——•✧✦ Disgust IV✧✦•——
It was still raining, but the sky was getting darker and darker.
The sound of the rain was incessant, a monotonous melody that echoed on the car roofs, the sidewalks, and the umbrellas that opened like metallic flowers in a battle against the storm.
Puddles widened and multiplied, reflected by the headlights of cars speeding noisily on the wet asphalt, throwing up splashes of muddy water.
"Mama, when it stops raining, can we go to the park? You said you'd take me to the swings today..." The little girl tugged at her mother's hand, hoping for a reply that, deep down, she knew would be negative.
"Sweetie, with this rain, we can't. The park will be all muddy." The woman tried to cover her daughter with the umbrella while clutching her bag under her arm.
Giulia sighed, looking despondently at the puddles multiplying on the sidewalk.
"But it's always raining! It's not fair. They do it on purpose, don't they?" She looked up, almost challenging the gray sky.
"I don't think the sky does it on purpose, Giulia. It's just doing its job."
The mother smiled slightly, but Giulia didn't seem satisfied with the answer. The noise of honking cars speeding past them grew louder, blending with the steady beat of raindrops on the asphalt.
All the passersby hurried along, covering themselves as best they could.
Some were in cars, with wipers struggling against the downpour, others in taxis honking impatiently.
Many sheltered under buildings, pressing against the walls, while others used smart umbrellas that opened and closed with a quick mechanical snap.
"So where are we going now? I really wanted to go on the swings..." The little girl stomped her feet harder on the sidewalk, creating small splashes of water under her shoes.
"We're going home, Giulia. We'll dry off and maybe watch a cartoon, how about that?" Her mother tried to convince her with an alternative plan.
But before Giulia could respond, something caught her attention.
A single person in particular walked as if it were a sunny day, as if the atmosphere itself was just right for him.
"Mama, why is that guy walking in the rain without an umbrella? Isn't he afraid of getting wet?"
The mother tugged her hand quickly and decisively, trying to hurry her along. The sound of her heels echoed, rhythmic, on the wet pavement. She didn't turn around.
The boy was young, but from his appearance, you wouldn't think so. Maybe it was his long, dark hair, wet and sticking to his face, that made him look so visibly old.
Or perhaps it was the deep shadows under his eyes, hollow like craters beneath that green void, that seemed to pierce the soul of anyone who looked at him, like a poisoned spear.
But maybe it was the water running down his face, forming thin rivulets that joined larger drops, sliding down his neck and disappearing under the black coat.
"Don't look at him, Giulia. Pretend he's not there," whispered the mother, her voice slightly trembling as she tried to maintain control.
Giulia squeezed her mother's hand tighter, but her large, curious eyes remained fixed on the boy.
She couldn't help but stare. Her warm breath, a bit labored from the walk, came out in small puffs of steam that mixed with the cold, damp air.
"But mama, isn't he cold? Is he shivering? Or maybe he doesn't feel anything?" she asked with an uncertain voice, watching as the boy seemed to float along in his slow, almost absent pace, while the wind blew strongly.
The gusts of wind lashed at him, lifting his coat and pressing it against his body, but he didn't react.
"Why does he keep touching his face so many times? Is he perhaps a narcissist?"
He simply kept walking, as if he didn't feel the cold or the rain.
The mother stopped abruptly, her face contorted in a grimace of annoyance and concern.
She crouched down to Giulia's level, her wet hair falling in front of her eyes.
The scent of rain, mixed with that of the wet ground, filled the air as the noise of cars continued to roar around them.
"Sweetheart, there are people who... aren't like us. Don't look at him anymore. Promise me you won't."
Giulia lowered her gaze, biting her lip.
The cold reddened her cheeks, but her curiosity was too strong.
She looked up again, hoping to catch another glimpse of the mysterious boy, even more confused.
He seemed different from everyone else: he walked slowly, as if there was really no need to rush in life, or at least in his.
Each step was accompanied by a dull sound, the noise of his shoes sinking into the puddles, while the steam from his breath mixed with the thin fog rising from the asphalt.
But when Giulia turned again toward the boy, he was no longer there.
Only the rain remained, falling ever heavier and louder, accompanied by the distant sound of a siren echoing between the buildings.
The air was colder now, and a shiver ran down her spine.
˜"°•. ♪ .•°"˜
Alexander hurried down the street, his soaked coat clinging to his body.
His hands trembled, not just from the cold but from something deeper—a gnawing anxiety that ate at him to the bone. It felt as if his face were collapsing, crumbling like sand under the pressure of time.
"I almost scared that little girl…"
He kept touching his face, trying to sense if it was still there, intact. But his skin seemed increasingly fragile, as if it were slipping from his control. The echo of his footsteps on the wet sidewalk sounded louder than he wanted.
The door to his building loomed ahead of him, large and oppressive.
The inner staircase awaited him, cold and dark like a bottomless well. He opened the door with a quick, silent motion, holding his breath as if afraid of waking someone.
"I have to be careful with children; their eyes are too curious and pure."
He entered the hallway, the soft echo of his footsteps bouncing off the narrow walls. His heart beat loudly, not from exertion but from the anxiety devouring him.
"Of course, you… no, you were perfect," he whispered, a bitter smile curling his lips. "But that's enough. I want to see you."
And suddenly, he wasn't alone.
A figure emerged from the darkness of the hallway, almost as if it had been born from the shadows themselves.
A young woman, with smooth, marble-like skin that barely reflected the faint light filtering into the hallway.
From that distance, Alex couldn't see her face clearly, but he knew her lips were a deep red, delicate and thin.
In her right hand, she held a white rose, seemingly wet with dew as if freshly picked, though its petals trembled slightly.
Five of them fell, pure and white, resting delicately on the ground, darkening just as they touched it.
"There you are," Alex murmured, a tired smile forming on his decayed face. "Always at the right moment, aren't you?"
He stepped closer. As he moved, his own hands began to change: the skin that had seemed to flake moments before started to regenerate, becoming firmer. His face appeared more whole, his bones strengthened.
But the rose in her hand now lost seven petals, also as white as snow, sliding downwards, darkening as they touched the floor.
"If I could ask you for one thing, I'd ask you to stay. But maybe it's best that I don't."
Her presence was ethereal and surreal. She walked like Alex—slowly—but every step seemed calculated, fluid, almost like a dance.
Her bare feet barely touched the cold floor, as if she were too light to be held by gravity.
"You always walked like that, in that funny way."
She took another step closer, and her skin grew more solid. The rose, however, lost three more petals, leaving around 50, with a diameter of 11 cm (4.33 inches), a very full, cup-like shape, a luxurious and sophisticated appearance.
"You know," Alex continued, trying to seem casual, "today I almost made a little girl cry. Can you believe it?"
The girl didn't reply, but her grip on the rose tightened. Her other hand was slightly raised, and a subtle ring shone on her finger, catching the dim light as if it held a warmth of its own.
"It's ironic, don't you think?" he said, looking at the ring. "A symbol of eternity for something that never had a chance to last."
He stopped at the foot of the stairs, and she stopped with him, mirroring his every movement.
"There are nights when I feel like everything could end. But then, there's your essence… your being. I still feel it on the sheets and pillows you used excessively, haha…"
The building was silent, only the distant sound of raindrops broke the stillness. The damp, cracked walls seemed to breathe along with him. The flickering yellow bulb made everything seem unstable, almost unreal.
"Even now, I keep asking myself if you're real or just another part of my delirium."
"Ah, and that scent… it suits your grand entrance. As if you weren't already hard enough to ignore," he whispered, shaking his head slightly, unable to take his eyes off her.
The stairs creaked softly under his weight, and he tried to step lightly, as if barely touching them.
"Do you see it too?" Alex said, almost to himself. "These cracks that are about to break me."
His heart pounded in his throat, his breath ragged, small puffs of steam dissolving in the cold, damp air of the hallway.
When he reached the top, the girl disappeared, and he stopped.
"You're here, but you're never truly here. And maybe that's why I can still resist the urge to touch you."
He knew that if he tried to touch her, the last petal of the rose would fall, turning black.
"In the end," Alex said, a bitter smile distorting his lips, "it's all just as it should be, isn't it? Me here, falling apart, and you there, so perfect, so intact."
In front of his door, he felt his skin starting to decay again, his hands trembling as he searched for the keys in his pocket. At the threshold of his apartment, it seemed like everything could end—or perhaps begin again.
˜"°•. ♪ .•°"˜
"Ah, you're back. How did it go, darling?" Asked a female voice, sweet but tired, from the living room.
He paused for a moment, his heart pounding harder than he wanted. He felt a wave of irritation rising inside him, like a tide he couldn't control.
"Darling, did something happen today? Why aren't you talking to me? What's wrong? You know you can tell me."
He didn't reply, just sighed, a breath of frustration mingling with the silence, and continued walking, straight to his room, his steps growing quicker.
"Alexander, where are you going?" The voice became more insistent, sharper, like a taut string ready to snap.
He paused again, just for a moment, his hand already brushing the door handle to his room.
He touched his face, feeling the fragile skin, once again, almost as if it were crumbling under the pressure of his fingers.
"Alex... have you eaten today? You're skipping meals again, aren't you? You know it makes you feel worse... Please, listen to me, just this once."
Every touch seemed to take a piece of him away. His face was intact, and yet he felt like he was falling apart from the inside, again.
Now everything was dripping, and he clenched the keys so tightly that his fingers stiffened, almost painfully. He didn't want to speak, didn't want to face this moment.
"You can't keep going like this. You know that, right? Every time you run away, you come back more... fragile. Look at yourself! Alex, please, don't ignore me this time."
He just needed to enter his room, close the door, and shut himself off from everything, to heal, and to...
"Don't lock yourself in that room. It won't help, not this time. You can't keep running away. You can't run from yourself."
With a quick movement, he turned the handle, just as he lost an arm, turning into black jelly.
He heard a faint crack, like the sound of an old joint giving way, and watched as his arm detached, falling into a mass that melted within seconds. A sickly sweet, rotten smell filled his nostrils, almost making him dizzy.
Then with his left hand, he turned the lock, pushing the door just enough with his decaying body mass to slip inside.
He felt his breath becoming irregular, mixed with a sense of urgency urging him to hurry.
Every second outside his room felt like a risk, an unwanted exposure to a world he didn't want to face.
"Now I'm safe..." he thought, trying to calm himself as he closed the door behind him with a quick, fluid motion.
Everything was healed, everything had disappeared, turning black.
Yes, everything became black.
His skin, which just moments before had disintegrated under his touch, began to regenerate. It was as if the dead cells were reactivating, rebuilding his body piece by piece. But the black... that black was different. It was as if his flesh was no longer fully alive, an imperfect regeneration.
"Your skin is falling, your body is crumbling... Is this what you want? Do you want to let yourself be destroyed like this? You can't keep pretending this isn't happening. You can't close your eyes forever."
As he turned the key in the lock, a small click echoed in the room, and it was as if that sound, so faint, had finally marked a definitive barrier between him and everything else.
He leaned against the door, his face tense, his chest rising and falling quickly.
He could feel the pounding of his heart in his ears, but at least now he was shut in here, in his refuge, protected from whatever was out there.