Chapter Text
It’s sleeting outside when Isak wakes up.
Heavy rain mixed with snow pitter-patters against the window sill in a stilted rhythm. The distinct smell of stale air, warmth, dog and home tingles in his nose when he opens his eyes. He can only distinguish Even’s silhouette in the darkness. During the night, he has pulled the duvet up to his ears and turned away from Isak. The hair at the back of his head is sticking straight up. It takes some conscious effort not to try and smoothe it down.
But that would wake him up ( – it’s much too early after yesterday – ) and it’s only five a.m. Isak knows that Even wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again.
He sits up. His muscles refuse to cooperate, and every movement feels wooden ( – like he’s been glued together in the wrong order and his joints have gotten stuck – ). The watery light of the March sun peeks through the hastily drawn curtains.
It’s just enough to see Navi’s eyes glisten at the foot of the bed.
Isak leans forward; scratches behind her ears, causing a yawn that reveals the two rows of sharp teeth. When he pulls back, she follows and gets up, standing over his legs.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
After she’s licked his cheek, she makes a graceful jump down from the bed. Tail wagging from side to side, she stares at him with impatient eyes. It’s enough to get him to sever himself from the warmth ( – the safety, the intimacy, the blissful ignorance – ) under the blanket, take off the sweat-damp clothes he’s slept in and follow her to the closet.
The door creaks when he opens it, and Even shifts in his sleep. He throws an arm over his head with a sigh. Just for a moment, it seems like he’s about to wake up, but then those long, deep breaths sound out into the room, indicating that he’s still asleep.
Normally, Even is the one to take Navi out for her morning walks. Quarter to seven, be it a work day or weekend, rain or blizzard: Even and Navi go for their forty-five-minute walk. On weekends, Isak likes to join them, but during the week it just doesn’t work out.
Not since he graduated and finally started working.
It’s almost absurd, knowing that nothing turned out like he thought it would. Physician: that was the job he’d aspired to since lower secondary school. But after two years of medicine, he’d had enough. Anatomy and biochemistry had been fascinating. The further he got, though, the more obvious it became that the amount of social commitment needed for him to do a good job would get on his nerves ( – take away the commitment that was so much more needed elsewhere – ) .
So the change to pharmacist had been the natural one to make ( – despite the bad conscience and a certain kind of fear of what he was contributing to, with the pharmaceutical industry being how it is right now – ) for his future prospects, if nothing else.
Navi stays patient as Isak puts on a pair of jeans and a fleece sweater. Then, she follows him at the heels as they walk down the stairs. She doesn’t move as he pulls on his waterproof pants and raincoat and pushes the collar over her head. The energy courses through her body as she obediently sits and waits for him to open the door.
When he reaches for the keys, she nudges at his fingertips with her nose, and he strokes her neck one more time.
“Let’s go.”
The sleet has turned into a light drizzle when they step outside the door. The slush splashes away under Navi’s paws as she ambles through it. The wet, cool air feels soft against his skin. It doesn’t sting the way the dry, minus twenty-degree midwinter cold does, even though it still chills him to the bone. It really clears out his mind ( – opens it up, airs it out, ventilates it – ) better than anything else.
They follow the road for a little while, until they branch off onto the short hiking path. Mouldering leaves are peeking through the spotty layer of slush. After a quick look over his shoulder, Isak unhooks Navi’s leash. With her nose touching the forest floor, she’s soon engrossed in the new scents that have turned up during the night.
If he were to call for her, she would return to his side right away ( – out of obedience, playfulness or protection – ). That’s the only reason he dares to let her run off-leash and get that coursing energy out of her system.
The drizzle patters softly against the hood of his raincoat. The hollow space between his ears and the waterproof fabric amplifies the sound and he winds the leash around his hand ( – doesn’t want to think about yesterday, the past night, just a few hours ago – ) . Even if they hadn’t had Navi, he would still have taken refuge out here.
The forest, together with Navi and the silence surrounding them, is his hiding place, where he can come to simply breathe. It has been one for several years now. From before everything in the aftermath of ( – the collapse, the reconstruction, the restoration – ) Even’s last manic episode. All the things that ultimately forced him to find an outlet for his numbness ( – the inverted anxiety – ) to prevent it from swallowing him whole. So that it didn’t render him passive and incapacitated in a way ( – which scared him out of his wits – ) he didn’t recognize.
It had been close to a full-scale system collapse back then, two years ago. Denying it would be nothing short of detrimental. His probation at the university started to suffer to the degree that he’d decided to apply for a job at the hospital instead. The overtime he’d been collecting the weeks before the collapse had, after all, without a single warning, been followed by a two weeks’ absence. And that had surely made a less than stable impression.
But there had been no other option; Even was his everything. And besides, just breathing had been hard enough ( – his bad black sticky suffocating conscience had constricted everything – ) for several months afterwards.
Although he gained back his normal weight, started sleeping again, and accompanied Even to his psychologist for half a year ( – in addition to his own sessions – ) to process the accident, the four missing days preceding it and everything that followed, had almost snuffed out something inside him. The fact that a question ( – so permanent, irreversible, vital – ) he couldn’t bring himself to answer with a yes , had lead to a meltdown that even they couldn’t escape unscathed.
He wraps the leash a little tighter around his hand so it restricts ( – the negative thoughts, all that self-deprecation that seems so natural, a subjective truth – ) the blood flow for a moment.
Just enough to draw him back to the present.
Being a contact family had no connection to genetics or blood relations, anyway. It was just about offering someone place to stay ( – a more official basement – ). It wasn’t easy, more difficult in certain aspects – but yesterday’s events had been on a whole different plain.
Alma’s rage is an essential part of her. Right from the beginning, it had been a given ( – when Even had smiled at her, asked if she wanted to see where she would be sleeping and she had turned around in the doorway and stormed outside in her socks, middle finger in the air – ) and something they had to learn how to manage, not to get rid of.
The fact that it didn’t just explode, but also imploded with the same shattering force, had been unexpected.
And it’s irrational, but unbelievably difficult to not get angry with her. It’s unfair ( – considering her alcoholic dad, other circumstances, she’s not the one – ) to blame her, but it’s no joke to ignore your frustrations. Or that feeling of failure. Even has started to get closer to her in the last months, but every attempt Isak makes is stomped into the ground. He is, in a way, familiar with that. Patience and slightly ajar doors should be the answer, but when she verbally lashes out like a wounded animal, ( – as Even looks from the sidelines with apologetic eyes, powerless, like a discovered double agent who has to pick a side – ) it isn’t easy to keep his calm.
At the end of the day, she’s still a compromise.
Sometimes, he just wanted to give up. Just quit the whole thing. Admit to himself and to Even that they’d tried it out, but that it wasn’t for them. That she was too much, beyond their expertise. What she needed just highlighted all the parts that were missing, yet intrinsic to who he was ( – parental instinct too weak, too tied in with environment and upbringing – ).
Some things you can’t learn if you don’t want to.
But after this ( – his conscience would consume him from the inside out – ) it would be impossible to just give up one her. Not after the things ( – the trail of blood – ) she left in the bathroom. He doesn’t even want to think about the damage it would cause ( – what he would have done if Eskild hadn’t been there for him that time – ).
The fir trees, their outlines made visible by the low-hanging clouds, rustle softly in the wind. A squirrel scurries past a bit further down on the path. Navi lets out a short bark, her ears pointed, alert, her tail held high, rigid.
“No, Navi.” Isak snaps his fingers. “Heel.”
Had she been out with Even, she might ’ve followed her instincts and chased after the squirrel. Now, she doesn’t even stay to watch it disappear up the nearest tree. Instead, she immediately comes running towards Isak, tail still held up high.
Navi. With her big, brown eyes. Who doesn’t slow down before she’s right in front of him, plopping herself down next to his feet. Always eager for the next command. It doesn’t matter what he tells her to do, or what they are doing, as long as she gets to be with him ( – unconditionally – ).
That is one of the main reasons they brought her into their lives.
One evening, they’d driven out to the shelter. They’d just wanted to check the place out. It had been intended as a spontaneous visit, but they had ended up leaving with her. Even though she was a very unfortunate mixed-breed ( – greyhound and husky put into one dog was the equivalent of holding a delayed-action bomb – ), he couldn’t leave her. It’d become obvious that they could provide what she needed. They could, of course, have left her there, in the hope that someone else would recognize that she wasn’t a hopeless case. But after she ( – had peered at him with her big eyes and held onto his sleeve with her teeth, just like Lea – ) had made an impression, it became too difficult to consider that as a way out.
And just the fact that the alternative had once existed, and that the end result was something they chose out of their own volition, made the consequent obligations ( – the morning walks, the vet appointments, all the time-consuming expensive extras – ) easier to manage.
Made it possible to relieve the stress, lower the blood pressure, and start over.
The old football field is always a good place to let Navi run off the worst of her pent-up energy. When the university hospital comes into view behind the trees, they head down the little path, homebound.
The street is quiet and grey as they walk back to the house. The hallway seems brighter as they step inside, even though the street lights have switched off by now. He is only met by the sound of rattling kitchen pipes ( – no humming, no radio, no voices – ) and silence. Isak puts his waterproof gear on one of the hooks and quickly dries off Navis wet paws before he walks in.
She disappears upstairs, likely because she wants to cuddle up next to Even again. On a normal weekend morning, Isak would have followed her, but the restlessness is still prickling under his skin, and it’s ( – better than the numbness, more productive, effective – ) impossible to just fall asleep again.
The coffee maker is already on the counter, so he just rinses it out and fills it up again. It burbles in a homely way, and Isak takes his reading glasses from the windowsill, opens a few tabs on his phone and starts doing research ( – papers, leaflets, organisation web pages – ). It’s both calming and frightening, but it’s much easier to get on the right side of things when he can rely on the facts ( – a solid, sturdy foundation – ).
When it’s coming up to nine o’clock, there are sounds from upstairs. First it’s a creak on the wooden floorboard, then a step on the staircase ( – someone heavier than Alma – ).
Isak clears his throat. “In here.”
The footfalls change direction, and then Even appears in the doorway. He’s hollow-eyed and his lips are dried out ( – not ghastly pale and bloodless – ), and his smile is a little weak. Even takes two cups out of the cupboard above the sink.
“Should I heat this up again?” Even asks, his voice soft and careful as he puts his fingers against the cooled-down metal of the coffee pot sitting on the counter.
“Maybe? It’s been standing there for a while.”
Even nods and switches on a stove plate. They listen as the coffee heats up again. When there is a weak whistling sound, Even fills up two cups with practised movements. Picks one, and puts the other one down in front of Isak on the table.
Then, he winds his arms around Isak’s shoulders; buries his nose in his hair. Takes a few deep breaths and says: “You already went out with Navi?”
“Yeah. Managed to wake her when I woke up, so went out for an hour. Let her run and get her energy out as well.”
“That explains it. She’s hogging your side of the bed, dead to the world. If you want to have it back, you’ll have to fight for it.” Even’s voice is warm against his scalp. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
Isak shrugs ( – Even’s head goes with the upward motion without resistance – ). The open browser tab, showing SHEDO’s homepage, disappears as the screen switches off. “Just a bit less than usual.”
“Good.” Even doesn’t move ( – is still warm, safe, present – ) behind him. “I’ll take her out again later.”
“Maybe you can take Alma with you too? If she’s able to walk?”
“I think so. It was mostly the shock that prevented her from walking last night.”
Even goes silent, and absentmindedly fiddles with one of the strings on Isak’s fleece sweater. Rolls the small piece of metal at the end back and forth between his fingers. Without turning to look at him, Isak knows he is staring out the window ( – at the neighbours who still haven’t woken up, the ones Even always stops to talk with – ) where the rain is slowly forming puddles.
“Don’t know how much it helps, but I’ve read some articles.” For a moment, the words ( – like every other time he has to make things real, tangible – ) get stuck in his throat before he manages to push them out.
“Is there nothing we can do other than just talking to her? Have you talked to her today?”
“Not yet. It was – I checked up on her before I came downstairs. She’s still asleep.”
“I think that it would be – that it’s better if we wake her up now. So she isn’t just lying up there on her own, and – thinking.”
Even lets out a hoarse laugh, and presses a kiss to his hair. “Good thinking. I’ll do it.”
Two fingers tilt his head back until he’s looking into Even’s eyes. The glasses slip down his forehead, forced by gravity, as Even kisses him on the mouth; it’s soft, familiar, and reassuring. Nudges his tongue tentatively against Isak’s. It doesn’t matter how many kisses they’ve shared at this point, it still makes a pulse of some electrical nature surge through him ( – from his mouth, up to his brain, down to his toes – ),simply because Even lingers a moment longer than usual.
“You can go and sleep for a bit, if you’d like.”
Little white spots swim in front of his vision ( – roaring and hissing inside his ears – ) even though he has them closed. Isak sighs and snorts at him.
“I just had coffee.”
Even rubs his shoulders. “You can try to, at least,” he says. Then, he puts their cups into the dishwasher and disappears upstairs again.
His soft footsteps sound on the floor, moving towards the old office. Isak listens as Even opens the door and gently whispers Alma’s name.
First, his hearing comes back. Then, his body. After that, his consciousness follows bit by bit.
Everything is spinning, the objects in the room blurred and his mouth feels like damp sandpaper. Taking a nap during the day always seems like a good idea, but it’s a double-edged sword. Either you wake up naturally, well-rested and refreshed, or you get woken up and feel wrung out, like a used dish towel.
Isak stretches, his back giving a satisfying crack when he turns to look over his shoulder.
In the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, eyes downcast, her eyes pointed towards the floor, stands Alma. Her hair, normally a long mane she hides behind, is put up in two tight plaits ( – surely Even’s or her own doing – ) which make it easier to get a look at her face.
Her cheeks and nose have a red glow to them, but there is no swelling, so nothing points to her having cried.
Isak swallows and slowly sits up. “Have you three gone out for a walk?” he asks, and keeps his voice as neutral as he can manage.
Her head flies up, she finally makes eye contact ( – holds it, uneasy, but determined – ) and nods.
“Yeah. Even took me outside. He’s busy with Navi now.” She throws a look over her shoulder. “I think.”
“Okay.” It suddenly feels like he needs to have solid ground under his feet. “Did he tell you to wake me up?” he asks, even though he knows that Even wouldn’t ask that of Alma.
“No, he didn’t.”
If she had been someone else, and if it hadn’t been so painfully obvious that there was something she would like to say, her lingering in the doorway would’ve gotten on his nerves. Now, after all that’s happened, it’s easier to be patient.
“So, I just – wanted to say something about the stuff I said yesterday. It just came out like that,” she says, still not averting her eyes.
“You already apologized, Alma. It’s alright.”
“But – it’s not, though. You know that too. It’s never magically okay again just because you’ve said sorry.”
She looks at the floor again, but thanks to the plaits, Isak can see the private, wry smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
It’s hard around the edges, but it’s a smile nonetheless.
Isak shrugs. “Maybe. Doesn't mean that it’s not alright.”
Alma sighs. “It’s just so fucking awkward afterwards.”
A little tremor runs through her. It looks like she comes to a conclusion; then, she steps into the room. She hesitantly walks over to the bed, and lies down on Even’s side. Pulls up her knees a bit, but grimaces, stops the movement and straightens out her legs again. Instead, she winds her arms tightly around Even’s pillow, as if to push all of her anxiety into it, allowing the last of the pent-up tension to seep out of her body.
She really doesn’t look sixteen years old ( – did he look this small when Eskild found him – ). Isak lies down again next to her; for a moment, she holds her breath, but doesn’t open her eyes.
“If you say it’s okay,” she mumbles instead, “it has to be.”
“So now you actually believe the things I say?”
The corners of her mouth twitch upwards. “Shut up. I’m in the middle of doing some conflict management here,” she says, making air quotes with her fingers. Her eyes are still closed.
Isak’s unable to stop from smiling. “So he asked you to come up here?”
“He – okay, yeah, he suggested it.”
It’s sleeting again. The pitter patter against the windowsill entwines itself with the silence in the room: it’s a pleasant soundtrack to relax into before the intimidating next step in this conversation. Carves out a pause to designate the words he wants to say and catch his breath. Isak turns his gaze away from her face. Looks up at the ceiling instead ( – the straight, familiar grooves he has rested his eyes on too many restless nights – ) .
“His thoughts on things are good. He gets stuff. Can read situations well.”
In the corner of his eye, Alma swallows. “Yeah. I noticed that.”
The words lie on his tongue like a couple of ibuprofen pills: he needs to swallow them or spit them out before they melt and makes him nauseous instead of healing. “If there – is something, go talk to him first. I’m a bit too much of a pragmatist. I might hurt you without meaning to.”
“Okay.” Without opening her eyes, Alma smiles again. “I’ll remember that.”
“Good.”
Suddenly, a faint clicking sound travels over from outside the door. Then, the door hinges squeak, and a black nose can be seen in the slight door opening Alma left.
“Come in, Navi.”
The dog opens the door just enough to squeeze through and goes to sit on the floor next to him. She eagerly looks up at him, and Isak pats the bed. As soon as she gets the green light, Navi jumps up to lie down between him and Alma with a deep sigh.
Isak reaches out with his hand and scratches Navi under her chin. “She’ll fall asleep soon. How long did you walk for?
“Like two hours, I think.”
“Then it really won’t take long.”
Alma offers her hand, and Navi looks at it for a moment. Then, she licks the space between her fingers ( – carefully, like the biggest wounds are the visible ones – ). Alma’s whole face softens when Navi puts down her head so she can scratch her behind the ears.
“Hey, Navi,” she whispers. “Are you tired too?”
Navi answers with a yawn, and Isak can’t help but let out a laugh at that. Alma smiles.
The silence settles between them again. The sound of breathing, Alma’s fingers softly scratching Navi’s fur, and satisfied animal sighs fill the room. Isak listens to this quiet murmur ( – and Even’s footsteps downstairs, knows that he’s not alone in this house, that he is safe here – ).
It’s such a pleasant feeling when there are no words or interfering sounds, even if you have another person lying right next to you.
He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but when he looks over at Alma again, she’s fallen asleep. One hand supporting her cheek, the other buried in Navi’s fur ( – safe and peaceful – ).
Carefully, so he doesn’t wake them up, Isak extracts himself from the bed. Navi looks at him for a bit but resumes her previous position when he tells her to.
Then, he walks out, leaving the door to the bedroom slightly ajar.
The couch in the living room is unoccupied, but he finds Even in the kitchen. The hours outside have been hard on his hair and his cheeks. His hair is sticking out in all directions after having been flattened down by a beanie, and his cheeks are still red. He’s leaning against the counter next to the kitchen sink, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.
Isak stops to stand on the threshold.
“What’s that?”
Even looks up. His eyes are shiny, but he just swallows. Holds out a thick wad of kitchen roll/to Isak. “She – she gave them to me. Told me to get rid of them.”
Carefully, Isak takes the wrapped objects into his hand. Inside the thick wad of kitchen roll, there are seven or eight razor blades. Single-edged blades, a reinforcement on the other side to screw them into a paint scraper or a box cutter. Three are still in their plastic casing ( – the rest are used – ).
His unease is dark green, almost black, stinging and growing like streptococci at the back of his throat. Isak manages to swallow it down.
“Where’s the knife?” he presses out ( – with force, the words very much having gotten stuck – ).
“I don’t know.” Even sighs, and doesn’t hesitate when Isak hands him back the wad of kitchen roll. Wraps the wad carefully ( – respectfully, almost – ) around the blades until they can no longer be seen.
“It’s going to take a while until she hands that one over.”
“Too scary to hand everything over at once?”
That was what he’d gotten from his research this morning. The safety that could be found in always having ( – a little tool to open vents – ) something sharp at hand; the knowledge that the possibility and the choice were always there.
Even if you abstained.
“Yeah. You’re probably right.” Even goes into the pantry and puts the razorblades on the same shelf as the dog treats. He drums his fingers against the pantry door, following the same rhythm as the rain pitter-pattering against the windowsill. Then, he looks at Isak again, open, smiling, as if he’s let everything go ( – for the moment, decided that he can’t do anything more than he already has, and will therefore let it rest – ) and points to one of the shelves higher up.
“I was thinking I’d try that Indian recipe I found, and we still have some bulgur. What do you say?”
Isak goes over to him. Stands next to him, feels the warmth he exudes like a human heater. Leans slightly against him ( – letting the warmth push away his thoughts for a bit – ). Then, he nods.
“Sounds great.”
Isak stretches up to take the bulgur packet from the shelf.
Behind him, Even switches on the radio, and the kitchen fills with sounds.