It was just before nine o'clock. She rubbed her eyes, sensing something was wrong.
She instinctively grabbed her head, rubbing her hand through her disheveled hair.
She already knew she had a hangover.
She heaved herself up clumsily, panting. Slowly, the details of the previous day came flooding back to her – loud conversations in pubs and the copious amounts of drinks she'd consumed. "
I didn't even have the strength to undress," she thought, looking down at the beige trousers and cherry-red blouse she'd slept in all night.
She took in the room with a languid gaze.
She spotted her beige slipper in the center.
She rubbed her eyes again and, breathing heavily, swung her legs over the bed.
She stood up with an effort, feeling the pain in her head intensify, and after a moment, she casually walked toward the exit.
She grabbed her shoe by the heel as she went.
Standing outside the door, she noticed another slipper at the other end of the hall, and next to it, her coat lying on the doorstep to the kitchen.
She raised her eyebrows slightly in surprise. This was the first time she'd gotten as drunk as yesterday.
She hung her coat back up and placed her shoes on the counter.
She slowly made her way to the kitchen.
With a sharp tug, she opened the refrigerator, searching for something to drink.
After a moment, she pulled out a bottle of mineral water and, leaning back against the refrigerator, began to swallow greedily.
Oh yes. That was all she needed now.
Her lips moistened, and she felt a pleasant coolness in her throat.
Her gaze now rested on the closed door to his room.
She drank, watching for a moment, wondering if he'd heard her return. Suddenly, everything that had happened came back to her. She choked on the water, which dripped lightly down her chin.
Oh, shit! "Oh, come on," she blurted out suddenly, pressing her hand to her mouth.
She stood there for a moment, remembering what an idiot she'd made of herself, how she'd barged into his room.
Her face grew serious. She didn't want to admit that all of this had actually happened yesterday.
She looked like she was about to cry, she was distraught. What would she tell him now?
She felt terrible.
She moved briskly toward his door. After a moment, however, she stopped just as briskly.
She returned to the kitchen. A moment later, she emerged, quickly crossing to her room.
She couldn't believe that all of this had really happened yesterday.
"I'm such an idiot, I'm such an idiot," she repeated desperately, pacing back and forth across the room. She was devastated.
She wanted to help him, wanted to understand him, and now everything was ruined.
She'd betrayed him to perverts and disrespected his privacy.
She sat down on the bed, devastated. "Why did this have to happen?" she asked herself, running her hands through her hair.
She wanted to sit in her room all day, waiting for him to knock on her door and tell her to get out.
She felt terrible.
She had completely failed. Now she would never reach this man again.
Finally, after a dozen or so long minutes, she quietly emerged into the bathroom.
The shower took a long time; she postponed the moment she could see him.
Maybe I wouldn't see him at all today? Maybe he would decide to keep quiet about it all?
Maybe he would, but she had to try to explain and apologize.
"How much longer?"
It suddenly reached her from somewhere in the distance, over the sound of water.
Something inside her stirred. She was frightened, like a child waiting for her parents' anger and scolding.
She was afraid to see him.
Finally, she reduced the pressure of the showerhead.
"No, I'll be right out," she said obediently and timidly, resting her hand on the steamy window.
She mentally scolded herself for sounding so unnatural and meek.
She emerged, wrapped in her enormous towel. For a moment, she didn't notice him.
After a moment, however, she saw him rising from the old sofa in the living room.
She took two small steps back into the hallway, one hand on her chest, steadying the white towel.
Her thick, auburn hair now fell heavily, matted and separated into dozens of long strands, nestling heavily around her shoulders and neck.
She hadn't even realized how attractive she looked at that moment.
She stared at him with apprehension.
He opened the bathroom door, turning to face her.
"The month is almost over," he said. "Put the money on the cabinet by the front door," he said calmly, then stepped onto the bathroom threshold, wondering for a moment if he wanted to add anything more.
"I don't care what you do during the day, just try to respect my privacy," he added in a completely indifferent tone, locking himself in the bathroom.
She stood frozen. She thought she was about to burst into tears.
He sounded so alien... more so than usual...
"I'm sorry!" she managed to choke out quickly, almost tearfully.
She stood there for a moment, holding the towel. She didn't know what else to say. She felt terrible.
She had completely failed. Now she would never reach this man again.
Sadness and despair slowly glazed over her eyes.
Several days passed, during which they didn't speak at all and barely saw each other.
She went to school, he stayed in his room.
The constant silence and quiet was slowly starting to annoy her.
The daily mood in the apartment was only starting to depress her.
She never heard any sounds from his room. No music or television.
She didn't remember much of his cell. She remembers it being pitch black and very chaotic.
Whenever she was in the living room, she'd turn on the TV quietly.
She didn't really know why she did this.
Days passed, and she had no idea how to get this man to open up to her.
After what she'd done a dozen or so days ago, she felt she'd never succeed.
One thing was certain:
she thought about him more and more often, and increasingly realized how much he must be suffering.
Her compassion for him sometimes became overwhelming and desperate.
She couldn't live like this; she had to deal with him.
If only she could learn something about his past.
One day, while at a local store, the thought crossed her mind to ask the shop assistant if she recognized him by appearance and knew anything about him.
There was a risk, however, that one day she might show up at the store in the morning, and the saleswoman would tell him about some girl asking about him.
Then he would surely associate the girl with her.
She was drying her hair when she heard sounds. She turned off the dryer and began to listen carefully.
After a moment, she realized someone was knocking on the front door.
The knock sounded one last time, followed by silence.
It couldn't be her. She'd only had friends over once, and at this late hour, they wouldn't be rushing from across town to see her, she thought.
Suddenly, something inside her stirred. She jumped out of the bathroom in just a towel.
She quickly reached the doorknob.
Opening the door, she jumped into the middle of the staircase, holding onto the thick cotton towel to prevent it from sliding to the ground.
She heard someone below on the floor. She quickly leaned over the railing.
"Hey! Are you there?!?"
Someone stopped. The man began to back up the stairs until he saw a beautiful brunette leaning out in just a towel.
The sight immediately impressed him.
"I am," he said, eyeing her up and down.
"Were you the one who just knocked on our door?" she asked, concerned.
"About you?" he asked, surprised.
"You mean Sebastian's," she quickly corrected herself
. The man stepped up, standing almost next to her. She backed away a little.
"Who are you?" he asked
. "I live with Sebastian," she began. "I rent a room from him
." The man was surprised at these words. He frowned, scratched his chin, and looked at the girl again.
He was wearing black canvas trousers with side pockets and a faded green jacket, the cut of which reminded me a bit of a military uniform.
"You say Sebastian rented you a room," he said, as if thinking aloud
. "Yes," the girl confirmed.
"That's interesting
." "Why?" she asked almost immediately.
"It's just not like him. He's been living alone for over a year, like a hermit, and then there's the fact that you're a girl." He stopped suddenly.
"He's probably asleep by now; he usually went to bed around 11 p.m.," he added out of the blue.
"Tell me about him, please," she blurted out, suddenly concerned.
"All I know about him is that he never leaves his room, he's terribly taciturn, like he has no desire to live, and he took me in because he needed the money," she said.
"It seems his old funds are running low," the man replied in a hushed voice.
"Please tell me, why is he like this? What happened in his past?" "I need to know something," she pressed seriously, her eyes suddenly widening.
The man stepped closer to her.
"I can't tell you—if you don't find out for yourself, it's too bad.
He certainly wouldn't want me to tell you about his past.
" "Please, I have to get through to him somehow; I can't stand watching him waste away anymore," she insisted desperately.
Seeing her concern, the man's face grew more serious.
"All I can tell you is that he used to be a completely different person.
Talkative, kind, always helpful, with a great sense of humor.
" "He even had a girlfriend he loved very much," he said after a moment, his voice rising, remembering the fact.
"What happened to turn him into stone?" "Please tell me, I want to help him."
"I visit him every now and then to check on him and see if he's even alive," the man replied, avoiding her question.
"He never wants money from me," he added quickly. "He never wants anything from me... He's deliberately wasting his life.
" "I know, I just noticed, but why?" She placed great and desperate emphasis on the last word.
She had to find out something at all costs.
"He can't come to terms with the past," he began. "Almost a year and a half has passed, and he no longer sees the point.
" "I can't tell you anything more. I don't want you to remind him of all this. It won't do any good."
The girl only looked at him even more pointedly, urging him with a desperate expression to help her even a little.
"If you want, try to reach him, but you can see it won't be easy.
He doesn't talk to people anymore, he doesn't exist in society. If he had more courage, he'd probably kill himself one day," he said in a serious tone.
Their worried gazes met
. "I'm going now. You don't have to tell him I was there." He doesn't care anyway," he added, turning toward the stairs. A moment later, he was gone.
She stood there, listening to him run down the stairs.
After a long moment, she became aware of the cold seeping into her bare feet.
She hurried into the apartment.
She fell asleep surprisingly quickly, waking up quite early.
The first thing she thought of was something about him.
She learned that he went to bed after 11 PM, and that eighteen months ago, he had been a completely different person.
He was cheerful, friendly, and laughing. Why this sudden change? Why this vegetating?
She guessed that something truly terrible must have happened in his life.
The fairy tale "The Secret Garden" came to mind.
A fairy tale based on a book her mother had once read to her.
She felt like little, curious Maggie, wanting to help Collin, a seriously ill child who had been tricked into believing he was ill.
Sebastian didn't seem physically ill. At least at first glance, he seemed normal.
Would she be able to convince him that it was possible to start living normally again, forgetting the suffering that had turned him into a vegetable?
Would she find Sebastian's secret garden and unravel its mystery?
Everything had progressed further than she had thought. She had to study, she had to focus on school, but she also had to help the other person, that was certain.
She rubbed her face.
She glanced at the alarm clock. 7:23. Since she'd woken up so early, maybe she could read her lecture notes. They were lying next to the clock.
She leaned over the bed to reach them, but as she grabbed the stack, she tripped over the alarm clock, which clattered to the carpet.
She slid to the edge of the bed and let her body hang down toward the floor.
Picking up the alarm clock, she noticed a small, crumpled note almost under the bed.
Curious, she took it in her fingers, unfolding it slowly.
A sentence was scrawled on it in black marker.
"Life ends or withers," her lips whispered.
She remembered seeing a whole bunch of such small notes hanging in his room.
She must have surreptitiously snatched it from him that fateful day. She took another look at the sentence. It was probably some kind of aphorism, one of the thoughts of some philosopher.
She herself had never been good at it and had never been particularly interested in it.
She had a scientific mind. As a rule, she didn't ponder every aspect of life or delve into the various issues concerning humanity as an individual.
She wasn't a philosopher, that's for sure.
For her, many things were simply obvious, and she accepted them as they were.
Life is life. It begins once, then ends after a while. It's a normal and natural thing. You have to accumulate and store a sense of happiness.
That's just how it is – these thoughts were enough for her.
Now, however, she began to wonder if Sebastian's life was withering because another one had suddenly ended.
She suspected that Sebastian was fond of such pessimistic philosophies, and that the rest of the notes probably contained many other aphorisms, which depress him even more each day. He had lost the meaning of life, that was certain.
Suddenly, an idea struck her. "One goat's death," she thought.
What harm could it do, she had to finally try something.
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