Total pages in book: 247
Estimated words: 248926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1245(@200wpm)___ 996(@250wpm)___ 830(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 248926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1245(@200wpm)___ 996(@250wpm)___ 830(@300wpm)
I put the comb down.
“Do you understand?”
Silent, I began braiding the side of his head.
“And I told you the story to help you with my brother.”
“How will that story help me, Valentina?”
“Because sometimes you must hit my brother with a shovel.”
“I am not doing that.”
Valentina turned her view to me. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t want a violent relationship. We already have a violent life.”
“The shovel will be the only thing that gets through my brother’s head.” She pointed at me. “Do you know how hard his skull is?”
“I have some idea.”
“Then, you must use something even harder to get through it.”
“I’m not hitting him.”
“Well. . .” Valentina lay back down on the bed. “Perhaps, you should not listen to me. I have my fair share of relationship problems.”
That’s putting it mildly.
Continuing to braid, I looked over Paolo’s shoulder and checked out his drawing.
So far, Paolo had a huge building in the center. A monster made of flames hovered over the structure with his mouth open and fangs dripping liquid.
He's really good for his age. He’s going to be an artist.
I returned to braiding.
Baba entered the room. “Look at my little one. Is he getting his hair done?”
Paolo pointed the end of his crayon at me. “Mysh.”
“Yes.” Baba grinned. “Our mouse is so talented.”
I finished a small braid.
Baba turned to me and frowned. “However, we must hurry with the reading.”
I shook my head. “Let’s do it later—”
“Do we still need to listen to Baba?” Valentina waved her way. “She did not know Paolo was getting taken.”
“Valentina, when I love the person, it is hard to guide them.” Baba scowled at her. “For example, my grandson's readings are always erratic. There's always surprises when he's involved.”
Valentina rolled her eyes. “I do not see the point of the readings, if you are not going to see—”
“Leave Baba alone, Valentina.” I pointed the comb at her and then looked at Baba. “However, I want to finish Paolo's hair and do the reading later.”
“There won’t be a later, Emily.”
I froze. “What do you mean by that?”
“The Lion is heading back soon.”
My nerves calmed. “Is he okay?”
“They all are.”
“Then, perfect.”
“Still, we should hurry. When Kazimir comes back. . .he will be keeping you busy.”
I didn’t like the way she said it.
“Alright. Fine.” I grabbed a rubber band and brushed Paolo’s hair into one long pony tail.
Valentina watched. “Pavel would love what you are doing.”
Paolo paused from his drawing. “Papa?”
“Damn it. I shouldn't have said that.” Valentina looked away and rose from the bed. “I need more champagne.”
Blue returned with a menu. “I ordered several items along with all of the hotel’s bruschetta.”
“Blue, Valentina was just playing. I hope you got a reasonable amount of bruschetta.”
“I was not joking. There better be platters and platers of bruschetta.” Valentina walked off. “Where’s the champagne, Blue?”
She pointed to living room. “There’s a few bottles on the bar.”
I hugged Paolo for a few seconds. “I have to go for a minute.”
“And what did my pumpkin draw for me?” Baba went over to the bed. “Look at that green monster eating the building.”
Paolo pointed. “Boom!”
“Yes.” Baba clapped hard. “Boom! Just like that.”
I lifted Paolo and put him on the bed. “Blue watch him for me, please.”
“No problem.” Blue strolled over to the bed and sat down.
Baba and I walked away.
Together we left my suite and entered the hallway. She guided me to her suite.
Nervousness twisted knots into my stomach.
I matched her pace. “The readings are fine, but what I really need is your help with getting rid of Lunita.”
She didn't look at me. “Do you really think you can get rid of her?”
“It is not a question of if, but when.”
She sighed. “Emily, I have had long conversations about this with the ancestors.”
“And?”
“Your trauma reshaped your brain. That means so much trauma was trapped inside of your body that—”
“But, can I get the trauma out of my body?”
She pursed her lips.
“Can I?”
“You can. Trauma is a mental injury not a mental illness.”
“So, I can heal it?”
“Yes, but when it becomes continuous, the trauma takes root in your body.”
“But, how is this shit still in my body? Most of it happened when I was a kid.”
“My thinking is that the essence of your trauma merged with your nervous system.”
I gritted my teeth.
“When your brain sees or feels the threat, it triggers your system to go to a fright, freeze, or flight response. It pumps your body with cortisol and other things.”
We rounded a corner.
She continued, “The body goes from safe to activated and trying to fight off an attack or run away, but in your case. . .”
I looked at her.
“Perhaps, in your case you could not fight or run away.”
I fisted my hands.
“It begins to sit in your body, and if this is continuous. . .”
“I don't know, if it was.”
She gave me a sad smile. “You do not remember?”