Novel By Fyodor Dostoyevsky Novels & Stories

“You’re flirting with death. I’m not the only person who could take you down.” The accusation sticks tighter than it would have before El, before the heartbeat in that little office, but I sip my coffee like his words don’t mean a thing to me. The waitresses don’t seem to give a fuck about our little scuffle, at least. “Do you have anything other than threats?” I ask. Henry sighs. “Fyodor’s not a totally uncommon name, but I did some digging, and I was able to connect it to a guy called Raskolnikov, who dropped off the map in Russia about a month before Fyodor started moving over here.”

I cannot stop when my fingers have danced on the black keyboard on the bed. My second novel’s character is named Eros Darwin — as the main character who has multiple personalities. I purposely gave Eros Darwin a psychopathic character in this novel; at least, he still lives in a world of fiction. “Eros,” I whispered as my fingers typed Eros’s name into the paragraphs on the flat screen. “Why is it so cold?” I touched the back of my neck because I felt something cold passing there and then spontaneously turned my face to the open balcony.

image he worked so hard to maintain. I closed the closet, still grinning, and wandered into his bedroom. On his nightstand I found more books, all by Fyodor Dostoevsky: Crime and Punishment, Notes from Underground, The Idiot, White Nights. I picked one up and flipped through it. The pages were worn, corners folded and some lines underlined. He wasn't just pretending to like this stuff, he really was a superfan of Russian literature. I didn't believe it when he first told me, but now I believed it without a doubt.