December 1901
Drip…Drip…Drip.
Christian stood over the rusty sink, staring at himself through his dirty mirror. He could barely see his own reflection; there was only one slit of clear glass.
The faucet, dripping slightly brown water, was broken, but he had never bothered to fix it. Christian wrapped a towel around his waist and walked into the main room of his garret.
After resting in his bed for three days, alternating between writing drabble on his typewriter and drinking absinthe, he finally decided to get up and do something.His garret was very dark, for he had pushed the curtains down. The floor was filled with old clothes, broken bottles, and papers.
He walked over to his bed, and looked through the tangled sheets. He found a pair of black pants. He threw the towel onto the floor and swiftly put on the pants, lifting his suspenders onto his shoulders. He didn't bother putting on his white shirt.
He dragged his heavy body into the bed, falling onto the soft pillows. He leaned on his side, staring at the broken absinthe bottle and mess of papers until they grew blurry. He slowly closed his eyes.
Drip…Drip
Laughter-probably Toulouse's. When was the last time Christian laughed?
Drip…Drip…Laugh…
"Christian"
Christian's one eye quickly opened. Who was that? Christian's single eye scanned the dark garret. It was probably his imagination. He closed his eyes. His mind began to get used to the pure darkness.
"Christian..."
Christian bolted up. "Who is that?" He said out loud, panting heavily. Christian was never easily spooked, but he could clearly hear his name.
He could barely see in the garret. But he didn't want to open the curtains. He'd go blind by the intense rays of the sun that he hadn't seen in ages.
A chill began to run slowly up his spine. The garret suddenly became colder. Christian gathered up the blankets, wrapping them around him. He reached for his scarf which was twisted in the sheets. His papers that were hung on the walls started dancing and swirling throughout the room.
Then, it stopped. Christian's breathing slowed down, and he began to warm again. He took off the blankets. He held his hand up to his head.
"All that absinthe must be getting to me" Christian murmured to himself.
His worn out body fell down onto the bed. He held his eyes open for two more minutes, waiting for something to happen. His eyes grew heavy, and he slowly drifted back to sleep.
He didn't notice the faucet had stopped dripping.
"Christian!" An ear-splitting voice suddenly rang. Christian was immediately awake, his head thumping. He had to force his eyes open, however. His eyes slowly got used to the shape of tiny little Toulouse bumbling into his room.
Toulouse carried a bowl of soup. He placed the bowl on a table next to his bed. Christian sat up, rubbing his eyes. His head gradually began to stop thumping. Christian noticed he was shivering, and wrapped the blankets around him.
"It is awfully cold in here, isn't it?" Toulouse said. He turned to the window. Christian yawned.
"Were you calling me before?" He said quietly.
"No. I've been out and about. That's something you ought to do. Why don't you eat some soup and go for a walk?" Toulouse said nonchalantly.
Christian groaned. "It's too bright out."
Toulouse didn't say another word. Christian sighed. He knew that Toulouse was only trying to be a good friend. He decided to oblige Toulouse somehow by starting to eat the soup.
The soup was warm. It felt delicious running down his throat. He hadn't eaten too much in the past couple of days.
"Thanks for this." Christian said.
Christian continued eating. He could feel Toulouse staring at him sadly.
Christian looked up. He ignored the stare, letting Toulouse shut the door on his own. Once again, he was alone.