Felix blinked. She was back in the metal box. Across from her, she could see that Tegmark was deep within her delve, the blue of her eyes conspicuously replaced with a dim, unobtrusive gray coloration as she stared intently at her screen. It appeared as though Felix, too, was doing the same, as she'd woken up staring mindlessly at the aglow feed streaming across the device. She stood from her position, realizing that her legs hadn't moved in however long although she felt so exhausted, so drained from running earlier and growing ever-so dreadful in the last memory she'd felt. Therefore, her back smacked hard against the wall. She cried out, but kept the curse from leaving her lips, scared for a moment that she'd be told by Mr. Tegmark to watch her language.

click

Except Mr. Tegmark wasn't here. He was left in the memories of Tegmark's specialized device, and though she'd felt a tender affection for Mr. Tegmark, something that she'd never experienced when she was with her own father, she had no intent to return to those wretched memories of woe, just as they'd been properly listed as repressed.

But an outstanding application appeared on the device's screen. She knew that it hadn't been there before, of course it hadn't, she'd just been looking at it a few seconds ago before she rose from the ground, but it had a beautiful girl as its icon, its definition clear and distinct despite its small size. Beneath the internalized photograph (there was a slight yellow glow from behind her pretty face, a few little bulbs shining green, blue, and red amid the standard beige coloration of Tegmark's room) it read Beverly.

click

Her finger hovered over the luminous screen. Trapped, for however long, in an irrelevant place where you only could sit or remember your own memories or someone else's did something to your curiosity. Felix, though not wishing to personally invade on things which seemed significant and discrete, couldn't help but wonder who Beverly was.

The longer she examined the photo of the cute girl, the more she wanted to know about how Tegmark had known her, and what happened between them. Before, if she had to ask, the words would have never left her mouth, scared of how they might be heard whether her intentions were peaceful or vindictive. But she didn't have to ask anymore. She had, essentially, the access to a plethora of character, an encyclopedia of person, right in her hands. She was meant to use it, surely, or it wouldn't have been in her pocket, nor would she have known the passcode to open it.

No one was watching her, there wouldn't be any consequences to snooping around. If she wanted to, she could look through the lot of Tegmark, scouring her personal life and, by the end of it, know her inside-out. From her insignificant likes and dislikes to the prominently influential regrets and memories which crafted her into the girl she was, Felix had it all, had even seen a majorly life-changing sliver which intrigued her like a shiny hook to an unsuspecting trout, and the strong, unbreakable line it was attached to tugged sharply upward once she had bitten down, bringing her into that unbidden but strikingly captivating exploration of the soul.

So Felix, exhaling loudly into the tinny atmosphere of the enclosed, inescapable box, decided that it would be better if she did. Nothing would come badly from it, even if the ethical issues she'd contemplated came into the already convoluted equation. She'd been given a tool, a powerful one capable of perfectly recreating someone's memories in full, all with the dread and horror or glee and whimsy they may contain, and it would be a waste, significantly so, if she hadn't taken the opportunity to learn and grow and develop alongside the girl who, Felix saw as she looked up momentarily, was engulfed in her list of unkempt anecdotes and egregious experiences. She had already seen some of the worst extents Tegmark's life had taken, stretching far and wide into ill definition, so what else could happen?

Hesitantly, as though her body wasn't on the same page of her mind, preferring to stay behind on another chapter than to move forward, she urged her finger to click the Beverly icon, preparing herself for the sudden shift.

She hadn't known how powerful the change was hitherto her first dive, being surprised and shocked by the prospect of being sent into another person's body without permission, but now that she'd gotten the hang of remembering she couldn't move on her own, or speak her mind when she thought something was particularly awry, she considered herself a little knowledgeable to go in for another time. So she let her hand fall to her thigh, the feeling of her coveralls coarsely rubbing against her knuckles --

-- but now her knuckles ran across skin, rubbing tenderly against soft, unblemished skin Felix so enviously craved when she was in the beginning stages of puberty (oh God, her face was like a minefield of exploding pimples by the end of her freshman year). The solid, sleek wall she'd been staring at before had changed, as expected, in something else cold and despondent. Instead of seeing her dire reflection, she saw that they were in Tegmark's living room.

She saw the unmistakable red furniture in the corners of her eyes, taking note how must of them were pushed to the ends of the room and shrouded in white sheets. Bright beams of sun streamed from in between the rust-red curtains, illuminating the room in a pleasant yellow that reflected beautifully off the contrasting reds.

To her, the living room was so different in the daytime than at night. At night, it looked and felt as though it'd been taken straight from a horror novel, the shadows crawling up the walls in intricate dances of the dead, the hollow look of the unlit fireplace making it seem colder than it really was; whereas in the daytime, mirth and glee exuded straight through each and every orifice, like how the sun crept in like an old friend after years of miscommunication, or how the brightness of it all and steadfast streams of bearable heat accentuated the abounding feeling of warmth.

Felix felt, out of all the things she'd taken from this place before, pleased and cheery, knew that this memory was a cherished and sacred one, and went along cheerfully with the fluid movements she'd been so accustomed to previously, feeling free and unrestrained as Tegmark moved on her own volition.

Her hand -- Tegmark's hand, remember, it isn't your hand -- was indeed stroking someone's skin, as she suspected before. Someone who was lying down in the comfortable formation of pillows strewn across the floor, tangling her legs in and out of one of the unkempt sheets. On closer inspection, she'd figured it was the same girl she'd seen in the icon, except now, with their faces so close to each other, her prominent features stuck out like branches on a towering tree. Her auburn-colored hair, tightened into two pigtails to either side of her head, surrounded her face, cradling it beautifully like a young child. Her glasses were circular and gold and thin, amplifying the addictive appearance of her coffee-colored eyes, speckles of caramel swirling through them. Her lips hadn't any lipstick but they'd stuck out in a perpetual pucker, it was so cute. They curled at the sides into a gradual smile as she stared continuously into Tegmark's eyes. And -- oh my God, why are her eyes so bright and wide, she looks so innocent, she's beautiful --

Tegmark's heart was pounding. Felix could feel it, the steady throb evident in her chest not caused by an impending dread (like how it'd been when Harvey held them up) but instead created by an overwhelming thrill and affection coursing through her. Felix couldn't help like it, because she hadn't felt this way in so long.

And when the girl -- Beverly, this was Beverly bathed in the glory of the gods, who could bring any person to their knees as if they were drunk and in love -- started to laugh, her heart swelled with pride and appreciation in her chest, like there'd been in a balloon stuck in there and someone started blowing it up again. It was like a sound from the gods, given only for the most worthy. And Tegmark was definitely worthy.

"You laughin at me?" asked Tegmark, chuckling along with Beverly.

Beverly shook her head. It seemed like the laughs tumbling out of her lips never ended, and Felix relished in it as the waves of glee began to fill the atmosphere entirely. "No, 'course not. I'm laughin at your little hairdo."

Tegmark lifted her hand to touch her hair. It was put up in a messy bun. A couple of liberated blonde strands found their way out of the prison that was her hairtie. She huffed, pushing them aside. "I didn't even have too much time to get ready and dressed before you came up."

"I don't mind either way," Beverly said softly, the quiet tone of her voice apologetic. She turned her head down, adjusting her glasses with a slight push of her finger. "It's cute, y'know, seeing you like this."

"What, like an ugly monster?" questioned Tegmark. She hated looking in the mirror, just as any regular teenage girl would.

Felix could relate to her on the level that she wasn't conventionally attractive (some would describe her as boyish, and sometimes, she'd actually be mistaken as a boy with her short hair and her flat chest). She looked in the mirror and admitted to herself, quite brutally, that she wasn't the most desirable person, that she was a plain goose amid the graceful swans who didn't wake up out of their bed later than their alarm clocks allowed and hurriedly rushed through their morning routines without the slightest bit of worry about her appearance. More important things were requirements, like, for instance, her AP Gov homework packet she'd left for the last day to complete, and unlike her diminishing complexion.

But Tegmark was absolutely adorable, down to even the slightest things. If Felix were Tegmark, she'd be content with her appearance, even if she didn't desire anything other than the unfortunately horrid cards she'd been dealt during puberty. Her appearance was perfect, down the finer details of her little, constellation-like freckles. So when she heard the echoing thoughts of doubt and insecurity and self-consciousness, she wanted to rid of it by telling her --

"No, you're not ugly-y-y," she said, drawing out the vowel as she faced her again and spread an excited, toothy grin across her face. She reached out and squeezed Tegmark's cheeks, shaking them from side-to-side a moment. "See? Your face is just as cute as a chipmunk's." And Felix felt Tegmark open her mouth to say something, hearing the internal accusation that Beverly was lying to her (it was the average answer, I've heard it so many times I wish I could just remove it from existence) but Beverly shifted her hands from her cheeks, lifting a finger to press up against Tegmark's slightly parted lips. "There's nothing else to it, even if you say otherwise. You're cute. And I wouldn't have my mind changed for anything anybody else says, and that's including you."

"All right, all right," she said, pushing away her fingers. "I hear you loud and clear."

"You sure? I'm not sure you did. I prolly need a megaphone straight up to your ear in order for you to listen." Beverly laughed at her own joke, the heartfelt chuckle giving Tegmark pause. Felix didn't know when the mood shifted (or if it actually had, because it could have just been Tegmark's influence on her own memories) but distinctly, through her mind, there was something saying that something was wrong.

There wasn't anything wrong, or at least according to Felix, but Tegmark continued on with these thoughts. They came in like water a dam was holding up, a crack no more than the size of a pink finger growing until the chasms in the foundation came apart and let all the emotions loose.

"You tellin me that I don't listen?" she asked softly.

Beverly turned suddenly onto her. Her face was incredulous, as though she'd been ready to argue, but as soon as she saw that Tegmark's lip was slightly quavering, and her eyes were getting watery, and her hands clutched the blanket just as tightly as someone on the edge of life, she hurriedly wagged her hands. "Hey, no, you do, I was just kiddin around, you should know that," she said.

Her gaudy movements got Tegmark's attention, but like a kid without their parent inside a large grocery store, she was lost, drowning in her thoughts, so it was mistaken, much to Felix's chagrin. "You always do that."

Beverly sat up. Tegmark stayed down on the ground, lying there thoughtfully, so it was her (it was Beverly, she was the one doing this, the resonating thoughts in Tegmark's mind growled and shouted irately, she's doing this to me) who looked down on her. "I always do what?"

"Mess around like that," Tegmark said aimlessly. She didn't have the courage to look Beverly in the eyes, kept her eyes on the streams of light which crept in so peacefully from the outside. The grains of the snow peppered down from the sky, pressing against the windows, and her heart felt so cold as those snowflakes. "You always do that no matter the situation, even if it's uncalled for. I didn't have enough time to get ready, and this" -- she gestured to her bun, tapping it lightly -- "is the best I could do. And you saying that I never listen -- what's that supposed to mean?"

"Hey, don't look into it like that, babe," said Beverly nervously. "There's no need to question it, it's just who I am, I can't help but respond." Then her face turned up. "Do you have a problem with it? I could stop if you like, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

But she was uncomfortable.

Felix couldn't explain how it happened, because it couldn't have been her who changed, it had to be Tegmark of all people, but the atmosphere was no longer gleeful, wonderful and cheery -- it was like how Mr. Tegmark brought Jennifer into this very living room, it was, she swore, because it felt just as accusatory. There was the very same spikes going through her chest, penetrating into the farce she particularly kept up. "I just -- no, you don't have to change anything, please. It's weird, I don't know, I just find it odd."

"Why, though?"

She couldn't explain it. It was one of those indescribable emotions which ailed those in crises. Unable to identify the situation of their problems because the problems themselves were unable to be identified. She would try to, she could potentially say something that would supply Beverly with as little information as possible, but she didn't, because she didn't even know why.

It just bothered her, things that Beverly did bothered her, and she didn't know why, couldn't even comprehend any words which would miserably fail at elaborating on this.

So Tegmark simply shrugged her shoulders. She didn't know. So she said, "I don't know."

And Felix caught the sight of Beverly's uncertain face, seeing how distressed and frightened she was for Tegmark. It was sweet, watching her look at Tegmark with so much care. Coming forward with a forced smile that visibly strained her mouth, Beverly leaned down onto her side (it was more like an unceremonious flop right onto the covers, all with her exasperation of this scenario weighing down on her, but Felix at least gave her enough dignity for a proper recollection), wrapped her arms around Tegmark, the grooves of her hands fitting nicely where her curves dipped and rebounded, and engulfed her face into the fabric of Tegmark's sweater. She let her features seep into the cloth. Tegmark, still under a bad spell, didn't respond immediately but Beverly didn't care too much, didn't push Tegmark to release any of her unbidden emotions right away. She just sat there and held her, tightly grabbing onto her as though it was a severe case of life-or-death.

"Jenny?" she asked, catching Tegmark's attention far better than prior attempts managed to conceive.

Felix tried to shut out the responses flickering through Tegmark's unceasing head, but now, after accumulating for at least two minutes, it was to the point where even doing so was inherently futile: there were too many flying around at once, going this way and that like the white billiard ball on a felt-green table stacked to the sides with wads of crumpled cash. Uncontrollable, they continued rapid-firing until one word stuck out, glowing dimly in her mind like a red-hot neon sign that didn't work most of the time.

Tegmark cleared her throat, feeling like her voice would clam up with internalized sobs if she didn't (and Felix knew all about trying to hide those, let me tell you that). "Yeah?" she asked weakly, turning her head to face Beverly.

Beverly smiled, and this time, despite her watery eyes and her distressed expression, it was genuine. Tegmark felt a little better just looking at her smile. The finer details were a little blurry but she could see the picture in full, the bright colors of a painting created solely by the weary heart of a starving artist, baring to the world its priceless vulnerability, and -- it was beautiful.

She was beautiful, even amid her little crisis.

"I love you."

Tegmark, for maybe the first time Felix had remembered, smiled, too. "I know," she said simply.

And Beverly closed the distance between their faces to give her a peck on the forehead, snuggling into her side with a content sigh.

click