Never Trust a Callboy by Birgit Kluger Page B

and go back into the living room.
    "I'm sorry that I welcomed you so disheveled. I think I must have fainted, and I wasn’t entirely with it."
    "Should I call a doctor?" He sounds worried.
    “No. No, I'm already feeling much better. Really. It was just a stupid accident; I tripped over my own shoes, what an idiot." I try, with a shaky laugh, to give the whole matter a humorous twist. I can read on his face that I have failed miserably. Nevertheless, he takes my hand.
    "Maybe it's better if you sit down." With these words he leads me to a chair and pushes me gently down on to it. Relieved I let him take the initiative. It's nice not to be alone. As long as he's here, no one will hurt me.
    "No! Stop!" I strike out, defending myself against the hands that push me down. I have to go. I have to run as fast as I can.
    "Tamara! Tamara, wake up!"
    It takes a moment for the words to break into my consciousness.
    "What... What happened?" I ask, and try to recognize something in the dark. Suddenly bright light floods into the room, burning my eyes.
    "You had a bad dream," Christian responds. I look around confused. We're in the bedroom of the suite. Christian is lying next to me. While his side of the bed looks almost tidy, you'd think I’d been fighting a whole army. The cushions are all bunched together in a heap at the top of the bed, and the blanket looks like I was using it as a punching bag.
    "I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up," I say and try to rearrange the pillows into what could be considered their normal form.
    With a sigh, he sits himself down. "What are you afraid of?"
    "Afraid? What do you mean?"
    "Tamara. I have never seen anyone have a panic attack in their sleep, let alone numerous panic attacks. Not to mention your nightmares. This was not the first bad dream you've had tonight. Believe me."
    "Oh. It's just that, I've recently broken up with my boyfriend, and the whole thing has really hit me hard," I tell him this in the hope that he’ll have no more questions.
    "Did he hit you?"
    "No! Ron would never do such a thing. I really did stumble earlier and hurt myself. Maybe I shouldn’t drink so much champagne," I add ruefully. Inwardly I squirm. I hope he believes this story. After some time he speaks again.
    "So?" Still suspicious, he looks at me intently.
    "I get the impression that I don't know him as well as I thought I did. He is capable of things that I would never have imagined possible."
    "Come here." Christian approaches me and puts his arms around me. "As long as I'm with you, you need not be afraid," he whispers in my ear.

23
    W hen I wake up the next morning the bed next to me is empty. There is a note on the bedside table. "Call me if you need me." My head is pounding, and the bright sunlight that is passing through the curtain and into the room is hurting my eyes. I wish I was dead. Then at least the headache would stop. I would also be saved from the chaos that my life has become. With great effort I try to shake off these gloomy thoughts. But it’s not easy. A depression lurks in the background of my consciousness, just waiting for me to give into it.
    Ibiza! If there are no free flights I’ll just have to drive there. First I have a lot of things to sort out, but then there is nothing to keep me in Germany. Now, in the daylight, my fear fades a little. They won't hurt me. I’m certain of that! I just need time. Five million can’t be transferred from one account to another in a matter of minutes. They will surely admit that! Assuming it was the money that Blondie and Rambo meant...
    With a frustrated groan, I rub my eyes. At the moment, I really hate my life, and I can’t even manage to have a satisfactory night with Christian. This time there is also no memory of sex. Only this time, I know why: there was none. Yesterday I was happy that he just held me in his arms. I wasn’t capable of more. That's the advantage when you pay five hundred euros, my cynical mind adds. You can determine