The air in the small bathroom is damp and warm, and the floral scent of a cheap bath additive fills the room. Erik stares at the hot water. How long has it been since he last took a hot bath? With slow movements, he takes off his backpack and begins removing the chains, buttons, studs, and safety pins from his musty clothes. Afterward, he stuffs everything into the washing machine, undresses, and tosses his own clothes into the drum. Then he pours an undefined amount of detergent into the container, closes it, and starts the machine. After then, he picks up his dog, climbs into the bathtub with her, and the once-pink water immediately turns a murky brown-gray. At first, the young dog tries to climb out of the tub but finally gives in, lying relaxed with her back on Erik's thin legs. Gently, he massages her belly, strokes her ribs, and then scratches her not-anymore-small head.

Sasha is, like so few things in Erik's life, a silver lining on the horizon. He had found her in a trash bin while searching for something edible.
She had been thrown away.
She had been abandoned.
She had spent all that time in a dark, stinking box.
Alone.
Until he found her.

Slowly, he slides deeper into the water, carefully making sure his dog’s little nose stays above the surface. Then he lets his head sink into the water. The comforting warmth envelops him. The sounds of the world fade, and he squeezes his eyes shut.
Peace.
Warmth.

He desperately tries to remember when it was the last time. But inside him, there is only emptiness. He surfaces again, his wet hair clinging to his skull. He leans forward, grabs some shampoo, lathers up his hair, then lathers his dog’s fur. Then, he rinses everything off with fresh water. Again, dirty water splashes off both bodies.

Finally, the dirty water swirls down the drain with a loud gurgle, and Erik dries Sasha first, then himself.
He turns to the mirror. The medaillon with the repaired chain dangles from his neck. The links of the chain stretch over his collarbone and fall down onto his bony chest.
Have I always been this... thin? He knew he’d never been the most muscular or strongest person. But this thin? His gaze lingers on his face. This face, the one that haunts him, the one he’ll never escape.
This curse.
This guilt.

He sighs and lowers his gaze. Desperately, he clings to the faucet, waiting for the inner pain and sorrow to slowly ebb away, returning to the familiar emptiness. Then he bends down to his backpack and searches for his clothes.

Christine and Raoul are sitting on their bed, as they almost always do every afternoon after university, working on assignments, researching, or reviewing the latest class. A faint, almost inaudible knock sounds. “Chris...tine?” a hesitant voice calls. She looks up from her laptop, then at Raoul, then back to the door. “Yes?” she replies and slides off the bed, goes to the door, and opens it. But she immediately slams it shut again.

The knocking comes again.
“Christine... I... uh...”

“What the...?!?” she yells, flinging the door open again, looking up at the almost two-meter-tall man. Two meters? Has he always been this tall? And so... thin? Before her stands Erik, with dripping wet hair, a towel around his waist, his arms trembling as he crosses them in front of his chest. His half-hearted attempt to hide his frail body fails. His face is covered by the old surgical mask.

He glances briefly past her and notices the young man with honey-blond hair on the bed. Embarrassed, Erik lowers his head. “Sorry... I didn’t mean to disturb you...,” he murmurs. Christine ignores the apology, leans forward, and tries to catch a glimpse of his face. “What do you need, Erik?” she asks calmly.

“Clothes,” he blurts out, his face burning. “I... I put everything in the washing machine.” His ears turn red. Raoul slides off the bed, brushes past Christine, and rushes downstairs to the shop.

And suddenly, a laugh escapes Christine. “You’re really special. For a second, I thought this was some kind of weird pick-up line.” She shakes her head and opens the way into her room. “Come in.”

Erik hesitates, nods uncertainly, and enters the room. His gaze sweeps across the small space. It’s tidy and serves its purpose. A table, a chair, a wardrobe, a bed, a small nightstand, and a dresser fill the room. Yet, something is missing, but before Erik can think further about it, he hears footsteps and heavy breathing.

Raoul appears behind him, and Christine furrows her brow when she sees him, but says nothing. Erik, noticing her expression, turns irritatedly to Raoul. “Gustave says he has some old clothes in the attic. They won’t fit him anymore, but they were too good to throw away. We can give them to your friend.” Raoul speaks hastily, his cheeks flushed red. Erik opens his mouth to say something, “Fr...” but Christine interrupts, “His name is Erik, and he’s our assistant.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m Raoul,” the student replies, and before Erik can respond, Raoul drops to his knees and starts petting the still-wet dog. “You’re so cute!”

Slowly, Erik takes a few steps back, turns around, and sees Christine’s shocked face. Instinctively, his hand goes to his mask. No, it’s still on. But he turns back to Raoul, who is looking at him strangely again, and then it dawns on him.

His back! He had completely forgotten about his damn back!

“That...” he begins in a shaky voice. “Come on, Raoul, let’s find that mysterious clothes box!” Christine notices how uncomfortable Erik feels, the tension, the discomfort reflected in his gaze and posture. Quickly, she grabs her boyfriend’s hand, pulls him to his feet, and pushes him into the hallway to rescue Erik from the awkward situation. Without another word, they disappear from the room.

Left behind are Erik and Sasha. He lifts her into his arms and slowly walks back to the bathroom. He sits down on the closed toilet seat and watches the laundry spin in the drum. Silently, he wipes his tearful eyes again. Minutes pass until there’s a knock at the door.

“Erik?” asks a deep, fatherly voice. “Can I come in?” The doorknob moves slightly down, but nothing more happens. Erik hastily dries his face, puts his mask back on, clears his throat, and says, “Yes!”

Gustave enters and closes the door behind him.