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You didn’t go outside, this was true for most days. The only times you did was to begrudgingly buy groceries. Everything in bulk and either canned, dried or can be frozen for a long time- just making sure you never go out again. There was hardly any other reason to open the door if not. Yet recently, there was a newer reason why you would-
You hear your doorbell ring. “Pierrot….?” Your voice barely came out as a whisper, coarse and weak, as you forced your lungs to produce some sound. You doubt even if he was in front of you he could hear it. You knew it was him however, only he visited you because why else would anyone else visit you? You placed yourself far far away from anyone who somewhat cared about you and disappointed them more than enough, letting any positive emotion they felt to rot and decay.
You don’t need to disappoint them, you just need to exist
The doorbell rings more. You can’t hear what he was saying through the door. You didn’t move. You stay huddled in the corner of your closet. Hiding in your hideaway, as no matter how little people came to see you, the one person you couldn’t stand the most shared your footsteps regardless of how fast you ran. Even in the dark, you see yourself staring back at you in the empty space. Neither part of you wanted to deal with him be it because you couldn't stand him seeing you like this or you couldn't care less. Right now you wanted to stop existing, to stop inhaling the heavy air that weighed your lungs everyday, and just sit in the dark all alone.
You knew Pierrot was much different than you; he was brighter than any star, loving without measure, and burns fiery than any flame. Like a cold blooded leech, you've been selfishly using his warmth to get you through the days while he selflessly lends all of himself despite it. You can't understand why, he says that you were different, that your soul was kinder than everyone else’s. If that was true, if your weak and insufferable self truly was the only kindness in his life then you wouldn't survive out there even more. You knew no one would help you, and made sure that they had no reason to. Pierrot, your dear friend now, has spent limited time here visiting and accompanying you. Willing to follow your small whims: fetching the groceries you’ve forgotten, helping you needlessly decorate your space, cooking you a fresh meal instead of just heating another microwavable, cleaning the now messied room, playing your stupid boardgames, making him listen to you endlessly talking about your interests, making him touch your writhing sack of flesh you call a body- truly you were driving him at wits end at this point and he still stays. Maybe the man hit him hard in the head that day as you surely didn’t know what he saw in a sucker like you.
But for these sweet and blissful past weeks, you didn’t care. You just wanted to sleep all day and night in your warmly lit room on a bed filled with pillows, to shut your eyes and open them with him by your side. You drown in his larger frame, his pleasant scent, and his heat.
But he had to leave.
You remember Zeno’s paradox. No matter how close you think you've gotten, you knew you'd always be halfway there, always a distance you couldn't cross no matter what. Because even after he did all that for you, the void in you never got better. It was just a gaping bloody hole that you dig into deeper and deeper everyday. Any attempts at filling it was abandoned, too laborious for you to continue.
He eventually stops ringing the bell. He probably left to return to the circus, his home as he described it. You sometimes asked him about it, and he has a fond look on his face every time but couldn’t divulge too much. You should feel relieved but you don't. Feeling meant acknowledging, and you were never known to take that responsibility- or any, really. You just stare into the darkness, wide eyed, silent and listless. What you thought was between vague recollections, fiction, and what you looked like right now. Meaningless and fragmented, you forget about all this soon after so you’ll return to it one day; though, perhaps you didn’t have much of those remaining at this rate.
Time was meaningless to you now, yet it still passed. You couldn’t distinguish whether it was seconds, or minutes, or hours, or days- but you knew it moved on despite your wishes. Your constant reminder was that sense of hunger inside you- but it wasn’t like the usual feeling. Your body has forgotten what hunger should feel like as your stomach doesn’t rumble nor growl nor churn in anguish, instead what grew was the temptation of cannibalism. As a child, you never had a choice of whether you could eat or not. No matter how much your stomach growled, when you were told no, you had to hold it in. To cope with it, you resorted to gnawing on your skin so you could trick your brain into believing you were consuming something. However, the imagery grew more and more vivid over the years, starting from yourself: Your teeth ripping your skin from your flesh, taking a chunk of bone and muscle from the next bite and feasting on your whole body. Then to the people who antagonize you, how you wished to hear their screaming before you clench your teeth between their necks. Finally to the people who “cared” for you, their hearts full of love that never comes your way until you break apart. In those quiet moments of watching them smile and be merry away from you, you just wanted to pluck the eyes from their faces and have it pop in your mouth; to have their still beating hearts in your hands and have the warm blood spill over both of you. You didn’t need to hate them nor they needed to antagonize you, but their notion of love confused you, it was overwhelming and underwhelming at the same time.
Nevertheless, for so many years, you had to hold it in, you couldn’t cause a scene. You never broke your own skin nor left any bruise, the thought of explaining to anyone made you nauseous. Even now, you could control your own meals, but you soon found that you can hardly be consistent when to eat or finding the motivation to eat.
Then the thought came to you: you don’t need to explain anything anymore, right? If you never answer that door then nobody will find out- just like Pierrot, they’ll leave thinking you’re not home.
Oh why have you never thought about this? (You have…)
This was brilliant! (...you knew…)
They all have lives outside you anyway, they will always leave you. (...you forgot.)
It’s been almost a month now, the circus’s popularity was dying down. He didn’t want to think about it, but you knew he had to leave you soon. Or maybe he already has and you lost your chance of saying goodbye. That was it, isn’t it? You ruined again the few good things life blessed you as you can’t even wish him well before he continued on- you never even watched his show.
Ah there it was- the acknowledgement. It drives a knife into your heart. It twists the more you mulled about it. You clutch yourself even tighter, as if it changed anything, hoping it would all just go away again. Till you taste the metal in your mouth, but it wasn’t some coin or your tongue, it was your finger. The taste was revolting and normally you’d stop- yet you continue to tear your finger from its knuckle. They say biting into your finger was like a carrot, but it was far from the truth. Firstly the sensations, even if the pain was numbed with adrenaline, your finger sloshing around your mouth was an unpleasant texture. Then it was your technique, you didn’t chomp down on it, instead you still gnawed on it like an toothing infant with its pacifier which only prolonged the process but made progress nonetheless. Finally the bone, you sure you couldn’t munch through it like a dog but after a few chews, your teeth got caught on the gap between your metacarpal and the hamate. You can’t describe what you felt next as you just sever your finger.
What were you supposed to feel? Shock? Terror? Disgust?
No time for that, you had 9 more fingers before you could think of facing your feelings.
…
…….
………….
Until the door opened.
Pierrot did believe you left the house. He thought that if he went to all the places you mentioned, he could find you there ready to greet him with your radiant smile and arms wide open to embrace him tenderly. Yet there wasn’t a single trace of you anywhere and before he knew it, he had to perform in the circus- but the whole time, his thoughts only festered as he performed for a crowd he cared little for. None of them had eyes as bright as yours. He hears your voice complimenting and cheering for you as he uses the routines he practiced with you. And his longing for you was almost too much to bear, he almost left several times mid-performance just to search for you. Yet he had to be patient, to finish this performance, to push Harlequin’s insistent curiosity of where he has been, to keep silent when Jester was also catching on to his frequent excursions, to help around the circus like he’s supposed to, and to fight his every instinct to be behaved so that maybe Jester would agree to have you around- not as a fool.
When the chance came, he swiftly went back to your place. He just needed some clues to see where you went. He pouts that he needed to pick your lock when you so graciously allowed him inside since the start. He looked at the dark home, you didn’t like the dark but you also hated the sun so you used blackout curtains on every window; so even the day looks like night. He noticed your outside shoes were still on the shelf, your fridge was still stocked from his last run, your trash was still empty- so you should be inside but your room was still dark. Yet it was the best place to find out where you were, since it was your sanctuary, the place you spent most of your hours in and so did he. Without you welcoming in however, made it feel sacrilegious to step in your holiest of places but he needed you more. He opened the door, and saw that your fairy lights were still on in the dimmest settings but you weren’t on the bed. He starts worrying, that maybe you ran away, a part of his true self slipped out and that was enough to run out in a panic just to get away from him. That would be terrible. Where would he begin to find you? What if he was too late already? What if he’ll never find you?
Luckily he can put his old worries to rest. Your lovely scent was wafting in your closet and an even more familiar smell accompanied it, blood. He witnesses you, as you chew through another finger, the others spit onto the floor. You looked desperate, like you were caught in a trap and had to bite off your leg to survive. Staring absent mindedly at the wall in front of you even as your hand profusely bled crimson all over you and the floor. It was a face that piqued old memories, the ones he hoped would never happen again.
This is what he gets for being patient.
Pierrot froze but choked out, “My-”
You snap your eyes at him, suddenly reality was crashing onto you and it was truly unbearable now.