Two months, maybe.” Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. “Calder found the woman.”
“And you both had sex with her?”
“Yes.”
“This arrangement has always been easy for you,” he observes. “But have there been any occasions when you’ve ever taken a woman home by yourself?”
“No.”
“I see.” He studies me, and the silence penetrates my nerves. “I’m going to make an observation that might be uncomfortable, and I want you to hear me out.”
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Calder was the first person to help you, wasn’t he? He brought a woman back home for you, introducing the possibility of sex in a way that gave you control. You didn’t have to speak to her. You didn’t have to interact. You simply did what came naturally.”
The eraser snaps off the end of the pencil when it butts against the desk, and I toss it aside, opting for a pen instead.
Click. Click. Click. Click.
“Have you ever considered that you might be using this situation with Calder as a crutch?”
“Sex doesn’t mean anything to me,” I tell him. “It’s just a release. There’s no need to complicate it.”
The clock ticks in time with my pen, and I contemplate how much damage I could really do with the tip. Is it strong enough to pierce an artery?
“What about your first girlfriend? You never had her on your own?”
“No.” My vision clouds. “We shared her too.”
“Has there ever been a time you simply wanted someone for yourself?”
The minute hand on the clock revolves twice as I consider his question. I don’t know what it’s like to have something for myself. Something I can control without the investment of societal expectations. Talking. Dating. Feeling. Caring. Those things require too much work and energy that I don’t have the time or capacity to offer.
“It couldn’t ever work,” I say. “Women have too many expectations. And even if they didn’t, they aren’t trustworthy.”
“Because you think they will betray you since that has been your experience in the past?”
My eyes fall shut, and I think of the trees. The dark, cold, quiet trees.
“Have you ever heard of the Aokigahara Forest?”
“No,” Dr. Blom answers. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s at the base of Mount Fuji in Japan. They call it the sea of trees.”
He silently dismisses my topic as a derailment from more important things. “What would it feel like to have an authentic conversation with a woman who doesn’t judge you, Thorsen? How would that feel to you?”
“I imagine it would feel like this.”
His brows pinch together. “What do you mean?”
“There is no authenticity in conversations.” Click. Click. Click. Click. “Most people are too self-involved to listen. I think you’re the only one who tries, but you still don’t hear me.”
He shifts in the chair, trying to hide his discomfort at my observation. “I’m sorry you feel that way. Is there something you’d like to discuss in particular?”
“Our time is almost up.”
He glances at the clock and nods reluctantly. “Before I go, you know I have to ask. Have you had any more intrusive thoughts?”
Yes. “No.”
“Are you still taking your medication?”
No. “Yes.”
“Your mother suggested I come by twice a week,” he says, rising from his chair. “How would you feel about that?”
“I don’t have the time right now for more than one visit.”
“Give it some thought,” he suggests. “We’ll revisit it another time.”
“Lisbet will see you out now. Thank you, Dr. Blom.”
“How is she?”
Astrid, my mother’s nurse, offers me a pitiful expression as she shuts the door to the suite and steps into the hall.
“She had another headache this morning. We managed to get it under control, but she’s drained. That’s normal at this stage. You’ll notice she needs to rest more.”
Normal. I balk at the word used to describe the hell of my mother’s reality. Every day, her life gradually slips away from her. Her body shrinks down to an empty shell as she fights to hold onto the mind that’s always shone like a sunbeam on a dark, cloudy day. Nothing about this situation is normal, and I resent the term ever being associated with this illness.
“Perhaps you can check back tomorrow,” Astrid suggests. “She’ll probably feel a little better in the morning, and I know she’d love to see you.”
My eyes drift to the door separating me from the woman who brought me into this world. A deluge of agony hits me all over again, and it feels as though the dead organ in my chest has been strapped into an electric chair, forcing me back to life just to torture me. She has been my only solace in this existence, and soon, she will fade away. I can’t do anything to make her stay a little longer, but I’m not ready to accept that she’s leaving either.
“Thorsen.” My father’s deafening voice booms from behind me, and every muscle fiber in my body knits together, bracing for his impact.
He’s striding down the hall with two of his personal staff in tow and my brother not far behind. Calder gives me a warning glance, silently alerting me our father is already on the warpath.
“Your mother is resting today.” His lips twist into a sneer. “She doesn’t need any visitors. And I need a word with you now.”
“Regarding what?” I provoke him. It’s no secret what the king wants to speak to me about.
His nostrils flare as his eyes cut to Astrid, and with a single look, he dismisses her. There are more appropriate places in the palace to discuss these matters, but my father has never given a second thought to airing his grievances in front of the staff.
“You know damned well what I’m referring to.” He narrows his eyes at me. “King Lars wants to know why Princess Yasmine has not yet received an official offer of marriage.”
“I have already discussed this with you at length. I’m not marrying Princess Yasmine, and if you have failed to inform King Lars of my decision, that’s your problem, not mine.”
His face mottles with red, hands curling into weapons at his sides. Right now, I imagine he wants to lodge one of those fists into my noncompliant mouth. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“You seem to think you have a choice,” he growls. “But you forget that it merely takes one signature from me to alter your life forever.”
“And what, you’ll drag me down the aisle in chains?” I challenge. “What would the media think?”
He launches himself at me, slamming me back against the wall as his fingers twist around my throat. His resentment for me blots out the color in his eyes like the moon eclipsing the sun. He wishes I was never born, and he doesn’t bother to hide it anymore.
“I am your king!” he roars. “And you will fall into line, so help me, Odin.”
“Father.” Calder attempts to intervene by grabbing his arm, only to be shoved aside.
Elias Lykken doesn’t look like much of a king as he crushes my trachea between his fingers, taunting me with his eyes. He wants me to fight back. He wants me to protest and beg, and if he knew me at all, he would understand there are no protests left in me. He’d do me a favor if he simply finished the job, right here and now.