Somewhere Else

Chapter 7: Breakdown (i)

The days drag on.

I keep going for my intensive language classes. But they're tiring. They're starting to wear me out.

I've stopped doing the homework. Looking at question after question, on sheet upon sheet, gives me a raging migraine. The words run into each other and don't make any sense. What's the point? I will never get the hang of this language. I always get the answers wrong anyway.

I'm hopeless at this language. Elina thinks so too. She always looks at me with this expression when she asks me a question in class – an expression that is a mixture of worry and uncertainty. She stops in the middle of the class sometimes, to ask if I understand. And the rest of the class looks at me knowingly.

She must think I'm stupid.

And the longer I learn this language, the more I'm starting to think I'm stupid, too.

I don't know what Aksel thinks about how I'm coping with the class. He knows that I'm having trouble with the language, but I don't tell him the extent of it. He asks every day, but all I tell him is that it is still hard, that I still don't know anyone in the class properly. And all he says in return is what he always says – that it takes time.

A week after the pop quiz, I get home late and he asks, "Class ended late today?"

"No." I don't want to explain that I'm late only because I locked myself in a toilet stall for half an hour after class had ended. And I had taken the long way home, because I needed more time for the puffiness of my eyes to fade before I have to face Aksel.

He studies my face for a long moment. Then he says, his voice gentle, "Did something happen, Emilie?"

Wondering briefly if he can see any remaining redness around my eyes, I shrug.

He closes his eyes briefly – perhaps partly in exasperation, partly to formulate his words. "I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on."

"You can't help me anyway," I mutter.

He ignores my surliness. "I can help with your Finnish homework. Or anything else you're not sure of."

I'm about to rebuff him, then end up shrugging again. "Okay, fine. If you want."

I head for the bedroom, not turning to see if he follows. I root around in my bag and pull out my textbook. There are two pages in the book that have been assigned for homework that night.

Aksel comes in close behind me, looking over my head as I flip through the pages.

"They're all empty," he says, stating the obvious. I can't hear any trace of censure in his tone, but I feel a habitual defensiveness rising up in me.

"Yeah, well," I say, jerking so hard at a particular page that I almost tear it. "It's too hard for me. Even if I sit down and try to do it, I end up not writing anything."

"I keep telling you, you can always ask me." Now there's the censure I was waiting for.

"I can't be asking you everything every single time." I slap the book flat onto the table.

"Is that your homework for today?" Aksel is already scanning the page.

"Mhm." I stand to the side, giving him space to read. I don't know why he's insisting on doing this. I'm already tired; I want to go to bed, not work on some tedious homework that will just pile back on the next day. It's a never-ending process.

Aksel pulls out the only chair at the desk and gestures to it. "Sit."

"Must I?" I sigh, but I plant myself down onto the chair. I pick up my pen, hovering over the first blank.