Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 140940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 705(@200wpm)___ 564(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 705(@200wpm)___ 564(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
Even more, the building’s sections were meticulously labeled.
At the top, almost touching the ceiling of the illustration, was Lunita’s roof. It was depicted not just as a flat surface, but as a flourishing garden. The detailing was exquisite, with tons of tiny flowers.
Below, towards the middle of the building, was the little girl’s apartment. It was drawn with a softer hand, the lines less rigid, more welcoming. The depiction included the scattered toys and the warmth of lived-in chaos.
To the side, there was his office–M’s space, marked by orderly lines and structured design.
I got closer to the board. “You drew a map.”
He even had little blocks for the stairs that went up from the basement to the little girl’s apartment.
The lower part of the diagram detailed my mouse’s basement.
And then, at the very bottom of the drawing Amber’s domain was labeled as ‘the sewer.’ The area was marked with darker, more jagged lines, indicating a space less welcoming.
M backed away from the board as if not wanting me to get too close to him. “You see it?”
“I do.”
“Did she see it?”
“If she did, she never told me.” I studied the building some more.
At the top of the whiteboard, in bold, unmistakable letters, was the question:
Where is she?
I kept my gaze on that one sentence, unable to move away from it.
“Perhaps, the brain knew that she wasn’t ready to see it.” M sighed. “Repression. Denial. These are the sort of things that are employed by the brain to manage internal conflicts and perceived threats from the external world.”
I put my view on him.
“By distorting reality, these mechanisms allow individuals to navigate through stressful situations, albeit temporarily and often at the cost of a clear understanding of reality.”
“So sometimes we remember things in the wrong way to protect us?”
“That is one way to think about this.”
I took in that trimmed beard and that tweed jacket.
M raised his eyebrows. “Is something wrong, Kazimir? Why are you looking at me that way?”
“It is just odd. . .seeing my mouse as a man.”
He edged back. “I must inform you that I am in no way interested in a sexual relationship with another man.”
Pavel chuckled from the corner.
I gave him a sad smile. “We both agree on that point, M.”
“You do?”
I nodded.
“Perfect.” M fixed his glasses again. “It is just that you are very. . .adventurous with her. The breast milk, the hidden sex room, and other things. I hoped that you did not think I too was yours.”
“Oh.” I gave him another sad smile. “You are mine, M.”
Pavel snickered.
M cleared his throat. “Perhaps, I will take that declaration in the realm of brotherhood. Instead of in some sense of sexual. . .possession.”
“As long as you know that when you take over Emily’s body, you are not to have sexual adventures like Lunita.”
“Oh no. My heart is with someone else. I stay true, my friend. Never will I love again if I cannot have the love of Felicity.” M’s face turned sad. “However, I do miss my talks with Xavier. Perhaps, if I ever take over the body, you and I can sit with cigars and a nice drink, and ponder the complexities of our reality.”
“I would love that.” I tilted my head to the side. “However, I must ask you something.”
“Yes, Kazimir?”
“Who is Felicity?”
Chapter forty-three
An Ode to Felicity
Kazimir
Pavel cleared his throat. “Lunita said not to ask, cousin.”
Meanwhile, M’s face transformed in an instant, his previously serious and stoic expression replaced by a wide smile that reached his eyes. The lines on his face seemed to disappear, making him look years younger. “Felicity. It all truly comes back to her. This goddess. This. . .angel of perfection. Of love.”
O-kay. . .
Pavel headed over to us.
M spread his hands out as if preparing to tell the greatest story ever created. “When I walked into Felicity’s social studies class for the first time, something strange happened. The room spun a little, not like when you spin around in circles until you fall down, but a gentle kind of spinning, like when you’re half asleep and you feel like you’re floating.”
Pavel held up one finger. “Did you say her social studies class?”
“Yes. She taught social studies.” M gazed off at the distance. “That day, I was stunned by her beauty. I blinked a couple of times, trying to make it stop, but when I opened my eyes again, there she was, smiling at me. Felicity, with her bright blue eyes and the kind of smile that makes you think everything’s going to be alright.”
Pavel frowned. “But. . .was Felicity your teacher or—”
“With Felicity, I was never afraid to raise my hand and answer questions.”
So. . .she was my mouse’s teacher.
M continued as if he no longer saw us, as if he were in that very class. “Felicity loved the stories of faraway places and times long gone. Not like how one loves chocolate or summer break, but a different kind of love, the kind that makes your heart feel like it’s going to burst out of your chest.”