RENAISSANCE

4. Sweet melody

I crossed the threshold, drenched to the bone, and saw Isaac lying on the couch, tapping away on his phone as usual. I headed straight to the bathroom, where I angrily threw my mask on the floor.

Seeing my reflection in the mirror, I realized how terrible I looked. My hair, usually golden like my mother's, was now wet and tangled. My eyes, the same blue as my father's, were bloodshot.

That was all I had left of them. A pitiful cadaverous state.

It was as if I were looking at someone else, someone who wore my face but was not me. This disconnection between my body and mind was growing, creating an unbridgeable chasm. I felt imprisoned in this bodily shell, this appearance that felt foreign to me. Every feature, every curve no longer seemed to belong to me.

In a desperate act to detach myself, to break this dissonance, I began scratching at my skin. My nails scraped against my flesh, as if trying to tear away this facade, to free myself from this body I could no longer bear.

But all I achieved was to make myself bleed. It didn't matter, it felt good.

Then I raised my head to face my reflection, gripping the mirror on both sides and leaning closer. I looked at myself a little longer, with a deep sense of self-loathing, before spitting at my reflection and turning away to step into the shower.

There, I let the remaining tears flow, muffling my sobs with my hands over my mouth.

After a few moments, I left the bathroom, ready and dressed. I saw that the lunatic had returned to the bedroom, which was a relief. He was the last person I wanted to see on this planet.

I lay down on the couch, my head resting on a hard pillow bought on sale at the market. Adding to that, I couldn't find even a slightly comfortable position on this seat, harder than rock.

Eventually, I sighed in annoyance and pulled the thin blanket up to my chin. I stared at the dark ceiling, lost in my thoughts.

I think an hour passed, and my eyes were still wide open, staring into the darkness before me. Suddenly, it felt particularly cold that night. Even though my insulation was poor, the cold never filled the studio like this.

I threw off the blanket and sat up. The contact of my bare feet on the cold floor made me shiver. I might have left a window open by mistake.

I started to wander in the darkness, checking all the windows, even the one in the bathroom, but found nothing. Passing by my bedroom, I realized the draft was coming from there.

I hoped he wasn't sleeping with the window open, as I was already struggling to heat the place, and electricity cost me a fortune.

I headed in that direction and quietly opened the door so as not to wake him. When it was open enough for me to poke my head through, I froze at the sight before me.

He was there, sitting on the windowsill.

As if he were a deity of the night, impervious to the icy bite of the air. The moon's rays gently caressed the skin of his bare torso, illuminating every part of his being with a mystical glow. The silvery reflections mingled with the puffs of vapor escaping from his mouth, creating a strange aura around him. The wind whispered softly through his tousled hair, giving him a wild and free look.

There, in that position defying the night, he embodied a raw and untamed beauty.

This enchanting sight held my attention for half a second before reality quickly caught up.

"Hey! What are you doing?" I exclaimed.

He didn't respond. It was as if he didn't hear me. I approached him and placed my hand on his shoulder. It was icy.