Cold Sweat - Gunnar

((Continuation of "Yearning")) Gunnar abruptly sat up in his bed, gasping for air. He wiped the sweat off his arms with his sheets. His skin was moist and clammy, and his eyes wide in shock. He began to mutter incomprehensible things, quivering frightfully. As he eventually slid himself off the bed, he brushed his hair back and felt the warmth from his forehead. The clock is 3. Where is my water? Not finding his water bottle on his desk, he stumbled on his way to his closet. The dark, ghostly silhouettes of Ulf Samuelsson and the Kallur sisters eerily looked on him as he passed by the posters of his youth, and the usually reassuring Swedish cross hanging above his bed incited a shiver from the young man. He swung open the door and flipped the switch. Gunnar lost his breath and cringed as he found himself facing the newspaper, dated 28 juli, 2010. Three familiar faces presented themselves on the cover, one of them joyously looking at Gunnar--at least, at the Gunnar that had existed almost two years ago. But unlike the Gunnar of July, 2010, the Gunnar of the present did not smile back. Those eyes. They had sparkled at him for three years, acknowledging him as no other eyes had. And they frightened him in this moment. It was disturbing him, and he quickly but gently tucked the newspaper back into the lone file cabinet he had been provided. Then the book caught his eye. ‘The Lexikon'. He turned away, but hesitated to exit the closet. He had to do something right now. Even if he did not reveal it right away, it had to be done tonight. She would be gone. She would be gone... He picked up his phone and instantly replaced it. A phone call would be too noisy, and he probably would not be able to think straight enough and hold a coherent conversation. No. It had to be paper. He crept back into his closet and retrieved ‘The Lexicon', then headed over to his desk. He pulled out his chair and collapsed into it, fumbled in the desk drawer for the unlined notebook he kept, and delicately--perfectly--tore out a page. Opening the dictionary of his invention for reference, he then picked up his pen and set to laying down the thick blue ink on the parchment. Gudrun, It is your friend, the boy who ran away to the States, who has always run. It is late now, at night. I have only now awakened. Forgive me if it is hard to understand these words. But I must write. I miss you. It was such a sin to leave Sweden so quickly. I have asked transfer back to Stockholm. It is not Karlstad, but it is closer than America. But let me not drift further. I have realized this night how I have hurt you. You were always found for me when I was home, and even yet when I have not been home. You have been my best friend after Nils died, and you have been the best coach on the track, also. But I have left you to be alone with these past two years. Be kind and forgive me. I want to be home. I want to see you. The young man hesitated, trembling as he considered how he must close. A chill rushed over him, and he ever-so-slowly penned the final two words. Never had he ever written them in conjunction. Love, Gunnar