Grotesque

Helter Skelter

Tooru woke up to the sound of thunder, surprised at how wet he was before he realized it was pouring rain and the cracks in the wall had finally given in to the water.

His eyebrows furrowed as he truly didn't feel like waking up yet, but when he turned towards the red brick wall of his apartment and touched the wet, trail of rain running down to his floor he let out a long sigh.

The building was old, there wasn't much he could do himself. It was 10 stories tall, in a bad neighbourhood and questionable neighbours who kept a secret rule of 'no talking, no spying, no looking.' It kept him alive so far, and truthfully, he didn't really felt like meddling into others peoples businesses, even though he didn't need to, because Miss Carmelia (an old lady whom he often found eating pastries and drinking tea on the rundown rooftop) would eventually fill him in whenever they met up. He'd burn a cigarette while enjoying her famous lemon pie and catching up on the latest gossip.

The storm grew stronger outside, lightning causing a bright light to illuminate his whole apartment, as though a higher being was telling him to stop being lazy and get up to be a productive member of society. So he did, standing up from his drenched bed sheets and not bothering to bundle them up in order to wash them, instead, he took the fabrics to his bathtub and wrought them until almost dry, and laid them on the mattress on the floor once more. If it was water, it ought to dry on its own eventually.

He made his way to the bathroom, slowly, pushing away the empty cans of pre-heated food and dirty laundry out of the way, while at the same time being careful not to step on burning cigarette butts or other nasty things that could be hiding underneath all that mess.

Looking at himself in the mirror was hard, his eyes semi-closed with deep dark circles underneath, his hair, although shaven on the sides, felt prickly to the touch and as his fingers caressed his locks, he felt the grease on his tips. It irked him, his upper lip tugging in disgust out of reflex as he did so.

The next fifteen to twenty minutes he spent in the shower. Sadly, no matter how much he scrubbed himself, scratched at the tattooed skin or wiped at his face he couldn't wash the grime off. It was something that stuck to his very being, that crawled up his pores and poisoned his veins: His very essence. It felt nasty, it felt sticky and truthfully, no matter how many times he confessed his sins he couldn't set himself free of his past. It was still there, haunting him, like a shadow breathing down his neck, almost maddening and Tooru had no idea how to forgive himself. Nor wanted to.

His eyes moved up the mouldy walls, the steam of his shower filling the small and stuffy bathroom. Stopping by the wall, he turned off the tap, the water dripping from his naked body and hair while he squinted towards the mouldy formations on his very ceiling. One day he even made a note to contact someone about it, but now it was a past idea, he couldn't care less, and so he slid the shower door open and stepped out, grabbing his towel and brushing his teeth after shaving.

Finding a shirt was a challenge. In fact, finding a full outfit that didn't smell or was crumpled beyond comprehension was a daily struggle. Tooru dumped the towel, staring at the mess on the floor while pressing his lips to try and focus on something, but found nothing. Perhaps a tidying up day was in order, but tomorrow, maybe next weekend. He'd get down to it, he was sure.

Grabbing a clean pair of underwear from his chair, he put them on, discarding the ones he wore yesterday on his already overflowing laundry basket that he was procrastinating to bring downstairs and do his own washing.

He successfully found pants, ripped at the knees that exposed his tattooed skin a little, a black shirt and a pair of mismatched socks; but when he picked up his black rain jacket, a photo fell from it and his eyebrow lifted in curiosity.