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He hadn’t mentioned me at all.
9
Win
Sighing,I pushed back from the small desk in my room, rubbing my eyes that felt gritty with sand. Maybe I should have done a bit more research on studying abroad because this shit was difficult. Not necessarily the coursework. I could handle it. But understanding it was a whole other thing.
So many things got lost in translation. Little things that ended up making a difference. Most of my professors gave me stuff in English, but occasionally, I had to sit and translate and scour the internet to make sense of stuff.
I knew it would get easier the more I did it, but I was tired today.
Sounds of Lars moving around out in the kitchen made me smile. I hadn’t realized he was home. Snatching the sheet off my desk, I started forward, only to double back to grab my empty tumbler. Carrying both, I walked into our tiny shared kitchen where Lars was standing at the counter with his back to me.
Crossing the room, I dumped the tumbler in the sink, earning a silent disapproving side-eye from my roomie. The amusement was instant. “I’ll get it. I’ll get it.” I assured him, then held up the paper to wave around. “Could I get your help on this first?”
He turned back to the counter, muttering something beneath this breath in Swedish.
“Don’t have to whisper. I can’t understand your insults when you talk in Swedish anyway,” I goaded.
He made a rude noise, and it made me smile wider. Getting under his skin was like my favorite thing ever.
“I’m busy,” he said.
“You can look at this and eat at the same time,” I said, leaning around him to look at the sandwich he was assembling on the counter.
He sighed.
My chin hit his shoulder, and I whispered in his ear, “Can I have a bite?”
“No,” he grumped, then pointed at the tiny table. “Go over there.”
Chuckling, I went, the legs of the chair scraping on the floor when I dragged it out to sit. Sometimes I made extra noise on purpose because it drove him nuts.
He finished making his food and took a bite before turning toward the fridge to grab a water. He looked like a chipmunk with his cheek all puffed out from the massive bite he’d shoved in his mouth.
Noting me watching, he glared over the door of the fridge.
I winked. He hated that too.
Flushing, he slammed the door and turned back to the counter. Clearing his throat, he unscrewed the cap of the water. But instead of taking a drink, he set down the plastic bottle and cleared his throat again.
And again.
“You choking?” I teased. “Do you need mouth-to-mouth?”
A wheeze filled the room, and his hand flew up to his throat.
All humor vanished, and I leaped up from the chair. “Lars?”
Another wheeze scraped from his lungs, and his body hunched in, hand grappling for the water. In his haste, the bottle fell over, water spilling out across the counter and onto the floor.
Sagging, Lars fell against the counter, turning so I could see him, and panic clenched my heart.
His lips were blue, the skin around them colorless, all the pigment stolen by the massive red welts covering his cheeks and nose.
He looked at me, eyes so glassy I couldn’t even tell if he saw. His fingers clutched at his throat—no—clawedat it like he wanted to rip it open with his nails.
“Lars.” I rushed forward. “Are you choking? What’s—” Another sound, not quite a wheeze, more of a pained whistle, cut off my words, followed by a heinous gurgling sound that made chills break out across my body.
