The ones in between, p.9
The Ones in Between, page 9
Vadim continued to quiz me about my life in Australia. However, just like George had told me, he still refused to speak about his life back home. Family, friends, and feelings were strictly off topic, and he would stare blankly at me if I asked him a question he did not want to answer. This became difficult to navigate because he took everything I asked him quite seriously. Each question was carefully considered, so often I could not decipher whether he was giving his answer deep thought, or whether he was just not going to answer, period. He was surprisingly sensitive, despite his tenacious exterior, and he took offence easily, like when I accidentally spelt his name incorrectly in a text message. I typed an ‘n’ instead of the ‘m’, or maybe it was an ‘e’ instead of the ‘i’, and he was convinced I had done it purposely to make fun of him. He told me I was mean, and that insulting someone’s name was incredibly disrespectful. At first, I thought I must have written something rude in Russian, or Tatar, but after an extensive internet search, I could not find any translation to match. It took a lot of texting back and forth to convince him it was a genuine mistake. Again, I thought of his ripped body I had felt under his clothes so many times before, and I let his unusual temperament slide. But the more time I spent with Vadim, the more I realised how little I knew about him.
“He’s one hundred per cent a Russian spy,” Rosie, my closest friend on exchange, was convinced he had a secret double life.
“He’s not a spy, Rosie. He’s some computer geek.”
“Yeah, a computer geek spying on the rest of the world.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I was trying to convince her as much as I was trying to convince myself. It was bizarre that he was so incredibly private and I confided in George.
“I don’t know anything about him. I don’t know if he has any siblings, any pets, or if he went to school in the mountains. I feel like I’m dating a robot!”
“Yeah, he’s a funny guy, Char. He doesn’t talk to any of us guys about that stuff either. I guess he’s just super private.”
“There’s private, and there’s secret service private,” I said.
“Just let him be. We’ve all tried and it’s like talking to a brick wall when he closes up. He won’t budge, and the more you try to pry, the more he’ll block you out. You just have to appreciate him for how he is. I mean, I’m sure you could just stare at his biceps all day without talking, even I’m impressed by them,” he chuckled to himself.
“Mmm, they are exceptional, and his abs are to die for, and his…”
“Charlotte! I get it, jeez!” George interrupted me before I got carried away.
Finally, the night he had been waiting for arrived, and it was time to watch the infamous Titanic together. True to my promise, I blubbered and cried long after the movie had finished. He kept his arms around me in a snug embrace while he watched me, contented.
“He probably has some kind of protector complex,” I thought to myself. Maybe something traumatic happened to someone close to him in his life, but I would never know. But as long as he kept those big, muscular arms around me, I had no problem with being kept in the dark.
“Are there any movies that make you cry?” I asked him through sobs.
“I don’t cry,” he said, his big arms tightening around me, reminding me of his masculinity.
“Everyone cries sometimes,” I replied, “unless you have inactive tear ducts or something,” I considered as an afterthought.
“I don’t cry,” he repeated, his voice somehow getting deeper and more guttural.
“What, you’ve never cried?” I turned to look at him through my tears. He just shook his head slowly, not breaking his gaze with mine.
I retorted, “As if. When was the last time you cried?”
He just looked at me through his unblinking blue, emotionless eyes. He kept his mouth in a straight line while I waited for an answer I knew was never coming. I sighed and looked away.
“Men don’t cry. But do not be embarrassed for crying. Women can cry. Women are the lesser species. They cry, men protect,” he finally said. I stared at him, shocked. The lesser species? What was he saying? Surely that was a language misinterpretation.
“Um, I’m not sure what you’re saying, but I don’t think that’s right,” I spoke slowly. Listening to him was sobering me out of my sadness and drying up my tears.
“Yes, women are weaker. They need protection. They are lesser.”
“I mean, we are physically smaller, but women are still strong – physically and mentally.”
“Women are not as capable as men in all ways. It is not your fault. Do not be sad, it is just how you were designed. You are different to men,” he stated it as though he was stating a simple mathematical equation, “two plus two equals four. Women are lesser than men.” For one of the few times, he elaborated his point, “Women are below men. Women need men to help them think and to do things. It’s just how it is.”
“That is so wrong!” I was furious now. “You can’t say that. That’s so sexist and just plain rude.”
He just smiled and nodded at me like I was a simpleton trying to tell him that one plus one equalled five.
“Don’t you have a mother, or a sister? How could you say something like that about them?”
“That is none of your business,” he said without a hint of emotion. I cracked. I was fuming – I had had enough of his impenetrable, emotionless views. How could someone of this day and age think so poorly of women? Were there no equal rights for women from where he was from?
Cruelly, I put on my best robot impersonation, “I. Am. Vadim. I. Am. A. Robot,” I imitated. I am ashamed to say, I even bent my little arms and moved them rigidly like a robot would while I said it. His eyes never moved from me, but I saw a quick glimmer of hatred flash through them.
“You must leave,” he spoke slowly, but authoritatively, and I saw his muscles twitch as he placed his arms carefully by his side. I did not hesitate to leave, as I gathered my things and slammed the door. He never messaged me again, but I heard he moved to Canada to continue his studies. Apparently, he models on the side to pay for his degree. We would have had incredibly good-looking children together, but God help them if they had been girls.
chapter 10
THE SCANDINAVIAN DREAM
As a man of wealth, Sebastian chose to uphold a lifestyle which included as much travel as his working life would permit. He would travel globally whenever he had the time and he was not averse to flying in First Class. So naturally, when he heard I would be taking a university exchange in Europe for six months, he added a visit straight to his schedule, and squeezed in an apology to me, just to be sure he would be welcomed.
“Charlotte, I’m sorry about what happened. I should have called, but I wasn’t really sure what to say. I thought you’d be angry at me, and I was a coward. But it’s over now. Perhaps I can make it up to you by accompanying you on a trip from Finland to Sweden? Don’t say no.”
Like I would say no. As much as I hated to admit it to myself, I had been dying to hear from him ever since I saw his relationship status change back to single, and it had taken every inch of self-restraint not to message him. He had never been to Finland before, but it had always been on his bucket list, he told me. And, since he would be in the vicinity anyway, he wanted to do the honour of taking me, in his opinion, to the most magical city in Scandinavia – Stockholm. I had only been in Helsinki a short month when he was due to arrive and I was unprepared for his visit. I was still getting to know the city myself, but I was excited to explore it with him. Finally, the day came and I had organised to meet him at the snowy Finnair bus stop at midnight. My friends and I had been hanging out in the common room and because I was winning at beer pong, I had lost track of time, basking in my victory.
“Oh no!” I looked at my phone – it was five minutes to midnight. I ran upstairs to my dorm to grab my coat and slammed the door behind, locking my keys inside. I was flustered by the nerves of seeing him for the first time in forever, and I was confused as I knew I should still be angry at him.
“No!” I looked at my phone, it was bang on midnight. I had messaged him earlier, but he still hadn’t replied and I couldn’t remember if there was Wi-Fi at Helsinki airport. “Maybe his flight was delayed,” I thought to myself. Security were the only people who could access our dorm rooms, with a fifty-euro fee and I dialled their number quickly, and they told me they would be there in half an hour. I envisioned Sebastian arriving at the empty bus station, shivering on the sidewalk with his luggage beside him, wondering if I had forgotten his arrival. I contemplated racing out to meet him, but I was worried I would miss security and the opportunity to get into my room until tomorrow. I’d have to wait, and hope Sebastian had enough common sense to find his own way here.
“Maybe that serves him right for what he did,” I thought to myself. Luckily, I had sent him my address a few days prior to his arrival. I saw a message flick onto my phone.
“Hey, I made it. Found Wi-Fi at Maccas. I can’t see you, so I presume you got caught up. I’m grabbing a taxi to you now – I’ll see you soon x.”
“Phew!” I was relieved at his common sense. It was only a short taxi ride from the bus stop, and I ran quickly downstairs and into the snow just in time to see a black taxi pull up next to the kerb. The door opened and Sebastian stepped out in his long dark woollen coat, a scarf carefully draped around his neck, and slacks, looking as sharp as ever. My heart fluttered a little as he laughed when he saw my leggings, oversized sweater, messy hair and drunk eyes, but it didn’t stop him from embracing me in a big bear hug and planting a kiss on the top of my head. Swoon, all was forgiven.
I offered to help him with his suitcase, but he resisted and carried it up the stairs, into Rosie’s dorm room while we waited for security to unlock my room.
“So, you’re the guy she’s been gushing about the last few weeks. I thought she was making you up,” Rosie teased, and I hit her lightly.
“I have not been gushing!” My cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.
“Well, I’d sure hope you were!” Sebastian chuckled with Rosie. “I’d have been gushing if I was coming, too.”
I rolled my eyes at him. He was only teasing, but it was true – he would have been. He loved himself. We sat chatting on the edge of her bed, while Rosie grilled him with questions, and I got to work concocting us a delicious hot chocolate – a tradition we had implemented in our brief time together in Helsinki. A day did not go by when we didn’t sit in one of our rooms, sipping a freshly made hot chocolate, normally with a spike of rum or amaretto, getting to know each other and gossiping about the latest exchange drama. We did not have the luxury of microwaves in our dorms, but we managed on the stovetop. I clattered around in Rosie’s kitchen, which was an exact replica of my own, stirring and chatting happily away, while the cosy smell of melted chocolate met our nostrils.
“That smells amazing!” Sebastian said.
“It’s this special Finnish chocolate we bought at a cute boutique shop in town. Show him Charlotte – they’re shaped like cigars, and they literally melt into the milk,” Rosie explained.
I took a deep breath in through my nose; it did smell amazing. I took the pot off the stove and went to place it on the table where the mugs were waiting patiently to be filled with the smooth, brown liquid. But, somehow, I missed the table completely.
“Nooo!” I exclaimed.
“Nooo,” Rosie and Sebastian shouted, “not the hot chocolate!” The entire pot of liquid flew out in slow motion, covering Rosie’s floor in a brown mess. All I could do was helplessly stand there with my mouth open while it sprayed the room. I was more mortified than disappointed at this embarrassing welcoming party for Sebastian. We rushed to get a paper towel, and after mopping up the room, it was time for us to retreat to my dorm. Luckily, the security guard turned up just in time, and we were let inside my room. Seb looked around the small space and put his suitcase in the corner.
“Well, it’s no Ritz, but it’s cute. And what a view,” he looked out through the big, double-glazed windows onto the breathtakingly beautiful snow-covered courtyard below.
“It’s my cosy little home,” I smiled and hugged him from behind. “Do you want to shower? You’ve had a long flight.”
“Do I smell that bad?” he turned around and smiled at me.
“Yes,” I teased.
“I would love one.” He went to open his suitcase, and I got him a towel.
“I’ll make you a hot chocolate while you’re in there.”
“Hmm, I think you might need supervision for that,” he smiled cheekily and took hold of my hand. “Why don’t you keep me company in the shower instead?”
We squeezed in a great deal of sightseeing in the short time Seb was in Helsinki, including the impressive university I was studying at, the quirky rock church, a beautiful cathedral, and some museums. Even though the sky was clear blue during daylight, it was daringly cold. We braved it out to explore the beautiful parks and squares but ended up in respite from the cold in warm restaurants and cafes, trying Finnish delicacies. As much as Sebastian enjoyed exploring the beautiful city of Helsinki, he was itching to show me his favourite Scandinavian city, Stockholm. We had an early morning flight from Vantaa Airport, but Sebastian made sure we had sufficient time to stop in the Finnair Business Lounge for a pre-flight breakfast.
“We could just get up an hour later and eat cornflakes in my room, you know?” I said to him, hoping he would agree to setting our alarm a little later.
“What, and miss out on delicious poached eggs, with bacon, mushrooms, and freshly baked bread? Or maybe crepes with warm Nutella and strawberries would be more your style? Or a pain au chocolat with a side of steaming coffee? I think not!” He eyed me.
“Mmmmm, I do love crepes and Nutella…” My mouth was watering.
“...and all the creamy, rich hot chocolate you can lay your eyes on. And it’s made for you, so there’s no chance of throwing it all over yourself.” He was enjoying taunting me.
“Mmmm, okay, maybe it’s not such a bad idea after all.”
“Or even a few Mimosas, if you’re in the mood,” he winked at me.
“Okay, okay, I’ll save the cornflakes for when I’m alone!” I rolled my eyes.
We arrived at Arlanda airport, Stockholm with spirits as full as our well-fed bellies. We were eager to make the most of the day and dumped our belongings to store at the hotel lobby, then ventured into the chic yet culture-rich city. We went in the direction of Gamla stan, Stockholm’s historic heart. The walk towards the huge island which held the heritage district, while the crisp Nordic breeze whipped through my hair, was like walking into an open-air museum. As one of the largest and best-preserved medieval cities in Europe, naturally, the winding pedestrian cobblestone streets were packed with remnants of medieval Sweden. My eyes lit up as we walked through the disorientating labyrinth of narrow alleyways, looking at the Germanic style buildings which were different shades of gold, faded mustard and rusty-brown, which gave Gamla stan its unique charm. I smiled at Sebastian, my heart swelling - there was such a romance to wandering the quaint lanes and enjoying the magical ambience of it all. The cold, and barely apparent presence of the sun, only added to the charm, and I struggled to imagine it ever being summer here and strolling around in only a t-shirt and shorts. Like Helsinki, even though the temperature was well below zero, the streets were teaming cheerfully with life, and we joined the crowd to find a cosy candlelit café to warm ourselves up in.
“We’re meeting Francesca just around the corner here,” Sebastian looked at the maps on his phone, and we decided on the perfect place near our meeting point, complete with thick throws for our frozen bodies. We were meeting his friend Maximillian’s girlfriend, who was born and raised in beautiful Stockholm. She had generously offered to tour us around her hometown for the day before Maximillian flew in from London the following day. Francesca was a small, meek, thin girl, with round brown eyes which matched her long straight mousey-brown hair, and typical Scandinavian style look that was sleek, but plain. She was not particularly good-looking, but she did herself up well with what she had. She wore all designer, sporting a cashmere MaxMara coat, over Acne jeans and boots, and swung a Chanel handbag over her shoulder. What she lacked in looks, she made up for in attitude, and acted as though she was the princess of Sweden. I was surprised when a tiara didn’t appear atop her limp brunette locks when she introduced herself.
“Hi,” she sniffed at me.
“Hi, I’m Charlotte,” I smiled shyly next to Sebastian.
“I know. Sebastian, it’s been forever.” She kissed him quickly on the cheek. “Alright, let’s get going.”
I frowned at Sebastian, noting her shortness with me and he squeezed my hand reassuringly. Her rudeness was worth it, if she was going to show us some hidden gems of this magical city. I had read a little of the fascinating history of some of the buildings that scattered Gamla stan and beyond, and I hoped she would take us to the Royal Palace in time to see the changing of the guards. But my hopes were soon shattered as instead of being shown slowly through secret, untouched streets, she marched us quickly into the elite shopping hub. Sebastian looked pleased, as he had been searching for a fitted blazer in Helsinki without luck and welcomed the continued search. But I was heartily disappointed.
“I could shop anywhere in the world,” I thought gloomily to myself, “if I wanted to be shut indoors, away from the historical beauty, I would have stayed in the hotel room.” I was also a stereotypically poor student, and I needed to save what money I had for the essentials, like vodka, not a thousand-dollar pair of boots. As we shuffled through shop after shop, each one more glamourous than the next, I was somehow persuaded into blowing a small fortune on a new pair of Acne jeans.
