Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Sometimes I feel as though I am the only responsible one left on the planet. The only one who thinks about his actions, the only one capable of enforcing rules, and reason.
Anita
I’m the odd one out again. The one who doesn’t belong. I don’t know how I’ve managed to spend an entire life being unwelcome and out of place, but here we are.
I’ve gone outside. The mansion is too oppressive. It feels more like a labyrinth from which I might never escape if I get too comfortable. I wonder how many unwanted lovers are in there. More than one, I imagine. I do not think we are the only guests, and certainly not the only residents. Skathi’s home is large enough to house a small army, and I’ve seen no real evidence to suggest it doesn’t. They’re just all introverted and late to breakfast, probably.
The snow has melted somewhat. I see dull grass and bits of rock peering out all over the place in a fairly dismal sort of way. I do find myself wondering if this is a real place. It feels real, but I’m also almost certain that somebody normal setting out from Oslo in a rental car could never reach here.
I am distracted by such esoteric thoughts by the sight of horses. The Norweigian horses truly are built completely differently from the standard English nag. They’re short and tough and powerful. They’re all grazing rough grass. As I approach, they lift their heads and prick their ears at me, interested.
The closer I get, the closer they decide to get.
“Hello, ponies,” I say.
They sniff around me to see if I have any treats. I don’t have any, and they quickly lose interest and go back to eating. I like the horses, they’re peaceful to be around. They're not offended by my presence, or indifferent to it.
“Anita!”
Thor comes striding across the pasture. “I didn’t know where you were,” he growls, as if that is an issue I need to worry about. “Don’t wander off here, it’s not safe.”
“That’d save you the problem of trying to work out what to do with me.”
That cheeky comment earns me a hard slap to my arse. Hard enough to bring me up to my toes and make me curse. Normal horses would run away at the cursing that explodes out of me, but the fjords barely move.
“I know exactly what to do with you,” he declares. “Thrash you, bed you and hope for the best.”
I'd like to say I won’t sleep with him without a commitment, but that is a lie. Thor makes all the sense in the world out here. The cold Norse wind whips through his hair, making it blow magnificently. It also makes his shirt flag against his musculature. He’s fitter than I can express.
“Come here,” he says, taking my hand.
“Where are we going?”
“For a walk.”
That’s what we do. We walk together over whatever you call the Norwegian equivalent of moors. Every step takes us deeper into a desolate landscape that still feels somehow recursive, like we’re walking toward a point on the horizon that isn’t there.
“I died here, and I was born here,” he says. “But I wish I did not have to bring you here. You should be back in the normal world, living your normal life.”
“You think I’m normal?”
This might be the most offensive thing he's ever said to me, and I find practically everything he says to me offensive now. He truly thinks I should be slagging around Direford, begging for food and getting kicked out of my flat.
“I think you could be normal,” he says. “And I think your association with me has taken that chance away. You could find a normal mate. You could have children…”
“Oh gross. Right. Go on the benefit and get a council house and pop out some babies for extra. That’s what you think of me.”
“I didn’t say…”
“There's no perfect life waiting for me anywhere else,” I tell him.
“So I am your last resort,” he says.
“Oh for fuck’s sake. Just piss off already!”
Another hard slap lands on my rear.
“Speak with respect. We have much to discuss, and I will not have you cursing at me every two minutes because I ask questions you don’t want to answer.”
“Smack me again, and I’ll smack you.”
He laughs at me.
His hammer is suddenly in my hand. I don’t know how it got there. I don’t know how I am able to command it, and right now I do not care. I swing that hammer. Not the same way I swung it at the angry German in Craig’s flat, but in a sweeping motion that creates a massive arc of wind that hits Thor and sends him staggering dozens of feet away.
“Give that back!” He roars. He really hates it when I fist his hammer and refuse to let go.