The brain, the mind is fascinating. Just that it is difficult to control. It is difficult to even really know it.
Everything we see, we hear, we feel, we associate with different other things, mostly that have already been filed away in our mind before. So when we hear about libraries, we think of books, even if only fleetingly. When we hear about hospitals we think about sickness, maybe pain and sadness. And when we think about something locked under a passcode, we think about the passcode, especially when we are made to focus on it.
With each idea thrown by Emmie and I, it is like dredging up the true passcode that flashes through the professor's mind. Especially toward the end, because I got enough clues in his mind to narrow down the possibilities. That is why I talked about him having crushes on students. It was a joke, for Emmie, but not for me, or for him.
And the code, at last, made me feel like throwing up at the monster the man who is supposed to be a teacher actually is.
The initials of each girl he has destroyed the life of, along with the date he forced himself on each one for the first time, to tame them, according to his own thoughts. And the worst is how his mind went to those enjoyable memories at that time.
I survived the tutoring class, or rather, I acted through it. At least, I tried to, because at the end, Tyne noticed something. Fortunately, I had my flimsy excuse which looked like it has become reality to fall back on. At that point, even he started to believe that I'm not feeling well.
He got confirmation from Emmie's mind when she also worried about me, so I didn't startle him. He even felt it was a pity, and hoped that I would recover fast.
At that point, he helped me look pale from holding back my nausea. Everyone would have reacted the same upon receiving such a goodwill that wanted you in a good state fast enough to be assaulted sooner rather than later.
"Max, let's go to my place. Since you are not feeling well, you should not go back and remain alone at home."
Emmie takes my bag from me and leads the way. I don't feel like rejecting her goodwill, so I follow her. We take the bus because her mother has not come to pick her up.
"I told mom not to pick me up since we have tutoring class."
I nod at that explanation. Since it is not the rush hour, we avoid being squeezed like sardines in a box, and we manage to get seats on the bus.
"Want to drink something?"
Though she asks me that, I can see that my red-haired friend actually wants the remaining milk in my water bottle for herself. I smile and shake my head. I wonder what she will think upon knowing of its origin.
Actually, maybe she might even get excited.
My face regains color and I lean against the window to look outside. The barrier between me and the outside has a therapeutic effect on me. By the time we get down, I feel much better, even though I still feel kind of stuffy in my chest.
I miss the callousness society had bred in me in the past life I have gotten the echoes of. Too much empathy is making my life difficult to live with the suffering of others I have become a little too attuned to.
I get back my empty water bottle, and my bag under Emmie's worried gaze and we walk the rest of the way. When we arrive at the apartment building where she lives, and she sees that I really am better, her bright, energetic smile comes back.
By the time we arrive on the right floor and she opens the door, she is practically bouncing on her feet.
"Max, why don't you stay here tonight? It will not be the first time, and mom won't mind."
"I…"
I think about the proposal, but Emmie has already run in without waiting for my answer. I can only shake my head. I close the door, throw my bag onto the sofa, but I don't sit down. I go to the kitchen to rummage for snacks.
It's not that I have no manners, but it is instead if I do otherwise and don't make myself at home that Emmie's mom will scold me upon coming back.
I bend down to look for a bowl in the cupboards when I suddenly feel the mischief maker who thought she was being discreet slap me on the bum.
"Emmie, stop, and behave yourself. I thought you were off to take a shower."
I turn around with an exasperated face to meet her bright smile.
"No way, if I will take a shower, I will call you to take it together."
I roll my eyes and turn to the countertop to fill the bowl I have put on it. But Emmie doesn't want to calm down. She hugs me from behind, and takes hold of my chest which she starts fondling.
"You– What has gotten into you?"
I can feel her breast from under her crop top. I can even feel her nipples that have no bra to hide their erection. And mine start to get erect too, behind my small bra.
"Emmie!"
"You can't say I started it this time. You are the one who kissed me."
Emmie's voice takes a husky tone behind my ear, before she takes it in her mouth, taking advantage of our similar heights, and her hand slides down to my skirt, then under.
"You–"
I feel shocked, but while I catch her hand, I don't stop it when it continues downward, until my crotch. She makes a few slow back and forth with her finger, then slides it under the last obstacle, and touches the flesh underneath.
The heat of her finger and the slight coldness of the damp environment there sends a chill up my spine, and it turns rigid after a jolt.
Emmie pulls herself out of the dark world below my skirt, puts her wet finger before me, and bites my ear. I reflexively open my mouth, and she invades it with the dirty appendage. She scrapes her teeth over my earlobe, and whispers to me.
"You are wet, Max."