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Lovisa, 13-years-old
She is selfish and only thinks of herself. I hate her and I will hate her new boyfriend. I know she forgot about dad, but I haven’t. He’s still in my heart and I don’t want to replace him. She took me away from everything I love and know. I will never see my friends again. She says that in exchange I will gain a brother, but I don’t want to see or know him, he is older than me and I’m sure he will rule over me. Mom doesn’t understand that I want to stay in Gothenburg and continue studying with Jan Sörvik, Sweden’s most talented violinist! She doesn’t think of my ambitions as a musician.
I hate my life!
***
Packing a suitcase is very simple and yet, I had to start it over dozen times. What to wear for a funeral? And then what? It’s very cold in Kiruna, much colder than in Stockholm. It’s one of the coldest cities in Sweden. Thankfully, that bastard Hendrik didn’t die at the beginning of winter, the temperatures can drop to minus twenty. At the beginning of March, the weather is very cold, but bearable; however, it is necessary to arm yourself with warm clothes.
All this week, I’ve been thinking about today. I shudder at the thought of returning to the places of my adolescence. The three years spent there were the most significant, the most painful, but also the most wonderful.
Rikard took care of the plane tickets as well as the rental of a private car. Kiruna airport offers this service, but the cars are not sophisticated enough for my boyfriend. Since he was born, he has been driven in the most beautiful cars that exist. His parents run several luxury vehicle dealerships.
The flight lasts four hours. While Rikard sleeps next to me, his head resting on the window, I connect to the plane’s WiFi via my laptop. Nowadays everyone is on the internet, it’s easy to search for someone. Myself, I’m on Instagram, posting videos of myself playing the violin, whether it’s on stage with the other musicians or in quieter places, like a forest, by the river, a lake, and even on the beach. I also post pictures of my meals, my travels, of me alone. My favorites are the ones where I pose in the snow, because my long red hair contrasts with the white of winter. I pose a lot with Rikard. He’s taller than me, his hair is dark brown and cut short. He likes that I post regularly of the two of us to show that I belong to him. We give the impression that we have a perfect life.
It’s just a facade.
Behind the scenes, is quite different and this is probably the case for many people. Is it the same forhim? I often catch myself spying on his photos. A part of me has never been able to forget him. Yet there was a time when I would have given anything not to see him.
***
All the way to Iron House, I can’t help but think what I know about him. According to social media, he loves doing airsoft in nature, going to nightclubs, running, and hanging out with his friends, especially Gunkil and Fredrik, his best friends. We were in the same high school.
“Are you sure this is the right address?” Rikard asks.
“Very sure, it’s a very isolated area.”
Rikard sighs again, the car ride takes too long for his taste. He absolutely doesn’t want to damage the rental car, and driving surrounded by trees doesn’t reassure him.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my thighs and try not to vomit. I feel very small as old, long-repressed memories resurface.
The gates of the Ekman estate impose themselves on us like sharp claws about to take our lives. The sight of them has always frightened me, especially at night.
Our car stops in front. The designs on the gate depict a forest of thin, leafless trees with fierce wolves at their feet. Above is the name of the property,Iron House. The gate end in spikes so sharp that I wouldn’t risk putting my finger on them. On each side, a wall about 6 feet high runs along the immense estate. There are no houses for miles around. To my right, a man with a long healed burn all over the right side of his neck comes out of a small house no bigger than a shed.
Rikard lowered his window.
“We’re here for the funeral.”
The man leans over to look inside the vehicle. When our eyes meet, his face softens.
“Hello, Lovisa. I’m happy to see you again. Despite the circumstances.”
“Hello, Oscar,” I say, uncomfortable having to talk to him in front of Rikard.
“You can come in.”
He walks away and waves to his colleague inside the guardhouse. The gates open automatically, letting us come in.
“Did you screw him?” Rikard asks.
His question surprises me and yet, coming from him, it shouldn’t.
“You’re not serious? He’s twice my age!”
“That didn’t stop your mother with Hendrik. The apple doesn’t fall for from the tree.”
