Annika Northman: Part Two

Chapter 11: Humming

Some time later, when I'm numb and empty but at least not sobbing uncontrollably, I sit on the tub's edge, splash my face with cold water, and twist off the faucet before resting my head in my hands. My eyes feel like balloons against my damp palms. The towel I keep draped over my legs, still folded, if disheveled and tearstained.

Not thirty seconds after the water stops running, I hear from the other side of the door: "Annika. Come out."

My throat closes again. I bring my fists down on the towel. Just because I couldn't cry anymore doesn't mean I'm ready to talk to Eric. I would have left the water running if I'd known he'd want to speak the moment I turned it off.

The doorknob turns but meets the lock's resistance. "None of our problems will be solved by my breaking down the door." Eric sounds nothing if not tired. "Come out."

I push my face into the towel one more time before placing it on the floor. I wipe my hands over my already-dry cheeks as I rise. When I open the door, I keep my shoes rooted on the smooth tile in here and stare at Eric's on the dark carpet out there. His shoes are leather and mine are whatever sneakers are made of. They're nice sneakers, gleaming blue Converse, but I have no doubt the ones on his feet cost a great deal more. I wonder if he would buy me shoes that nice if I asked.

"You are not a fool," he says. "If there is one true thing in the world, it is that."

Kind words. Nonetheless, I keep my swollen eyes down and my hand on the knob, as if I could actually close the door on Eric if he wasn't willing to allow it.

"I am frustrated," he continues, each word careful. "I did not mean to take it out on you."

I press against the doorframe, just my body at first, then my head. When I speak, I do so slowly, double-checking each word before I let it go, each of them crackling like fire kindling. "You told me trust you to tell me what I needed to know, and to not tell me the other things. I told you I do, and I meant it. But I just . . ." I sniff. God, I don't want to start crying again. Eric has already seen me cry too often in the past few weeks. He's never shamed me for crying, not once in my life, but I know it must seem weak to him, it has to. "I just . . . I thought that if you didn't want me to know something, you would tell me that. Tell me that you didn't want me to know it. I didn't think you would . . . make me believe something that wasn't true." I don't want to say lie again. That word has done me no favors tonight. "Because believing something that isn't true . . . that makes me feel like a fool."

As I finish, I trace my toe along the line where the tile and the carpet meet, and from the corner of my eye I see Eric raise his hand to touch my head.

I pull away.

I don't decide to do so, I truly don't. Had I thought about it, I would have stood still, no matter what my feelings deep inside. But . . . those feelings deep inside made a choice for the rest of me. I know Eric took back his words, at least the you little fool part, and I know I'm the one who asked to come to Mississippi in the first place, I know, I know, I know –

But feelings are feelings. And I may have been childish – I know I was – but he was mean. Eric's hand falls and dangles by his hip.

His next words are short. "See what you can use in there to get ready for bed." He indicates the bathroom. "It will be dawn soon, you need sleep."

He turns away, and I close myself in the bathroom once more, stepping to the marble sink, placing my hands on either side of it, and taking deep breaths as quietly as I can. I stare at myself in the mirror, a pale little girl. I could carry luggage in the bags beneath my eyes. I would have thought Eric's blood had taken care of those, but no. After all, I just had a few sips. I'm already simmering down, I feel it, and it's not pleasant. Or maybe that's just everything else in the world being so very not pleasant.