Read Online The Disciple by Michael Hjorth - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael Hjorth
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your grip. Completely.’
‘That’s why I need her.’
‘But does Vanja need you?’
‘No.’
‘She’s already got a father, hasn’t she?’
‘Yes.’
‘So who do you think would gain if you told her the truth, given the current situation?’
Sebastian sat there in silence. He knew the answer. He just didn’t want to say it out loud. But Stefan was still leaning forward, waiting. He said it instead.
‘No one. Not you, not Vanja, not anyone.’
Stefan leaned back. His expression grew kinder. Warmer.
‘Don’t tell her, Sebastian.’ His voice was warmer too. More intimate. ‘You have to have a life of your own before you can be a part of someone else’s. Stop following her, and spend some time getting back on your feet. When you’ve done that, we can talk about the next step.’
Sebastian nodded. Stefan was right. Of course.
Get a life before you can share a life.
Sensible, boring Stefan in his soft, boring room was right. This annoyed Sebastian. Thinking Trolle was the solution might be wrong, but it was easy. Easier than getting a life. More fun to think about, anyway.
‘I run a counselling group,’ Stefan continued. ‘We meet twice a week, this evening and tomorrow. I think you should come.’
For the first time Sebastian stared at Stefan in surprise. ‘Me?
In a group?’
‘They’re people who don’t seem able to move on, for one reason or another. Does that sound familiar?’
Deep down Sebastian was glad Stefan had come up with something as banal as group therapy. It moved him a few steps away from the black thoughts, and filled him with a simple, liberating irritation.
‘It sounds incredibly familiar and incredibly tedious.’
‘I’d like you to come.’
‘No.’
Sebastian got to his feet, making it clear that the session was over and that he had no intention of discussing the matter any further.
‘I insist that you come.’
‘Insist all you like, but the answer is still no.’
Sebastian headed for the door. This feeling of irritation was terrific. It provided him with fuel. Did Stefan really think he was going to see Sebastian Bergman in some snivelling, sobbing self-help group?
Not a chance.
Sebastian closed the door behind him. The energy gave him a lift, cheered him up. He might get something done today after all.
Sebastian had managed to get all the way to the university buildings at Frescati before the energising irritation dissipated. He wanted to show Stefan that he could get himself a life, but the weariness was starting to take over.
The whole thing had started at home in his apartment on Grev Magnigatan earlier in the week, when he had found the old manuscript of a three-hour lecture entitled ‘An Introduction to Offender Profiling’. It had been at the bottom of a pile of newspapers and other documents in his study, a room he never used; in a moment of boredom he had suddenly decided to have a good clear-out. He couldn’t remember when he had written the text, but it was obvious that it was before the disaster, since it was largely free of the suffocating cynicism that now dogged his every thought. Sebastian had read it straight through twice, and was actually quite impressed with himself. He really had been able to write once upon a time.
The lecture was sharp, well-informed and riveting.
Sebastian had sat at the desk for a while with the document in his hand. Discovering a better version of himself had been a strange, almost surreal feeling. After a while he had looked around the room, and suddenly found signs of the better Sebastian everywhere. The diplomas on the walls, the books, the press cuttings, the notes he had once made, the words he had once written. His study was full of the flotsam and jetsam of another life. To escape the memories, he had gone over to the window, looked at the street below, but the remains of his old life were everywhere, and he remembered how he used to park his car just there, opposite the antique shop. Back when he
‘That’s why I need her.’
‘But does Vanja need you?’
‘No.’
‘She’s already got a father, hasn’t she?’
‘Yes.’
‘So who do you think would gain if you told her the truth, given the current situation?’
Sebastian sat there in silence. He knew the answer. He just didn’t want to say it out loud. But Stefan was still leaning forward, waiting. He said it instead.
‘No one. Not you, not Vanja, not anyone.’
Stefan leaned back. His expression grew kinder. Warmer.
‘Don’t tell her, Sebastian.’ His voice was warmer too. More intimate. ‘You have to have a life of your own before you can be a part of someone else’s. Stop following her, and spend some time getting back on your feet. When you’ve done that, we can talk about the next step.’
Sebastian nodded. Stefan was right. Of course.
Get a life before you can share a life.
Sensible, boring Stefan in his soft, boring room was right. This annoyed Sebastian. Thinking Trolle was the solution might be wrong, but it was easy. Easier than getting a life. More fun to think about, anyway.
‘I run a counselling group,’ Stefan continued. ‘We meet twice a week, this evening and tomorrow. I think you should come.’
For the first time Sebastian stared at Stefan in surprise. ‘Me?
In a group?’
‘They’re people who don’t seem able to move on, for one reason or another. Does that sound familiar?’
Deep down Sebastian was glad Stefan had come up with something as banal as group therapy. It moved him a few steps away from the black thoughts, and filled him with a simple, liberating irritation.
‘It sounds incredibly familiar and incredibly tedious.’
‘I’d like you to come.’
‘No.’
Sebastian got to his feet, making it clear that the session was over and that he had no intention of discussing the matter any further.
‘I insist that you come.’
‘Insist all you like, but the answer is still no.’
Sebastian headed for the door. This feeling of irritation was terrific. It provided him with fuel. Did Stefan really think he was going to see Sebastian Bergman in some snivelling, sobbing self-help group?
Not a chance.
Sebastian closed the door behind him. The energy gave him a lift, cheered him up. He might get something done today after all.
Sebastian had managed to get all the way to the university buildings at Frescati before the energising irritation dissipated. He wanted to show Stefan that he could get himself a life, but the weariness was starting to take over.
The whole thing had started at home in his apartment on Grev Magnigatan earlier in the week, when he had found the old manuscript of a three-hour lecture entitled ‘An Introduction to Offender Profiling’. It had been at the bottom of a pile of newspapers and other documents in his study, a room he never used; in a moment of boredom he had suddenly decided to have a good clear-out. He couldn’t remember when he had written the text, but it was obvious that it was before the disaster, since it was largely free of the suffocating cynicism that now dogged his every thought. Sebastian had read it straight through twice, and was actually quite impressed with himself. He really had been able to write once upon a time.
The lecture was sharp, well-informed and riveting.
Sebastian had sat at the desk for a while with the document in his hand. Discovering a better version of himself had been a strange, almost surreal feeling. After a while he had looked around the room, and suddenly found signs of the better Sebastian everywhere. The diplomas on the walls, the books, the press cuttings, the notes he had once made, the words he had once written. His study was full of the flotsam and jetsam of another life. To escape the memories, he had gone over to the window, looked at the street below, but the remains of his old life were everywhere, and he remembered how he used to park his car just there, opposite the antique shop. Back when he
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