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Trine
Ihear the front door being slammed. I’m sitting with Bryony in her bedroom, and I know the guys are in my room looking through my shit, so I don’t know who has just left and slammed the door as they left my apartment.
“Are you sure about this, Trine?” Bryony asks.
I’ve been talking to her about the exorcists, about the holy water, about the dreams. By the time I’m done talking to her, I have tears in my eyes; I didn’t realize how much I was holding in until I was speaking to her. She’s worried about me, I can tell, but I feel a lot better after talking to a friend. Plus, we’re going to sort it out. The exorcists are going to help me.
“Yes,” I say, getting up. “I trust them. And you’re not my fairy gothmother, I can take care of myself.”
“Haha,” she replies, no humor in her voice.
“I’ll be okay.”
“I could go with you,” Bryony says, standing up. “You don’t have to do any of this by yourself.”
I shake my head. “I appreciate it, babe, but I think I need to do this myself,” I say. “The gig this week is canceled, right?”
She nods. “But that’s not what I’m worried about, and we could always get a stand-in,” she says. “Just be careful about what you do with them, okay?”
“Of course,” I say. “And, look, I might not be at home, but I’ll call you every day.”
“Do you really think they’re going to do another exorcism?” she asks.
I shrug. “I promise I’ll tell you soon,” I say. “As soon as I know. I gotta go find out what’s happening.”
She’s about to say something else, but I don’t let her. I leave her room instead, closing the door softly behind me, and I leave my apartment to go into the hallway, wondering which one of the guys stormed out.
Luke is standing with his back turned to the door, leaning against the railing of the balcony, looking down at the parking lot below. “Hey,” I say.
He turns his head to look at me. “Hey, Trine,” he says, then sighs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“It’s fine,” I reply. “Is everything okay?”
He laughs, turning back and putting his elbows on the railing. “You can’t be trying to make me feel better right now. Considering what you’re going through.”
“I don’t want to talk about myself for a change,” I say. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“Not at all,” he replies, a smile on his face.
I lean next to him and he turns to look at my profile. Our arms are touching, and for a second, I think it might be best if I move away from him. This is too close. I wonder if it’s awkward for him. His eyes narrow a little as he tilts his head, and he exhales before he speaks. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I wish there was something I could say that would make this easier, or I could tell you that we’re going to be able to get you out of this quickly, but I have a feeling this process is going to be difficult. Maybe even long and painful.”
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about me,” I say, trying my best to smile back at him.
“Okay, I can talk about myself,” he says. “There’s something I find deeply upsetting about you having to deal with this just because of who your mother is. You shouldn’t have to deal with the consequences of things you have nothing to do with.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your mom,” he says. “I think she had some experience with what you’re going through.”
“You think it wasn’t mental illness? You think she was actually possessed?” I ask, my throat suddenly dry. Fuck, I wanna talk about this, but even talking feels like a monumental amount of effort all of a sudden.
“I think you’d be surprised at how closely linked those things are,” he says softly. “And I also think it takes a hell of a lot of work and grit to be able to stave it off and live something that’s almost entirely like a normal life. It must be hard for you, pretending everything’s okay even when you feel like you’re drowning.”
I laugh. “Yes. You’re really bad at talking about yourself.”
“Occupational hazard,” he replies. “Who wants to hear anything about how a priest is doing? What I’m thinking? I’m here to listen. Not talk about my own issues.”
“I don’t want you to listen,” I say, turning my head to look at him. Even though I can only see a sliver of him in the darkness of night, he’s exceptionally handsome; arched eyebrows framing his high-cheekbones, olive skin stretching over the rest of his features. “I want to talk about you.”
