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I expect him to say something more, but he doesn’t. “What’s your last name?”
“Sem Svensson. S-V-E-N-S-S-O-N.”
I type in his name. Then I take a picture of him quickly. I don’t ask, but he doesn’t object. “What’s your phone number?”
“Country code 46…”
“Country code? What?”
“Type 00 46 790…” he tells me, and I type it all in a message to Scarlett.
After I’ve sent it and made sure twice I’m completely logged out of this stranger’s phone, I give the phone back. “Thank you.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to take more pictures? I can do side angles?”
“I was just being safe. Are you a model?”
“No. I was trying to lighten the mood.”
“Oh.”
“Are your friends going to come outside?”
“I hope so. You don’t mind waiting with me, do you?”
“Not at all.”
Minutes pass, and no call from Scarlett. We’re standing in front of the bar now. There’s a very long line to get in, and the exit also looks very busy. Maybe she can’t get out.
“Will you allow me to put you in a taxi if they don’t call or come? I want you to be safe,” he says, so sincerely my body is heating up again.
“That’s not necessary.”
“I’m concerned. I don’t want that man coming back and hurting you because I hurt him. That makes you my responsibility.”
I decide to trust this particular man as a step towards my recovery with men. After all, he had already protected me and had the opportunity to take advantage of me in this alley and instead offered me the use of his phone.
We stand outside the crowded bar, staring at his phone in silence. “Why do you have a screensaver of Earth?”
“I think it’s a beautiful planet, don’t you?”
“I’ve never thought about it before,” I admit. “Are you an astronomer?”
“No, but I do know my way around the stars.”
I know nothing about astronomy, so I let the conversation fall silent. It feels like the minutes just tick by, and I begin to wonder if he’s got a girlfriend he’s supposed to be meeting.
“You don’t have to wait,” I say after another five minutes has passed. “I don’t know where Scott and his friends went. Maybe they got a taxi while I was messaging my friend. But I’m sure you’ve got better things to do, and I’ll be fine.”
Concern crosses his face. “You’re my responsibility until you’re safe,” he says. His voice sends shivers down my spine.
We continue to wait, and after another fifteen minutes, I begin to look for a taxi. I don’t want him to call me one because then he would know where I live. I keep cash in my bra just for this kind of emergency.
“Do you want to message your friends again?”
“May I?” I hold out my hand for his phone, and he gives it to me instantly. I carefully log back in on the little keyboard, and finally, Scarlett has responded.
I came out of the bar to look for you and couldn’t find you in the crowd, so I went back in to see if you were able to sneak or sweet talk your way back. Where are you? There are too many people here. Call me! That guy’s phone number doesn’t work for me.
