Wandering Spirits

Chapter 18

The light seeped gently through the cracks in the blinds, casting a labyrinth of shadows over the messy bedroom.

Storm was sleeping very heavily, dreaming of a life without worries, until a sharp gasp cut through the silence and ripped him out of his sleep.

He blinked confusedly at the morning light, while his brain struggled with the remnants of dreamland. Beside him, where Freja had been lying, there was now only an empty space and a mess of sheets. He reached forward, still trapped in the borderland between sleep and wakefulness, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with his knuckles.

"Freja?" His voice was marked by the drowsiness that still lingered over him, and he tried to focus on the slender figure standing by the edge of the bed.

Her posture was tense, like a violin string about to snap, and she held her arms tightly around herself. It took a moment before he noticed how she was shifting from one foot to the other, which was not in line with her usual nature.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, sitting up in bed. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, but worry was starting to break through the fog. He gazed up at her, a hint of a smile in a failed attempt to lighten the mood. But their smiles lingered in the room, unspoken and uncertain, as the two people looked at each other, each of them trapped in their own labyrinth of thoughts and emotions.

Storm stared at the red spot that had colored the otherwise white sheets. There was a quiet understanding flowing through him, an adult realization he had never had to deal with before. He glanced cautiously up at Freja, who stood there, small and vulnerable, arms wrapped around herself while she muttered excuses as if words alone could cleanse the spot.

"It's... no problem," he muttered, his voice calmer than his inner panic suggested. He noticed how her hands clenched, and the eyes that sparkled with tears. She looked at him as if she was expecting an outburst, a violent reaction, something that would confirm the fear vibrating in the air between them.

"Look here, Freja," he said, stepping cautiously closer. "It's just sheets. They can be washed." His words were accompanied by a small, encouraging smile, as if he was trying to paint normality back into the room with just his presence and light tone of voice.

She nodded, but it wasn't enough to chase away the blushing embarrassment that had stuck to her face. Storm felt a lump forming in his throat - he was supposed to be the responsible one here, the helpful one, but what did he really know about women's matters?

It hit him as he looked at the small pharmacy section in the bathroom cabinet: empty of everything that could be useful to her now. He took a deep breath. Well, it was time to set aside his absent-minded nature and become the hero the day required - the shopping list had to be written.

With a mental sigh that he made sure not to let out audibly, the thought sneaked forward that he now had to navigate through the unfamiliar shelves of intimate products. In his head, he had already started planning some sort of plan: in, find, grab - and run to the checkout as if he was escaping a burning building.

Storm went back into the bedroom and stood at the foot of the bed, observing the reddish imprint that had stained the white sheets. He felt a new mild panic burst in his chest, but didn't show it. Instead, he lifted his gaze towards her, who was sitting huddled with her arms around her knees, eyes wide and scared.

"Should I go and buy... what you need?" he asked, his voice sounding uncertain as the words twisted around something so personal and foreign.

Freja nodded, her face lightening slightly at his offer. "I noticed it yesterday," she whispered, "but I didn't know how to say it."

"You live here now, Freja," he said with a tone that he hoped carried more confidence than he actually felt. "It's completely fine that you tell me these things."

She met his gaze and nodded again, this time with a hint of gratitude in her wet eyes. Storm couldn't quite tell if she was convinced or just relieved to not have to explain more.

He turned around and began mumbling to himself as he picked up the empty shopping list from the corner of the kitchen. "Pads, tampons," he listed, "and maybe some chocolate?" He furrowed his brow. That was what movies often suggested women needed in these times.

With each item he added to the list, he felt how his role as an involuntary merchant of feminine products became more real. Every time he imagined standing at the checkout with a package of pads in his hands, he could almost hear the people in line behind him whispering and giggling.

"And here I thought the hardest thing today would be finding matching socks," he muttered. He found a pair of clean socks under the sofa, noticed they didn't match, shrugged, and put them on. Clearly, this was the day for new challenges.

Storm reached for a clean sheet in the wardrobe, feeling the rough fabric against his fingertips. He glanced back at Freja, who sat there with a mix of gratitude and shyness in her eyes. He wished he could do more to help her feel better, but right now it was the small, practical actions that were needed.

"Freja," he said, "maybe you can take a shower while I tidy up here?"

She stood up, unsure and vulnerable, with her arms wrapped around herself. "I... I don't know if I can do it alone."

He walked over to her, gently took hold of her shoulders, and looked into her eyes. "I have seen a girl who survived in the forest all alone. You are stronger than you think."

His words seemed to vibrate in the air between them, sail through the room and attach to the walls like an echo of encouragement.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice small beneath the large brown eyes that still held a glint of tears.

"Absolutely." He nodded, convinced of his own words, and saw how gratitude spread across her face before she disappeared into the bathroom.

While he heard the water start to run from the shower, he unhooked the sheet from the mattress and rolled it up. His thoughts drifted away like clouds in a stormy sky. In just two weeks, he would be back at work, and he felt a hint of panic at the thought of balancing caring for Freja with his work life. How could he protect her and still hold on to his own routine?

He leaned over the striped bed, carefully spreading the fresh, white sheet over the mattress. He smoothed out every single wrinkle with the palm of his hand, as if he could push away the chaos of the day and make everything clean and new again.

"Progress," he whispered to the four walls, "that's what we need." But the words hung heavy in the air, as if they were too big and important for the room to bear.

He went into the kitchen and completed the list, looking at it with a mixture of determination and nervousness. Buying these things was not just shopping; it was a trial, a competition with public norms, with the looks and whispers that followed him last time at the clothing store.

"I got this," he said firmly to his reflection in the window, even though the reflection seemed skeptical. "In and out, no eye contact." He imagined how he would maneuver through the store, avoiding the most curious glances.

The first part of the plan was not going to be a problem as it was just groceries, but he knew the last part of the plan was crucial: to grab Freja's items at the last second, place them nonchalantly on the conveyor belt, and quickly swipe the card. Yes, easy peasy!

"It's just a pads," he continued, trying to convince himself more than the reflection.

"I'm going to the store now Freja!" he shouted through the bathroom door, receiving a completely carefree "ooooookay" in response.

His heart beat faster as he left the apartment, the shopping list clenched tightly in his hand. It was as if he was entering a battlefield, ready to fight against invisible enemies. Storm hurried down the street, trying to focus on the uneven cobblestones under his feet instead of the growing anxiety in his chest.