" ...?"
It was just one end of it; I couldn't see the other side yet, since the mattress was on top of it. Instead of lifting it any higher, I decided to pull the rope.
It came out relatively easily, though that wasn't what surprised me. At the other end of the rope, there was a knot tied. It wasn't uniform, more like a clump of string. However, at the end, the shape of a teardrop was formed.
I instantly let go of the rope and took a few steps back. I was surprised at first, but my face quickly showed signs of both desperation and anguish.
" I know if something good happens to him, he'll come and rub it in my face without a second thought."
"What if something bad happens to him?"
"...She'll tell me. If I ask her, she'll tell me. It's not like she's weak anyway. If something bad happens to her, she'll probably just brush it off and move on."
The words I'd said back then came flooding back to me, like a joke. Why did I think about that? Why had I never thought differently? Was I so afraid of judging myself? Am I a fucking hypocrite or something?
Did she never trust me enough to...
Riku, what do you think of me?
No, no, no, that's not true. Even if she looked worried, you could tell she wasn't depressed. She just wanted to hear my opinion about her. Isn't that normal? Just because she did it once doesn't mean that-
" That happened 4 days ago."
It was so recent?… But then, when did you start feeling like this?
"You'll never know"
"Because?"
"Because she never wanted to say it"
"And she had to stay quiet, without saying anything!?"
"Yes, since he never had anyone to talk to about it."
"...?"
"You never offered her help, so she didn't want to trust you."
"…"
I slowly brought my hand closer to the rope, gripped it like glass, and fixed my blurred gaze on the knot within. It was pathetic.
I wanted to laugh at how horribly it was tied up. It wasn't even a knot, it was a mess that even the person who made it couldn't fix. Even if I was staring and commenting on something completely irrelevant, my body knew it was the real deal. I was shaking.
" Why was he wearing a scarf?" the question returned, after having found the answer.
Those images played in my head like a movie, over and over again. I couldn't remember anything, anything except that moment I opened a door.
The first time I did it, there I was, lying in bed, with a scarf, after the ceiling vent handle fell off.
...He hid this so quickly?... My mind was filled with anguish.
I fell to my knees, my head completely drooping, defeated. The blue of his eyes, and the red of that moment, mingled in my vision like yin and yang, never quite meeting. Or so it should have been.
Me. I broke the balance. Red began to invade the space of blue, and blue the space of red. In the midst of all this chaos of colors, something completely new emerged. Black.
Everything went black. And the longer I stared into that void, the whiter the world I was in became.
It happened without me even realizing it. From one day to the next, it went from having the same colors as always to becoming this abyss. I didn't even bother to witness the change; I just waited for the final result.
I don't know how many times she's told me this, but every time I defend myself, I know I'm right. I didn't do anything; I was just trying to help her. I…
" I let her die on this floor. Twice..."
As I brought my hand closer to the ground, I could feel my soul slowly concentrating in my fingertips, my whole body growing colder and colder, until I could make contact with the wood.
I was cold. All the summer heat dissipated in an instant; the ground was cold. Just feeling it made my stomach churn. I couldn't bear that sensation affecting my entire body, which, as if on purpose, lost some of its warmth. It was as if the ground had stolen it from me, as if, little by little, I was freezing to death…
My fingers lost the warmth they'd had, then my palms followed, and finally, my arm. I felt a horrible cold, not deadly, but one that made every fiber in my body beg for the warmth I'd wasted. I could have believed my arm had been completely frozen.
My hands were still touching the floor, my entire palm making contact with the planks. Despite the cold, the sweat flowed perfectly from my body to the floor. Thanks to that, I knew the only thing frozen in this room was my mind.
Little by little, I began to understand what I was touching better. I felt as if I knew the location of every atom in every piece of wood covering my hand. Rather than a pleasant and comforting sensation, it was disgusting and repulsive. I didn't want to feel so much. It was too much for my head to handle.
In the midst of this trance, a reddish substance began to seep between the gaps in the boards, rising through the spaces left by my fingerprints. It was a dark hue and advanced slowly and evenly, covering more and more of my flesh. More than a liquid, it seemed like a gelatinous, fleshy mass, binding me to the floor like a shackle.
I was excited when I saw this, and I tried to take my hands off the ground, but I couldn't; they were stuck to the floor. Something was preventing me from taking them off. A force was holding me still so I couldn't escape.
Little by little, my fingers sank into that meat, whose smell, with a peculiar metallic tone, pierced my nose without any mercy.
What had once been a thin layer had become an increasingly dense mass. Eventually, the mass covered my entire hand. From that moment on, I was able to move.
I didn't hesitate for a second to take my hands off the floor, focusing now on removing all that disgusting material. It didn't stick to me again when I tried to pull it off, and I was able to get a considerable amount off, but I couldn't completely eliminate the crimson hue wrapped around them.
I could feel the flesh growing more and more solid, refusing to leave my hands, but I didn't want to give up, so I started scratching and scratching, to no avail. I had no other choice; I didn't want to be like this. This wasn't my fault, it wasn't, it wasn't, it wasn't.
I have done nothing, this is not a result of my crimes, it is proof of my desperate but well-intentioned attempts.
Yes… I've done what I could, and if I still haven't prevented it, then it was inevitable, I… I couldn't do anything. This is just proof that I tried.
Even if I had been by her side, everything would have ended the same. No matter how much I appreciate her, or how much time I spend with her; how much I help her or how much I push her, everything would have ended the same. People never heal easily.
That's why I'm innocent, I haven't done anything wrong, I...
Everything was enveloped in that abyss projected onto the ground, a red so dull it looked more like the black of night.
" You could have done the impossible."
No, no, that doesn't make sense. The impossible can't be done because it's not possible, so I couldn't do anything.
" Whether it's possible or not, and whether you can do something or not, are different questions. If the thing you want to do is something that exists, something that can be real, it's perfectly possible to do it. It's only impossible to do something if it's something that doesn't exist, or something that can't be real under any circumstances."
So why couldn't I do anything?
" You know better than anyone. You thought you wouldn't be able to help, which is why you left her room that day, instead of trying to comfort her a little more. And she didn't complain. You weren't able to help her because—"
She didn't accept my help?...
" No, it's because you never offered it to her, and she never asked you for it."
But I asked her if she was okay, and she asked me what I thought of her. How can you say I've never supported her, or been by her side, if there wasn't a day I didn't talk to her?
"Don't get me wrong, you were talking to her, and she was talking to you. The problem is that the "she" you were talking to was the "she" designed to face the world, and the "you" she was talking to was the "you" everyone thinks you are."
That's just nonsense! There's no other person who's "me," or "her"! We saw each other every day, and we spoke face to face!
And if what you say is true, if I have never spoken to her, then who should I have spoken to?
" With me"
" And with me"
A second voice joined the conversation. I couldn't see anyone, of course; there never was anyone in the first place, but it was distinct from the repulsive voice I'd been hearing until now. It was much softer, gentler, and more serene.
"You can only interact with others when you know what you are made of, when you know your worth, what you are like, and what you are.
" But don't think you'll get anywhere if you only know yourself, but never face what's out there."
"Because if you don't let that 'you' see and resist the world it lives in, you'll never be able to live."
"You'll only live in the world your "I" can see. A world worse than a lie."
" An illusion."
"A false hope."
"A dream."
The drop of sweat that fell from my eye woke me up from that trance.