Chapter 49
Sky
As if in slow motion, I turn around. I didn't just imagine it.
Father is here.
I expected Touch av lyx to be here, but not him. Just six weeks ago, he was still in a coma. The doctors must have forbidden him from leaving the house.
"What are you doing here?" I stammer, struggling to gather my thoughts.
His brows furrow, and leaning on a cane, he takes a step toward me, looming threateningly despite his frail appearance.
"What are you doing here is the real question," he hisses at me, his voice strained. "Disappear. Immediately."
No , I should say. I should cross my arms, lift my chin, and stand my ground against his intrusive gaze.
But the opposite is happening.
Everything about me feels small. Flustered, I back away and bump into the cool concrete wall.
"I..."
"Are you hard of hearing?" He fixes me with a contemptuous expression. His breathing is labored. It's clear how much of an effort it is for him to be here. Yet he came to stop me.
That becomes clear to me at this moment. Stopping me in my mission is even more important to him than his own health. What is wrong with him?
"I won't leave." The words should have left my mouth loudly and with conviction, but they sound as if the slightest breeze could carry them away.
"You most certainly will." His hand, supporting him on the crutch, trembles. "I won't allow you to disgrace the family once again."
Oh really? The family? What family? "That's not possible because, in your eyes, you haven't had a daughter for a long time," I reply defiantly, realizing it at this moment.
"No one as foolish as you, at least," he snorts. "Has your journalist friend convinced you that you're a designer?"
My shoulders feel heavy. Someone has told him that I'm competing in this competition, or he found out himself. "No," I mutter, sounding as if I'm asking a question.
Heavens, when he was still in a coma, I defended against every one of his objections and attacks. I showed him how strong I could be and that I knew exactly what I wanted.
Now, I am the weakest version of myself.
Why?
Sweat beads form on his forehead. "Just like your junkie friend convinced you back then that you could fly?"
Anger builds up within me. How dare he equate Levi and Kjell? He can throw whatever he wants at me, but Kjell doesn't deserve this. He doesn't even know him.
"Or just like you've constantly made me feel like I'll never be good enough, no matter what I do?" I suddenly ask with a firm voice.
For a moment, he loses control over his facial expression. "What?"
I take a deep breath, causing my chest to rise, and square my shoulders. "You shouldn't complain about my stupidity," I say, feeling a surge of new energy. "After all, you've benefited from it the most, haven't you?"
It's just a small movement—almost imperceptible—but he backs away, with an expression on his face as if he's wondering who the hell is standing before him.
"Admit it. You enjoyed molding me according to your expectations." I close the distance between us. "You loved having control over me."
Yes. That's exactly it. And it has never been clearer to me than at this moment.
" Touch av lyx was never my dream," I continue. "I always wanted just one thing: to be loved by you. Today, I realize that I'll never get that as long as you can't love me for who I am."
"What are you talking about?" Father rolls his eyes to the ceiling, then studies me. "Are you using drugs again?"
I shake my head. "No, Father, I'm not. And do you know why?" I see from his expression that he has no idea. "Because back then, I only needed them to escape the cage you locked me in, at least in my mind." His affected smile disappears. "And in the past few months, I've found the only real key to that cage."
I am free. Free to go wherever I want. Free to dream of whatever I want. And free to love whomever I want.
His mouth opens and closes, but not a word escapes his lips.
Adrenaline surges through me to the tips of my hair. I feel more alive than ever before, a thousand times more liberated than in a drug-induced haze.
"Now, I have to go—the show is waiting," I say, taking a step to the side to pass him.
As I'm almost past him, I feel his hand on my upper arm, restraining me. It's warm, yet a cold shiver runs through me from his touch.
"I’ll warn you one last time. Go wherever you want, but go. Right now," he whispers forcefully. "If you bring your design to the runway, you will regret it bitterly."
Coldness spreads throughout my entire body. I turn my head to him. "What does that mean?"
Slowly, a triumphant smile creeps onto his lips. "My lawyers will destroy you," he says, and I know it's the truth.
He would do anything to cleanse Touch av lyx and himself from any scandal. And a daughter who suddenly turns against her father is a damn big scandal.
"You won't get a single penny from me anymore. And I'll take back what you've already taken from my money," he says, his gaze colder than the coldest winter night. "Is that what you want, hmm? Because of something that a tabloid hack convinced you of, who's only after your story?"
He's wrong.
Or is he?
I feel my strength waning. How does he manage to still control my thoughts?
"You mean nothing to him. Once he gets what he wants, he'll drop you," he adds with a strained breath. "And then you'll have nothing. No money, no arms to run to. No life."
The thought of that future makes me dizzy. But what's the alternative? Becoming his puppet again? Hiding, letting Kjell go, and living his lies for the rest of my days?
No. He's just trying to manipulate me again. Just as he always has. But he won't succeed this time. Not anymore.
"Wrong, Father. I mean nothing to you ," I reply with the last ounce of strength I have. "That's what you've just proven."
With those words, I tear myself away from him. Just one more minute with him, and his poison would seep too deep. It would paralyze me, I'm sure of it.
Without paying him any more attention, I storm past him and march toward the alcove where I suspected Inga would be earlier.
She's gone.
Maybe she's found our dressing room by now? Either way, that's the first place I need to check.
I can barely bring myself to look at my watch, but I have to. So I pull my phone from my pocket and light up the display.
I stop abruptly.
There's a message from Inga.
Can't make it. Sprained my ankle on the way to the show. Sorry.
I read the message over and over again. But my mind is only slowly comprehending what it means.
Inga won't be coming.
The show can't go on.
Father will think he's won.
And Kjell? He'll still see me as a selfish cow.
I bite my lip, trying to hold back the tears welling up inside me.
I've lost. This new life that I could see so clearly in front of me is bursting like a soap bubble. Ultimately, after everything that has happened, I'll end up back where I started.
I leave the backstage area, not knowing where to go. Staggering, I enter the corridor, which appears strangely blurry before my eyes.
Someone bumps into me. Says something. Maybe. But I don't hear it. I'm wrapped in a fog, swaying along the wall.
"Opening in ten minutes," a man's voice bellows. "Ten minutes."
Normally, there would be a frenzy now, but even though I only perceive the world around me vaguely, I notice that it's not the case.
Why isn't anyone walking down this hallway? Why don't I hear the rustling of fabrics against each other? Why isn't there a cloud of hairspray filling the air, tickling my nose?
Blinking, I lean against the wall and look around. There are people, many of them. But they're not moving.
They're reading.
I look to the left, where a hairstylist a few yards away seems to be completely absorbed in a newspaper article. He nods absentmindedly, then raises his eyelids and gazes into nothingness for minutes. He finally closes the newspaper with a deep sigh.
It's Sanningens ?gonblick .
"Hey, you have to read this," a woman somewhere behind me says. Blissfully smiling, she hands me the newspaper a moment later. "Here."
Confused, I take the paper.
"Page three," she says.
Page three. Okay.
Inevitably, I hold my breath.
Then I open the newspaper.