The air in the room was dense, pressing against him like an invisible weight. The same four walls, the same suffocating silence, the same darkness that seemed to cling to him like a second skin. For almost two years, that space was all he knew. Two years sinking deeper into himself, helplessly watching the collapse of what he had once been.
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He needed to leave. He needed to breathe something that wasn’t the stale, stagnant air of that room. But his body refused to obey.
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His fingers clenched into fists. He hated this weakness, hated the way it kept him trapped. Every day, the walls seemed closer, the ceiling lower, his thoughts heavier. He needed space. He needed light. He needed… something… anything.
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No.
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What was the point?
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Life was a cycle of disillusionments, a slow walk towards death. Every thought, every action seemed empty, pointless. But still… the weight of his existence told him, that he was still here. Still moving. Still breathing. Still alive. Still capable.
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A short laugh escaped his lips, bitter and silent.
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“Pathetic.”
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The word tasted like rust in his mouth.
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Shaking his head, he turned towards the window. It had been closed for so long that a thin layer of dust covered the glass. His reflection stared back at him — pale skin, deep dark circles under his eyes, a face sculpted by exhaustion and something darker, something like resentment, but hard to describe.
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A part of him wanted to look away. Another wanted to punch the glass until his face became unrecognizable. But instead, he reached out and unlocked the latch.
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The window creaked as it opened, letting the cold air invade the room. The icy wind bit at his skin, sharp and unforgiving, but he didn’t close it. He just stood there, motionless, letting the cold tear at the silence, as if it were a reminder that the world outside still existed. But he didn’t want to be out the… — no, it would be more accurate to say, he wanted to, but did not feel ready.
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Gray clouds covered the sky, thick and heavy, blocking the sun.
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“Of course”
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He murmured.
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Even the weather seemed indifferent.
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He sat by the window, resting his arms on the sill. The empty street stretched out before him, lifeless, motionless. The world outside seemed as dead as what existed in his mind. But he was still there, watching, trying to make sense of it, getting used to the world outside his room, even if for a moment more.
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His gaze shifted to the desk, where a pile of notebooks sat untouched. In the past, they had been full of ideas, words flowing from his mind onto paper as if they belonged there. Now, they lay abandoned, blank and accusatory. Their emptiness felt like a direct accusation of what he had become.
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He took a deep breath. The smell of dust made a strange pressure settle in his chest. He knew what he should do, but he still didn’t know how.
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“Maybe today.”
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The words barely escaped his lips, as if speaking them required more strength than he possessed. He didn’t believe them. Not yet. But the sensation that if he stopped something bad was about to happen lingered in the air, like the moment was drawing near, with no turning back.
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He pulled away from the window and, with an effort that felt almost superhuman, forced himself to stand. His body felt heavy, as if years of immobility had sunk into his bones. But still, he moved, as though the simple motion might be the key to something new, or perhaps just a futile impulse.
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The closet door creaked as it opened. A coat hung there, untouched for longer than he cared to admit. When he put it on, the fabric felt strange against his skin, as if it belonged to someone else — someone who was not afraid to go outside, someone who did not hesitate at the door of their own room.
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The keys were on the desk, their weight in his palm more intense than it should have been. There was something about them that felt both like a prison and a promise, and he felt the temptation to leave them there, as he always did. But not today.
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If it had been another day, he probably would have given up already, but not today — today something told him this would be his last chance. A feeling of urgency, a need to act, one that he didn’t understand, but that pushed him forward, into the unknown.
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He grabbed the keys and walked to the door of the room.
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He stopped.
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His hand hovered over the doorknob, his fingers trembling slightly. Fear ran through his veins, but there was something stronger, an insatiable need to escape from everything holding him back.
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His mind screamed at him to retreat, to return to the safety of his bed, where nothing could surprise him. But the thought was drowned out by a force he could barely comprehend.
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His fingers gripped the knob with such force that they turned completely white.
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Click.
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The door opened.
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The hallway beyond was silent, the air heavier than it had been in the room, as if the house itself were watching him, waiting. What would come next? What awaited him on the other side?
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One step.
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Then another.
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The front door was already in front of him, but his body wasn’t moving. His legs were weak, as though the energy had been drained from him before he even began. But he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t go back.
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Sighing, he decided to force himself to move. His right hand touched the door, sliding slowly until it—
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Ring ring.
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His eyes opened wide.
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“Ahhh—!”
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A silent scream was caught in his throat. His heart pounding like a war drum ready to burst. His mouth opened in pure reflexive terror, but no sound came out. Without realizing it, he completely blocked his airway, trapping his breath in a suffocating grip.
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The sound of the doorbell was like an electric shock, a snap in his mind that pulled him out of his stupor. His heartbeat quickened, his senses sharpening in a way that almost hurt. He froze. He didn’t want to hear it any more. He didn’t want to know who was there.
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Ring ring.
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Knock knock.
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His body trembled. His hands were sweaty, muscles tense.
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No… not now…
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He thought, his mind spiraling into panic.
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Who could it be? No one knew he was here. No one should be here.
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Ring ring.
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Go away, leave me alone.
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He held his breath.
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Silence.
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And then—
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“Is anyone there?”
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The voice on the other side of the door echoed softly, muffled but clear enough to freeze the blood in his veins.
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The young man didn’t answer.
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His expression went pale.
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Drops of cold sweat slid down his forehead.
