Betrayal

Eva.

Her name was Eva.

Why had she lied?

Why had she gone home with him, given him access to her body, made him completely and without reservation admit her into his life, allowed him to reveal himself to her?

He lay on his back in bed and stared up at the ceiling, lay in the bed where they had made love. Where he had made love to her and she had used him, consumed him like an object. Utterly without consideration she had forced her way into his world, knocked over everything, stolen all the desire he had managed to preserve so long and with such great effort.

She was one of them.

One of the women who ruined his family and took his mother away from him.

The strength he thought she had given him had in three letters been transformed into a place vulnerable to attack, an undefended hole leading straight into his deepest fear. The fear whose only equal opponent was the control. His own means of defence.

Like a physical attack he felt the compulsion boring into him. There was nothing left that could withstand it.

He had been so strong only a few hours ago.

Who was this woman, who had claimed the right to inflict this on him?

He had already looked up the phone number in the book.

She lived in Nacka.

A ten-minute drive.

But it was impossible for him to leave the flat.

The first time he dialled the number it was 11.44 at night. He was sitting naked on the bed and the phone stood at a right angle to the right corner of the rug. It rang twice. And then her voice gave sound to the lie.

‘Eva.’

So she confessed.

He hung up and felt the rage rising. And then a quick push of the redial button.

‘Yes.’

He hung up again. Why had she answered ‘Yes‘ when he called? Her voice cut through him, awakened the devastating longing to live. The memory of her nakedness forced all the blood to his groin, where his desire grew. He lay back on the bed, unable to move. The urge was again an enemy that rose up to mock him and laugh at him.

You are not worthy. No one wants you.

Maybe he slept for a few hours, maybe not.

The next time he called, it was seven minutes past six.

He had to hear her voice.

‘Hello.’

He had to.

‘Hello?’

No one was going to take this away from him.

‘Did you want something? If so, it’s probably better to say what it is now that you’ve called and woken us up.’

He stopped breathing.

Woken us up.

Now that you’ve called and woken us up.

‘You can go to hell!’

On the other end she hung up. She, who the night before had slept with her skin against his, she who had opened the world to a possibility, turned everything into anticipation.

Last night she had slept with someone else who was called us.

Who?

Who was the one who was worthy?