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What if he’s inside, sleeping?
Then I guess he’s going to wake up.
Before anxiety and paranoia have a chance to make me change my mind, I open the door and step inside Dominik’s bedroom.
He’s not here.
The black, silk sheets and comforter on his bed are twisted, as though he struggled with restlessness throughout the night too. The walls of his room are painted in a deep, forest-green hue. Sparse yet striking, a handful of large, abstract art pieces adorn the walls, complementing the apartment’s minimalist aesthetic. In one corner sits a simple, white dresser, accompanied by a solitary, brown, leather chair.
It feels wrong being here, invading his privacy like this, but I just can’t seem to find it in me to care enough to turn around and leave. Especially not after he admitted to invading my privacy for days, weeks? Who the fuck even knows?
The closet door is slightly open, and I notice that the light inside is turned on. Curiosity tugs at me, compelling me to approach it as if there is something beckoning me from within.
His walk-in closet is spacious, with everything neatly arranged. The closet is filled with a spectrum of attire from various formal wear such as suits, dress shirts, and pants in a multitude of colors. On a dedicated rack, there is a meticulously organized assortment of shoes. A glass case proudly showcases an array of watches. On the other side, the casual section is meticulously lined up, indicating that someone has taken the time to curate this space specifically for him.
A collection of sweaters and gray pants catches my eye. The sight brings a smile to my face; it’s obvious he prefers comfort over business. My fingers brush over the soft fabric, and the room envelops me in his scent.
A black box catches my attention as it sits on the top shelf. Standing out amidst a multitude of white and beige craft boxes, it piques my curiosity. Two delicate, silvery butterflies adorn each side of the box, their translucent beauty adding to its allure. I can’t help but wonder what lies inside. Perhaps it holds something dear to Dominik’s heart, or maybe it’s just an expensive man purse.
Either way, I’m snooping, and I feel no shame about that.
Running back to the closet door, I poke my head outside to make sure the coast is clear one last time. Hoisting myself onto one of the shelves, I reach up and snatch the box before falling back to the ground. I place it down on the floor and sit cross-legged in front of it.
This is so wrong. What if he walks in?
There is a strange compulsion pulling me to this box, something I can’t shake, and I know I won’t be able to leave until I look inside.
Taking in a deep breath and feeling my pulse skyrocket, I quickly pull open the thick lid.
Holding my breath, I stare down at the contents within the box.
Polaroid photos filled to the top. Photos of…me, when I was in high school. And then in college. To recent photos just in New York City.
What the fuck…
Candid photos of me walking down the school hallway. Laughing with a friend. Talking to Aaron in the family room. Reading. I reach down and grab a photo of me sitting on my bed. It’s taken from right outside my bedroom, the door must have been ajar. I’m hugging my knees, my chin resting on them as tears stream down my face.
Oh my God.
These are extremely private moments.
Suddenly, it’s impossible to catch my breath as I flip through the photos, taking them out of the box… There are tens, maybe hundreds of Polaroids here. From so many different occasions and timelines.
My fingers hit something soft. Beneath all the photos, there are articles of clothing. My favorite Nirvana T-shirt that I believed I had lost forever. Alongside it, a pair of sleep shorts. And, oh my God, my fucking butterfly necklace. The one Aaron gave me on my sixteenth birthday.
What the hell is all this doing here, in Dom’s closet?
My heart is racing as I dump out what remains in the box.
I wish I could turn back time. I wish I hadn’t stepped foot inside his room.
I blink several times, wishing this could all disappear.
My vision is blurred by tears as I gaze down at the two items that were left at the bottom of the box. One is a mask that I recognize, with two Xs instead of eyes and a sinister, stitched-up smile. Even though it appears lifeless, I have a feeling that if I were to turn on the mask, it would emit a red glow. Right next to it lies another mask, distinct in its matte black color. It covers half of the face on one side and dips below the eye on the other side.
These are the same masks Runi wore at the masquerade ball.
These are Runi’s masks from that night in Boston.
