——•✧✦ Disgust III ✧✦•——
The doctor slapped his open hand on the armrest of the chair, a gesture that broke his impassive demeanor. "Listen to me carefully, Alex, I'm not here to be a spectator. You're the one who needs answers, not me."
After that remark, the cat calmly returned to eating, and the entire universe resumed functioning, as if nothing had happened.
They looked into each other's eyes for a few seconds, then... a strange beep came from Alex's watch.
"Well, it looks like time's up," his voice seemed forced. His eyes, however, revealed a certain uneasiness to his companion.
The doctor hesitated before responding. His gaze fixed on the clock, as if he was taking a moment to contain.
"Yes, same time... tomorrow." His voice was firm, but just above a whisper.
They had both finished by now, and Alex avoided responding, turning his gaze away and focusing on the cat. The only sound was the rain pounding against the windows.
"'Alright, go to sleep,' Mitchell said, crossing his arms. 'Next time, you won't get away like today.'"
As Alex headed towards the coat rack near the cat's little house, he decided to give it one last pet before grabbing his jacket and leaving.
"Don't pretend you can just walk out of here like that," snapped Mitchell, his voice harsher than he intended. "Same time tomorrow, Alex. But don't think this is a game anymore. You're running out of time."
The boy, almost sincerely, revealed a hint of his true face.
"I know that very well.." It was a murmur, his voice low, almost as if he were admitting it more to himself than to Mitchell.
For a second, a flash of blond flickered in his eyes — a hint of the burden he carried — before his expression hardened once again.
"Make sure you watch out for him, ɢᴀʟᴀxʏ ᴅᴇꜱᴛʀᴏʏᴇʀ ."
"I was joking, but I hope you're not actually planning to steal my everything."
"Come on, doctor, these animals require a lot of attention; they're not for me."
Alex gave a faint smile, but his eyes seemed distant. It was as if he was already somewhere else, far from that room and that conversation.
"Then until tomorrow. I wish myself a fantastic day."
The doctor squinted for a moment, observing Alex carefully. There was something unresolved, and he knew it. But for that morning, he decided to let it go.
"Same.. to me then."
However, the creature paused for a moment at the threshold, and the cold that seeped through the open door as Alex prepared to leave was freezing.
It stood there as if it wanted to say something else; it was only 2 seconds, but Alex could feel everything, especially the blend of the aged leather of the furniture, the books, the recently finished tea, all filling the room, mixing with the scent of rain that was just beginning to make its presence known.
Again, He smiled bitterly, but what he truly felt this time was as if his face were melting, like black rubber next to lava, with small dark drops dripping onto the carpet, burning it, and creating small holes.
He no longer had time.
After briefly opening his mouth as if to speak, he shook his head and slipped out of the room without another word.
The head was left on the ground, along with the blood.
˜"°•. ♪ .•°"˜
Mitchell was in his office, scribbling notes—a practice he avoided as much as possible during sessions to maintain that air of naturalness, giving his patients space to breathe.
Meanwhile, Alex stood still, just outside the door, teetering on the edge of a battlefield that now felt more like a cemetery.
He had no more time left, so everything began to collapse.
After a deep breath, preparing to take the first step, and then—everything shattered.
His shoes started to melt, the soles disintegrated into the floor, the leather contorted like burning paper, while an acrid smell of melted plastic and cooked skin curled into his nostrils.
The socks met the same fate, then his toes—first the nails, which splintered off in shards, and then the skin, peeling back in thin strips like old paint flaking from an abandoned wall.
No one would ever witness this horror.
Outside, he walked calmly, maybe just a little tired. Inside—Inside—every part of him was rotting, disintegrating in silent agony.
First, the office foundations, which trembled under his weight, cracking like thin ice.
The walls began to split, allowing dust and debris to rain down from the ceiling.
The beams buckled under an invisible force, the floor opened into a black chasm, and the entire building began to twist like a body in pain.
Suddenly, he heard a female voice nearby, "So, Mr. De Santis, have you decided to move forward with that project you mentioned last time?"
His knees continued to give way, but this time his right foot remained anchored to the floor, rigid and immobile, as if invisible roots held it in place.
Outside, from the slightly ajar windows, distant voices could be heard. Someone laughed. Someone else argued animatedly. People went on living, unaware of the chasm opening beneath him.
His weight shifted backward, his knee gave way with a violent thud, smashing against the remnants of his foot with a dull and agonizing sound.
A male voice seemed to respond, "Ah, yes, I'm still considering. It's not easy to find the time with all the work. And then my daughter started violin lessons... so you can imagine my days at home.."
A muffled scream stuck in his throat as pain exploded in every direction, like shards of glass embedded in his nerves. The flesh tore again, as if the knee had broken through a fragile dam, and a wave of putrid heat, almost nauseating, spread rapidly from the leg, burning like a fever from hell.
"I understand perfectly. When it comes to family commitments, it feels like time just slips away without noticing."
His hands split open, the skin tearing along the veins like dry wood, exposing dead tissue that no longer felt anything. His chest joined in the collapse, ribs crumbled under the weight of a heart that had already turned to dust, a useless and broken organ.
"Exactly!"
His face was the last to give in: the heat was unbearable, and the skin swelled, boiling, sliding down in a slimy mass that dripped at his feet like melted wax from a burnt-out candle.
"I guess I'll have to wait quite a while to find some peace,"
The eyes, swollen from the excess heat, burst in their sockets, reduced to a sticky black ooze that dripped from the empty cavities of his skull.
"Well, the important thing is to find time for yourself now and then. Even just an hour can make a difference."
"Yeah, an hour... that would be a dream. Anyway, thanks for the chat, as always. Goodbye."
But no one saw him, so he moved forward.
"Hi, Alex. Done with Dr. Mitchell for today?"
The same voice came from the left, a kind question, from someone who had no idea he was collapsing right there at their feet.
His lungs had dissolved long ago, and his mouth was now only an open and excruciating wound, but somehow the words still came out, normal, even casual.
"I think so... but now I have something more important."
But in his mind—another reality.
"Lisa... help me." His voice was a desperate whisper. But it never reached her.
Inside, his throat was nothing but ashes, his chest had collapsed, reduced to nothing.
"Ah, I imagine you're going to sleep. You young people have it easy," with the usual kind smile.
Her voice was distant, almost drowned out by the sound of bones breaking, muscles tearing, as the last remnants of him disintegrated into nothingness.
"Have a good day, Miss Lisa."
His lips moved, but they were no longer his.
They were just fragments, like the rest of him—gone before the words were fully spoken.
"Lisa..." The sentence was never spoken. The words shattered in his mind, suffocated by the molten wax of his tongue.
But the world around him didn't change. The words that came out of his mouth, instead, were different.
Then the ceiling collapsed on her.
Lisa's smile vanished as the beams crashed down, crushing her body. Blood pooled in a dark stain as flames devoured the walls. Her screams blended with the crackling of the fire consuming everything.
Alex leaned forward, his hands stretched out like tentacles.
But they were no longer hands: just strips of molten flesh stretching desperately, tearing from his skin as he tried to drag himself out of the rubble.
With every movement, his body bent and broke, like glass bones ready to shatter at the slightest touch.
The counter split in two. Lisa was swallowed by the flames, and the office turned into a wasteland of smoke, fire, and ash.
She writhed, a reflexive movement; she couldn't have been conscious, not at that point. It was like a headless chicken—only here, you could hear the screams.
Meanwhile, Alex finally exited the building, sparing others the sight of that horror.
But outside…
Outside, the world went on as usual.
People strolled peacefully down the street, umbrellas open under the pouring rain. A couple laughed, passing by a store window displaying wedding rings. A businessman hailed a taxi, constantly checking his watch, while an elegant woman hurried through the crowd.
No one noticed that behind the façade of normalcy, the office was collapsing into an apocalyptic hell.
Alex dragged himself forward, now nothing more than an amorphous mass of melted flesh.
People continued to walk by, oblivious. No one saw him, no one heard the crackling of collapsing beams or Lisa's muffled screams under the rubble.
Alex stopped, his mouth open in a silent scream.
The icy rain washed over his wounds; the droplets, sharp as needles, struck his face. For a moment, they seemed to soothe the burning.
A relief, but only temporary. The lava consuming him slowed, but didn't stop. It extinguished only to reignite, even stronger.