Chapter 4: If You're Awake

Florian shut the door on Clemens's face.

He did it gently, with one hand, and turned the lock.

The landing went quiet. Then I heard Pia's voice, thin and fast, and Clemens telling her to be quiet.

Their footsteps went down the stairs.

I stood in the hall with my arms wrapped around myself.

"Marit," Nils began.

"I'm not asking."

"You should."

"Not today." I looked at the floor. "I have a shift at one, and I've got no clothes, and I can't hear one more thing."

Florian studied me for a moment.

"Then don't ask," he said. "We'll be here."

It was the answer I wanted, and I was ashamed of how fast I took it.

The bakery smelled of yeast and burnt sugar, and it was the first place in two days where nobody had an opinion about me.

My boss took one look at my face and put me on the ovens.

Four hundred rolls, six trays of Franzbrötchen, one tray I dropped.

Around noon the girl on the counter leaned in and whispered, "Somebody posted the video."

"Which video?"

"The party. The microphone." She held up her phone, and then lowered it again. "Forget it. Don't watch."

I didn't watch.

I rolled out dough until my arms shook, and when I closed my eyes I did not see Clemens or Pia.

I saw Florian's hand, still and warm on my knee.

By the time I got back to the flat it was almost ten.

Nils had bought me a toothbrush, a t-shirt that said HAMBURGER SV and a pack of cotton underwear, still in its plastic.

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