Freedom is Learning to Let Go

Chapter 3

Today was colder than yesterday.

A thin layer of white specks covered everything, reflecting blinding white light in all directions.

It was far too bright. Stepping outside without the protection of sunglasses meant a journey of squinting.

The air froze and chilled anything it touched. Mother Nature's own personal freezer.

The off-white tiles were crisp, the multi-colored mold within the grooves shriveling and dry, attempting to shield itself from the frigid atmosphere.

The aging porcelain of the bathtub was just as bitter, rubbing against exposed skin of the lower back.

Klaus lay motionless, a frozen bottle of vodka clutched in his palm. One of his legs hung over the cracking edge of the tub, the other bent and laying limp against the wall.

His bloodshot eyes drifted around the filthy room, imagining how it had looked in its younger days.

The spout and shower were covered in peeling layers of white crust, likely some type of old hair product. They were probably a gleaming stainless steel at one point, although now they had grown into a dull grey with occasional patches of brick red rust.

There was no toilet, only a few abandoned pipes and a moldy stain where it had once been.

The sink was in a similar state as the tub. Faded white, cracked and moldy. There were no handles next to the rusted faucet, only some type of old bolt where handles would have connected.

Pastel pink paint barely clung to the walls, large peals of it hanging freely and revealing aged grey concrete behind it.

A singular window, covered with dust and dirt, allowed wee amounts of sunlight into the cramped room.

Upon the ceiling were the remains of a light source, with long cylinder light bulbs cracked and beaten beyond recognition. Even if they were intact, the house's lack of electricity would have rendered them useless.

No electricity meant no heating. That was obvious, as the temperature inside was parallel to that outside.

The tub itself was about as cold as antarctica, the brisk condition of it chilling his lower back, which his sheer, polka dot crop top failed to cover. Although even if it did, the thin material would fail to retain any warmth.

Not even his usual fluffy jacket was enough to shield him from the winter.

The fact he had barely any meat on his bones sure as hell didn't help.

He forced himself to sit up. God, his torso felt heavier than a bag of bricks, his thin arms pushing against cool tile to support himself.

The familiar ache throughout his body had returned. All 206 of his deteriorating bones screamed from the slightest movement. It's a miracle they haven't shattered into a million pieces already.