Chapter 28: The Shape of her Collapse

The tiles were cold. From the floor's perspective, they stretched like a blank, unyielding plain of each square gleaming faintly under the dim bathroom light. Then, after a pause long enough to build dread, a foot emerged.

Not a healthy foot, but something warped and ruined. The skin was paper-thin, peeling, almost translucent in places where necrosis had blackened the flesh. The toes were grotesque and swollen, twisted, as if they had been left to rot. When it touched the tile, it did so with all the solemnity of an astronaut stepping onto foreign soil, like a first step into hostile territory.

Out in the hallway, plush carpet muffled another pair of feet that was lighter, faster, and untroubled. The boyfriend. His movements carried no weight of decay, no struggle, just the casual rhythm of someone walking toward a lover.

Back inside the bathroom, the second foot landed. Ravaged, trembling with effort, it wavered as if the simple act of standing might crush the brittle bones beneath the skin. She fought gravity with every inch of her failing body, pressing forward.

Meanwhile, the boyfriend advanced down the corridor. "Stressed out about tomorrow?" he called, voice half-teasing and distracted.

He reached for the bathroom door, then without so much as a warning...

BAM! The door slammed in his face, hard enough to rattle the frame. He staggered while his naked skin was exposed, blinking at the sudden violence.

"Sue? Is something wrong?" His tone sharpened with confusion. That's when he saw it: faint droplets of blood spattered across the pale carpet and tiny rubies sinking into the fibers.

He tried for humor that was weak and nervous. "...A little cranky because of your lady business?"

On the other side of the door, something fought to keep it shut. A hand, shriveled and desperate, pressed flat against the door. Veins stood out like river maps beneath parchment skin. The arm behind it was no stronger because it was thin, wasted, and a threadbare thing barely capable of force.

Down the slope of Elizabeth, was her sagging breast, flesh hanging like an old rag; along the jagged curve of her hunched spine, the grotesque mound of her dowager's hump; and farther still, past folds of wrinkled, mildew-spotted flesh. Elisabeth, once whole, now monstrous, braced her ruined body against the door, every nerve screaming with exertion.

Two naked bodies. Only a flimsy bathroom door separated them.

"Sue?!" The boyfriend knocked harder, impatience overtaking fear. "Sue, open the door, it's not funny. I need to take a piss!"

Elisabeth froze, her chest tight and her breath caught halfway between a sob and a gasp. She dared to glance sideways at the mirrored cabinet above the sink, as though the glass might somehow confirm or deny the terror already prickling at the edges of her mind.

The reflection waiting for her was not hers, not the face she had woken up with that morning, not the woman she had known all her life. A shriveled specter stared back: a ruin of skin, folded and withered into deep lines that carved down her cheeks. Thin strands of gray clung in patches to her scalp, bald spots glaring like wounds beneath the weak bathroom light. Her eyes were rimmed with raw redness, swollen and wet, as though some infection had been gnawing at them for years.

It took Elisabeth a long, agonizing moment to understand. That hideous, decaying face was her own.

She opened her mouth but no words came, just a dry rasp, as if her throat had been scoured with sand. Her stomach twisted as a sour taste rose into her mouth. She wanted to look away and slam the mirror shut, but the reflection held her captive.

A sudden pounding rattled the bathroom door.

"Sue! Open the door!"

Her boyfriend's voice, muffled by the wood, yanked her back into the present. Naked, impatient, he was hammering at the door, the rhythm sharp and furious.

BAM. BAM. BAM.

The mirror trembled with each knock, Elisabeth's ruined reflection quivering as though mocking her. The warped, shaking image was unbearable. The pounding blurred with her heartbeat until she could no longer separate one from the other.

Her mouth opened again, and this time a sound clawed its way out that was guttural, like a hoarse scream that didn't even sound human.

"GET OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!"

The scream broke apart in a wet, hacking cough. Thick phlegm caught in her throat and tore free, splattering onto the floor..

In the hallway, the pounding stopped. Her boyfriend's footsteps faltered. She imagined him staring at the door, as his hand hovered uncertainly above the handle.

"What the fuck... Who's this? Who the fuck is this?!" His voice was sharp with terror now, stripped of its bravado.

Elisabeth hurled herself at the door, fists pounding, lungs burning. "LEAVE ME ALONE! GET OUT OF MY HOME! LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!"

Her words dissolved into another guttural cough. Mucus sprayed across her lips.

On the other side came silence, then a curse. "What the fuck?!"

His footsteps retreated. A drawer scraped open, a frantic rustle of clothes, and then the slam of the bedroom door. Moments later, the front door shook the walls as it was torn open and slammed shut.

And then there was only her ragged breathing. The bathroom reeked of sickness and sweat. Her reflection still hovered in the mirror, mocking her with the certainty of time: this was her. This was what she had become.

Elisabeth shoved open the bathroom door, as the faint scent of disinfectant clung to her skin, and stumbled into the narrow corridor. Her body betrayed her frail legs that tangled beneath her like brittle sticks. She collapsed, hitting the carpet with a sound that reminded her of a sack of discarded bones. The humiliation burned more than the impact.

She clawed her way upright with a ragged breath, and forced herself into the living room. The telephone waited on the table like a lifeline. Her hands, crooked and gnarled with age, trembled as she reached for it. Every button was a mountain, her swollen fingers pressing down with clumsy persistence until finally the ringing began.

A voice answered. Yes?

She could barely hear it. Deafness had become her prison. Raising her voice to a violent pitch, she shouted into the receiver as though the walls themselves might carry her words forward.

"THIS IS FIVE-O-THREE. I WANT TO STOP!"

A pause. The kind that made the silence echo louder than any sound.

"Are you sure? Once you stop, you can't go ba—"

"I FUCKING WANT TO STOOOOOOOP!" The scream ripped out of her throat like an animal tearing itself free from its own skin. She thought she might vomit up her soul with the force of it.

Another pause.

"We'll deliver."

Then the line went dead.

Later, Elisabeth dragged the huge framed photograph into the living room. It was heavier than she remembered, her arms shaking as she propped it against the wall. The young woman in the photo stared back at her with a blue leotard, smile wide and full of promise. A stranger. Elisabeth studied the picture until her eyes watered, but she couldn't look away.

By daylight, she was unrecognizable. Feverish hands fumbled through layers of disguise: skin-colored tights stretched tight against swollen legs, gloves to hide the twisted hands, a shawl twisted like a turban over her thinning hair. Sunglasses so large they devoured half her face. The yellow coat swallowed her bathrobe, and still she wasn't finished, she cocooned herself in a blanket, as though sunlight itself might be a predator.

The phone rang, shattering the brittle silence. A cheerful tune, When You're Smiling. Elisabeth's stomach twisted. Then she snatched the receiver.

"HEY HEY HEY!" Alan's voice boomed obliviously. "HOW IS MY STAR TODAY? READY FOR THE BIG NIG—"

"She's not here," Elisabeth cut him off with a low sharp voice. "She's gone. This is over."

"What do you mean she's gon—"

"THIS IS OVER! SHE'S NOT COMING BACK!" Her throat tore with the effort. She hurled the phone across the room, its crash against the wall echoing like a gunshot.

She didn't hesitate when she stepped into the hallway. Her neighbor's door creaked open at the exact moment, as if he'd been waiting for her, lurking behind the wood. His eyes darted with nosy hunger.

"How about we g—"

"FUCK OFF!" Elisabeth snarled, her voice ragged but volcanic.

The man flinched, scrambling back into his apartment like a startled insect. She heard the bolt slam shut as she stormed toward the stairwell.

Down she went, wild and unsteady, almost flying. Each step thundered beneath her feet. Her descent was less escape than exorcism, as though she were hurtling away not just from her neighbor, not just from the building, but from herself.