Thank you for getting in touch with me with regard to Leah Iverson. I, too, am concerned for her well-being, and especially considering her current circumstances. I saw her last week for a routine check-up and she did not appear well. I will get in touch with the borough’s psychiatric team as I think Leah may benefit from more support, especially over the coming few months. Could you let me know of any developments after your session/s with Leah later this week? Also, just to confirm – are you aware of Leah’s pregnancy (13+3)?

Best wishes,

Dr Wilhelm Albert

7

Leah, two weeks before

It’s just gone 4 a.m. and she’s still up. It’s her favorite time, when almost everyone else is asleep. It’s a confirmation of aloneness, a validation – she really is alone then, rather than just feeling alone, like the rest of the time. The words won’t come. It is a special kind of pain, waiting for words to form and emerge, perhaps it can be compared to waiting for a baby: it won’t come until it’s ready.

She stands up and looks over at her bed. Her mind is razor sharp and buzzing. Her body, too, feels like it is throbbing with life and restless energy. She turns to the window and looks out at a dry, crystalline night, shivering slightly with cold she can see but not feel. A thin sheen of ice has formed on the cars parked along the street, making them sparkle in the moonlight. The trees have shed the last of their leaves and stand stripped and resigned to the coming winter. They’re more beautiful like this, she thinks, when you can see their underpinnings. Like a woman undressed, supple skin and soft curves glowing in low light. She steps out of her cozy home tracksuit bottoms, and unzips its matching top. She undoes her bra and removes her underwear too.

In bed she relaxes into her own touch, kneading and pushing and rubbing. Her thoughts go from soft to hard; from the gentle curves of a woman to the need to be held by someone bigger than herself, to the exhilarating feel of strong hands closing around her neck, squeezing hard then easing up and stroking her, then squeezing again. Her body responds and she feels herself inch closer, then closer still. She angles the sharp spike on her bracelet against the taut skin of her throat and lets it dig into her flesh. It makes her gasp with pain, and it gives her another surge, closer.

8

Kristina

It’s a beautiful morning, the first in a while. It’s bitterly cold with ice crystals shimmering on the hoods of cars and the trunks of trees, but the sky is a vivid blue, and a brilliant sun bathes Oslo in a golden autumnal glow.