Chapter 22

My phone rang exactly an hour later and I answered quickly. "Blanka?"

"Hey."

"Are you alone?"

"Yes. Are you okay?"

"Yes. You?"

"I'm fine. Why did you never tell me about you?" she asked. "I'd have been on your side."

"And you'd have taken the heat for it as well if Dubravka found out you knew."

"I wouldn't have cared. So, you and Petter."

"Yeah." I grinned. "Who'd have thought it?"

"Are you happy?"

"Yes, I am. He's—" I paused. "He's what I've been looking for, for a long time. What about you?"

"Yes." I could hear her smiling. "Christian and I are together."

"That's good." I glanced at Petter, who was tossing and turning in his sleep. "Christian said he has some jewellery."

"I have it now. It's in your safe. Is there a way I can get it to you?"

I thought for a minute. "I've been trying to figure that out. I'll try to find a way to set up a post office box somewhere and let you know the address. I'll send a message to that phone when I've done it. You won't be able to call me again after this."

"I know." Blanka sighed. "Take care. Contact me when you can. If you can't call, maybe you can send a note to your old apartment or something? I don't know. I know you can't tell me where you are, but maybe one day I can come and find you."

"I hope so. Take care of yourself." I ended the call, removed the SIM card and broke it in half, then went back to watching Petter sleep. He continued to thrash around, groaning and muttering, and sweated so much his tee shirt grew wet. I was about to wake him when he jerked upright and opened his eyes.

"Fuck!" He scrubbed a hand over his wet face, shivering.

"Bad dream?" I moved closer and touched his shoulder. He was so wet his hoodie felt damp, too.

"Yeah, another. Every time I fall asleep I'm back in that cell with a razor blade in my hand."

"It'll get better. You need some time."

"I need a shower." He shook himself. "I stink. I can't remember when I last had one. It must have been before I was arrested."

"Monica should check your stitches first. You might need a waterproof cover on that." I indicated his left wrist, and went to fetch her.

Monica removed the dressings and checked both wrists. The right one only needed a waterproof sticking plaster. The left was starting to dry up and there was no swelling, but it had to be covered. She replaced the dressing with a fresh one and put a waterproof cover on top of it.

"You want any help?" I offered, when she'd gone back to the other rooms.

"No." Petter went into the bathroom, and closed and locked the door. I heard the other door open and close, then that one was locked, too. I returned to the TV as water began running in the bathroom.

He stayed in there a long time, even after the shower stopped. I hated not being able to do anything to help—not with the showering, but with his mental state. I couldn't make the bad dreams go away, or make him feel better about leaving everything behind. Once again I reminded myself that all of his suffering was my fault, and I felt like shit over it.

Eventually, the bathroom door opened and he came out wearing a clean tee shirt and jeans. The scruff on his face was gone, leaving only the moustache and goatee which he'd trimmed. He looked tired but better. He sat beside me, as close as he could get without actually being on my lap. "I'm sorry I'm such terrible company."

"You could never be that."

"Well, I feeling fucking stupid. I've never been in this position."

"How do you mean?"

"Um, needing somebody." He hung his head.

"Hey." I slid my arm around him. "It doesn't matter. Things will get better." I cupped his face in my other hand and made him look at me. "I'm not going anywhere. Don't think it's one-sided, though. I need you, too."

I hesitated a moment, wondering if I should kiss him or not. I wanted to, but maybe he didn't. I wasn't good at reading people unless I was threatening them. I closed the small gap between our lips. He sighed and clutched at me. It seemed much too long since we had kissed. I caressed his lips with mine, and suddenly he thrust his tongue into my mouth, rough and forceful. I let him take control, and closed my eyes with a groan of pleasure. My heart pounded and my blood headed to my groin.

Petter pushed me down onto the bed, still kissing me, and began unbuttoning my shirt one-handed. He slid his hand inside and stroked my chest, then down to my stomach. His lips left mine and I opened my eyes to meet his. I slipped my hand under his tee shirt, but he grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand off him, then resumed touching me. I lay there, breathless and aroused, as he unfastened my trousers and freed my erection from my underwear. When I glanced down at his crotch, it didn't look like he was hard.

"Petter," I gasped. "You don't have to—"

He silenced me with another kiss, and began jerking me off with long slow strokes. I closed my eyes again and gave myself up to it. I was desperate to come, and despite the anxiety and stress of the last couple of days, it was easy to forget it all temporarily and enjoy the feel of his hand. I didn't last long, and when he sat up and wiped his hand on the bed, he was grinning.

"Didn't expect that?"

"Not yet." I tucked myself away and sat up.

"Well, there's not much happening with me right now. I must have lost too much blood." He snorted. "Doesn't mean you should have to wait. You'll just owe me double when I have my energy back."

"I'll remember that." I kissed his cheek, surprised by his selflessness when he was still suffering so much. Would I have done the same for him if our positions were reversed? Yes, probably. "I love you."

"Love you, too," he grunted, not looking at me.

I grinned. Neither of us had ever said it before, and he seemed to find it more awkward to get those words out than I did. It was the first time he'd said more than "I feel the same way."

We ordered room service twice more that day—sandwiches and cakes for lunch, and a variety of things with fries in the evening. Petter ate, but it seemed as if every mouthful was a chore. That night he stayed with me and I slept undisturbed until the morning. He was still sleeping, pressed against me, when I opened my eyes.

"Hey." I kissed his nose. "Petter."

Slowly, his eyes opened and he smiled. "I slept well. No dreams." He pulled away from me and stretched. "Feel better, too."

"Good." I glanced at my watch. "We have two hours before we have to go to the airport."

"Okay. Better have some more food." He picked up the phone.