The Tearsmith

A New Home page 2

"Wait until they put their things down," Anna said calmly, and he adjusted his glasses on his nose.

"Oh, of course, of course... You must be tired, right? Come in..."

He opened the door of the house. I noticed the doormat with the word "Home" on it, and for a moment, my heart raced.

Anna inclined her friendly face.

"Come on in, Nica."

I took a step forward and entered the narrow hallway.

The first thing that caught my attention was the smell.

It wasn't the musty smell of the rooms in the Grave or the smell of damp infiltrations that stained the plaster on our ceilings.

It was a peculiar smell, full, almost... intimate. It had something special, and I realized it was the same scent as Anna's.

I looked inside with luminous eyes. The slightly worn wallpaper, the frames scattered here and there on the walls, the mat on the table placed to one side, near the key bowl... Everything accumulated so much life and was so personal that I stood in the doorway for a moment, unable to take a step.

"It's a bit small," Mr. Milligan said somewhat embarrassed, scratching his head.

I stepped outside and immediately crouched down to smell it: that fresh laundry scent intoxicated my nose; I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

How pleasant it was...

I looked around, unable to comprehend that I had all that space to myself. I placed the box on the nightstand and rummaged through it. I took out the caterpillar-shaped doll, a bit faded and worn—the only memory I had left of my parents—and placed it in the center of the cushion.

I looked at the pillow with shining eyes.

Mine...

I spent some time arranging the few things I had. I hung the t-shirts, one by one, on the hangers, along with my sweater and pants; I checked the socks and pushed the more holey ones to the back of the drawer, hoping they would go unnoticed.

As I walked downstairs, after giving a final glance to the door of my room, I wondered with hope if that scent floating in the air would also permeate me soon.

"Are you sure you don't want to eat more?" Anna asked later. She looked at us with some concern. "Even something light..."

I declined and thanked her. On the way, we had stopped at a fast-food restaurant, and I still felt satisfied.

But she didn't seem convinced; she glanced at me for a moment and then looked up over my shoulder.

"And you, Rigel?" she asked hesitantly. "Did I pronounce it correctly? Rigel, is that right?" she repeated cautiously, reciting his name as it was written.

He nodded, before declining her offer just as I had done.

"Okay..." she agreed. "In any case, there are cookies and milk in the kitchen if you change your mind."

We said goodbye to Anna and left her house. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky with golden and pink hues. We walked in silence for a while, each lost in our thoughts. Soon, we arrived at the bus stop and waited there, watching as the world continued its course.

It was the beginning of something new, something I had never imagined possible. And though there was still uncertainty in the air, I felt a spark of hope burning within me.

Fridge. And now, if you want to rest... Oh, our room is the last one, at the end, on the other side of the hallway. In case you need anything...

She cared about us.

She cared, I repeated to myself, feeling a slight flutter in my chest, she cared about me, whether I ate or not, if I needed anything...

She genuinely cared, not just to pass the social services' health checks, like Mrs. Fridge did when we had to present ourselves clean and with full stomachs to the inspectors.

No, she genuinely cared...

As I walked back upstairs, sliding my fingers along the handrail, the idea occurred to me of sneaking down in the middle of the night to eat cookies on the kitchen counter, like I had seen people do on TV, in the movies we would peek at through the c***k in the door when Mrs. Fridge fell asleep in her armchair.

Footsteps made me turn around.

Rigel appeared on the stairs. He turned as well, facing away from me, but for some reason, I was certain that he had seen me.

For a moment, I remembered that he was also present in that meticulously embroidered picture.

That this new reality, as good and desirable as it was, wasn't just sweetness, warmth, and charm. No, at the core, there was a very dark outline, a kind of burn, the mark of a cigarette.

"Rigel," I whispered his name unintentionally, as if it had slipped from my lips before I could stop it. He stopped in the middle of the deserted hallway, and I stammered, unsure.

"Now that we... now that we..." I trailed off, unable to finish my sentence.

"Now that we... what?" he asked in his voice, tortuous and subtle, making me hesitate again for a moment.

"Now that we're here, together," I continued, looking at his back, "I... I want it to work."

I wanted everything to work, even if he was the charred mark and I couldn't do anything about it. Even if he was that burnt mark, and for a moment, I prayed that he wouldn't devour that delicate embroidery... In a burst of desperation, I wished for that lace dream not to unravel.

He remained still for a moment, and without saying a word, he started walking again. He headed towards his room's door, and I felt my shoulders grow heavier.

"Rigel..."

"Don't enter my room," he warned me. "Not now, not in the future."

I looked at him uneasily, feeling my plea for good intentions shatter.

"Is that a threat?" I asked him softly, as he turned the doorknob.

I saw him open the door, but at the last moment, he paused. He pointed his chin at me and looked at me intently over his shoulder. And then, I saw it.

Before he closed the door, I saw that dangerously sharp smile forming at the edge of his jaw.

That smirk was my condemnation.

"It's advice, moth."