Possessed hearts
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But there was one bright spot in all this pun: despite the spontaneity and lack of other flights, I was lucky enough to arrive in Toronto at ten in the evening.
My car was waiting for me in the airport car park. Very convenient.
Toronto! Hello, my favourite city! Full of life and lights! How nice it is to drive your roads in the evening! How nice to hear all the noise and clamour and see all the many mortals! How I missed you so much, even though I only parted from you for a short while!
The drive home from the airport did little to dispel my gloomy thoughts, but as I drove up to the penthouse, I was displeased to discover that my neighbour, the very same Troy, was having a raucous party. So before I reached the car park, I made a sharp U-turn and headed for the nightclub. But I couldn't forget. As soon as I started kissing the victim, I was suddenly so disgusted that I threw the admirer away from me and, stunned by the feelings of filth and contempt that engulfed me, I almost ran out of the club, got into my car and raced home at breakneck speed. Embraced by a feeling I'd never known before: self-loathing.
And I didn't care about Troy and his party!
Home… Home!
"What am I gonna do? What the hell am I supposed to do? I'm going crazy!" – I thought feverishly as I drove down the road, gripping the steering wheel of the car with nervous fingers. – How do I escape from myself? Where do I run to? To whom?"
– Get out of my way! – I shouted irritably, hitting the signal button, and then swerved into oncoming traffic, whizzing past a row of cars. – Idiots!
Some of them honked at me, but I didn't care. Then I turned onto the street I wanted and tried to get my thoughts in the right direction.
"I know who I can forget everything that's troubling me with. Misha. My darling Misha!" I suddenly decided. – I'll book a ticket to Stockholm as soon as I get to the flat. I won't tell her. And even if Fredrik is there, I don't care! I don't care about the camera in my suitcase in Reykjavik, I don't care about anything! I need to hug my Misha, my sunshine. Listen to her, listen to her like a bird. She will heal my wounds with her singing."
After reaching the penthouse and receiving a hefty speeding ticket from a traffic officer, I reached my flat in a couple of seconds, switched on my MacBook, which I always had with me in my bag, and booked tickets to Stockholm. The closest flight was in four hours. Business class. No luggage. I didn't have time to pack a suitcase. And I didn't have a spare suitcase. That's weird. I fly so often. I should have got one… Anyway, it doesn't matter.
I was wearing a short leopard-striped dress, a short leather jacket, black boots on high thick heels. A bag with my documents, smartphone and MacBook. That's all I need.
Ahead is the loss of a part of my life again. The long journey back to Europe. Once again, flying halfway across the world back for salvation. To Misha.
Toronto – Boston – Reykjavik – Stockholm. I'll be there at 12 noon.
At the airport I checked the weather in Stockholm: it's going to be clear, warm and sunny.
But I don't care. Besides, it's not a problem at all.
Upon landing in Stockholm, I texted Misha a brief, "Are you home?"
"We're at the cottage on Venerna," she replied succinctly.
Shit. So they're not in their Stockholm home, but in the cottage where they lived before moving to the capital. The lake house. We'll have to go there.
"Are you in Stockholm?!" – came a new message from Misha a couple of seconds later.
I stopped at the airport exit, avoiding the sunlight falling just a metre away from me. I needed a car with tinted windows. But I didn't see one in the taxi rank. Without thinking, I called the right place, and half an hour later, a limousine came to pick me up. With almost black windows. I asked the driver to park as deep in the shadows of the airport as possible, and the people around me watched in amazement as I quickly got into the car.
"Must be some kind of star. Have you seen it before?" – I heard a quiet female voice say.
– "Must be a model… Or a millionaire's wife. Yeah, well, look how much plastic surgery she has on her face!" – a second female voice replied in an affirmative tone.
Aha! Mistaking my vampire perfect beauty for plastic! Let them! Pathetic envious mortals!
But, fortunately, my person did not cause much of a furore, and the voices subsided as quickly as they had raised a low rumble of surprise.
"Coming to see you," I wrote to Misha, now safe from the sun. After thinking for a moment, I sent: "Is Fredrik with you? I hope I'm not disturbing you?".
"He's leaving. I'm waiting for you!!!" – Misha replied.
"He's leaving… Of course, he suddenly had some very important business to attend to! Misha should have only had to inform him of my upcoming visit!" – I smirked.
I left the limo at a small station near the lake. Misha came to pick me up in Fredrik's Mustang. Same old Mustang. It was high time to change it for something better and more modern. But of course Fredrik would never do that.
Thanks to a small cloud that covered the sun for a few seconds, I quickly slipped into Misha 's car, and we left the station, heading for a lake house I'd never been to before. Of course, I'd been invited a long time ago, and more than once, but I'd always failed to make the flight – my career had grown too fast over the past eight years.
Misha was beautiful: dressed in tight black jeans, her husband's long dark green T-shirt and sneakers. Her hair was damp and braided into a long shaggy braid, which, however, suited her pretty face.
– Since when did you start wearing your boring husband's clothes? – I asked with a laugh.
– When you wrote, I was swimming in the lake. There was no time to think about wardrobe, you know! – laughed at this Misha laughed. – So I wore the first thing I saw. Fredrik had just changed his shirt before he left, and left this one on the back of a chair in the living room.
– Where did he go?
– Stockholm.
– Did he have business there? – I grinned.
Wow, he didn't want to see me so badly that he didn't even bother to throw his T-shirt in the wash, just left it in the living room! That's not nice.