She accelerates on the island's main road. "They must not find out that I'm back. I could wear a wig. Since it’s winter, it won't be noticeable if I hide the lower half of my face in a thick scarf and pull the hat down to my eyebrows."
She talks like a waterfall, and I can't get a word in edgewise. She passionately describes tinted windows, back entrances, and how Lil could run all the errands so she wouldn't have to leave the house at all.
With each of her ideas, more and more resistance builds within me.
She wants to lock herself up completely. No freedom. No life! "And so, this is how it will be forever?" I ask skeptically.
"They must not catch me," she replies, almost paranoid.
There it is again, her all-encompassing fear of showing herself. It seems endless, yet it can't hold a candle to the fear mounting in me right now. Because at this moment, I know the answer I was searching for earlier. I know how she will react to my truth.
She will hate me. Banish me from her life. And no one can understand that better than I can. But that's not all.
Furthermore, she will punish herself because she’ll believe that she trusted the wrong man. She will think that what happened to her with Levi has happened again.
It will shake her to her core.
It will break her and plunge her into a deep pit, from which she won't be able to fulfill her big dream.
And she will hide from the world forever.
Staring firmly at the road, she clenches her teeth. "There's just no other way. I have to hide."
Something inside me shatters. Perhaps it's my heart. A pain I've never felt before overwhelms me.
We pass the toll booth and drive onto the bridge that connects Öland to the mainland while I futilely try to understand what is happening to me.
"If he..." She swallows hard. "If he wakes up, and I manage to achieve something forTouch av lyx, then..."
What then? Will he allow her to show herself? Is that what she hopes for? That the man who put so much pressure on her as a teenager, the man who played a role in her involvement with Levi, will allow her to breathe freely again?
"You don't have to prove anything to anyone," I say emphatically.
She grips the steering wheel tighter. "Oh, I absolutely do," she says through gritted teeth.
The way she mimics her father's ghostly puppet is wrong. After all, she is so much more than that. Yes, she made a mistake. But it should no more dictate her life than her parents should.
That's what I'd like to tell her, but not a word escapes my lips. By what right could I, of all people, tell her something about right and wrong? I, who lied to her for weeks.
She exhales heavily. We leave the bridge, and I glance one last time at the vastness of the Baltic Sea.
"It's complicated. Right now, other things have to take precedence. Only once I've proven myself can I think about it," she says, steering the car onto the E22 heading north.
Bare trees rise beside us, and the sun peeks through the branches, bathing Sky's face in an almost magical light.
Unconsciously, I reach out my hand toward her. She's amazing, just the way she is. Who will make her see that if I don't? Who will be there for her when she needs support? Who will dance with her when she's on the verge of losing control?
If I tell her now that I'm a journalist and she pushes me away, she might remain trapped in her thought construct forever. She won't have a life. The idea is unbearable.
"What if you end the charade and give an interview?" I ask because that's exactly what she should do. I don't care which journalist sits across from her. This is not about me. It's about Sky living the life she deserves—one of freedom and happiness.
She responds with a vehement shake of her head, and her jaw tightens. "Absolutely not."
Her entire body tenses as if she were a rabbit frozen in front of a snake that doesn't even exist.
Her father still has that much power over her.
"Think about it. You would have control over every word that gets printed." Unlike what the tabloids will come up with if she remains silent.
