White Room Virgin (Room #1)

29 - Lucien

29

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Lucien

Nothing I put on screen was the least bit good, so I saved myself the trouble and didn’t do it at all. But because I had to relieve the pressure inside me somehow, I wrote … sometimes obsessively. By now, there were sheets of paper all over the place, which I had tried to put into words what was going on in my head.

A week had passed since the incident with Ben, but I still hadn’t really got back on my feet. It was as if that night had blocked all the channels in my body, leaving me devoid of energy. The bruises on my neck were now a slight green tinge with purple edges, my eyes were swollen, and a war was raging in my head. I had lost my appetite and had only been drinking beer and eating protein bars for days. I was also starting to feel like smoking was turning me into an asthmatic.

For two days, I did nothing except toss and turn on the sofa. I found myself in an in-between state, unable to sleep yet somehow losing track of time. Each time I glanced at the clock, several hours had slipped by, which brought me some relief. Life had become unbearable, and with Christmas just around the corner, all I wanted to do was throw myself off a cliff.

A soft noise woke me from my sleep, and I turned to the side. I slowly opened my eyes and was blinded by a lamp on the floor next to a picture I had started.

I didn’t even turn it on.

The sweet smell of grass caught my nose. I blinked and let my gaze drift aimlessly around the room. Steven was sitting at the table, one leg crossed over the other, reading one of my handwritten notes and taking a pleasurable drag on his joint.

“Put that down,” I grumbled.

He turned his head and smiled—at least, that’s what it appeared to be from sixteen feet away.

“So that’s what I call literature!” Steven declared. He read the note in an energetic tone.

“Open your mouth

Lick me

Turn around

Bend over

I’ll fuck you

Nng

Mmh

Ahh”

Once he finished reading it, he put the sheet back on the table and shook his head in amusement. “Are you planning on hanging that up?”

I stayed put and didn’t move. My gaze wandered to the upper windows. It was a gloomy day, and it was snowing outside. “How did you get in here?” I was sure I had locked the door.

“Martin gave me the key.”

“Why?”

“The anniversary was two weeks ago. And since you obviously can’t extricate yourself from this mess—as evidenced by this rubbish here—I’m here. Intervention, my dear friend.”

“How pathetic.”

“Not as pathetic as you,” Steven said, stepping closer. “Get up! We’re going out.”

“Forget it. It’s fucking freezing outside.”

“Don’t argue with me. It’ll do you good.”

“I want to keep working,” I lied, looking at the picture on the floor.

“That looks finished to me,” Steven said, tossing me my coat. “Come on, let’s go!”

Oh boy …

I slowly got to my feet and sat down. Everything still hurt, and I felt like I was an exposed nerve. Nevertheless, I complied with Steven. Most likely because I lacked the energy to argue with him. I slipped into my coat, put on my scarf and shoes, and packed my cigarettes.

The fresh air revived my mood and my circulation got going again. It was damp and wet, so the snow didn’t last long and turned into brown slush on the road. The sky was slate gray and even though it was just after midday, it was darker than it had been in a long time.

Just my kind of weather …

We set off in silence. I thought Steven just wanted to go for a walk, but he headed straight for the nearest bus stop.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

The bus came and Steven had me sit by the window. He probably wanted to make sure I didn’t wander off anywhere. I didn’t understand his intentions for a while. It wasn’t until we approached the cemetery on foot that I realized what this was all about.

That bastard!

We even got off the bus one stop early!

“No,” I said, stubbornly standing still and shaking my head.

“Oh yes,” he objected and took my arm.

I backed away. “Please, Steven. I can’t.”

“You’re coming with me now, or I’ll drag you in there! You’re so weak that it wouldn’t be a problem for me.”

I grimaced, bit my lip, and stared at the old wrought iron gate as if it were the entrance to hell.

“When was the last time you were here?”

I ran my hand nervously over my mouth. “I don’t know … two years ago?”

“So just after the funeral,” Steven concluded. “Then it’s high time you finally got this over with.” He seized my arm again and led me in with an iron grip.

My heart was racing and, despite the icy cold, I started to sweat and could hardly breathe. My body was as stiff as a board. Only my legs did what they needed to do to move me forward.

We crossed half the cemetery until we reached the part where the grave was. I hesitated to walk down the small path, and Steven didn’t push me anymore. My heart was racing. Finally, I took a deep breath, pushed my hands deep into my coat pockets, and strolled with my head down. I knew exactly where his grave was. As if I had walked the narrow path over the stone slabs a hundred times before, the place was burned into my memory. And then I suddenly stood in front of his gravestone for the first time, surrounded by other ones. Two years ago, just after the funeral, there was only a wooden cross. It was a beautiful stone that stood out with its dark grain and unusual shape. When I read his full name, my heart stopped for a few beats, and I turned away. I stood there paralyzed, staring across the graves, while the wind made the leaves on a tree swirl. My face felt numb, and there was this strong pulsation deep inside me. It felt as if the entire world was screaming at me: Get out of here!

“Let’s go,” I said curtly, turning away from the grave.

“Not so fast.” Steven grabbed my arm again. “Say something!”

I squirmed in his grip, but I needed my strength to keep my emotions at bay rather than being able to break away. I turned my back to Steven and tried to collect myself.

“Like what? There’s nothing to say.”

“Say his name.”

“What?”

“Say. His. Name,” he repeated.

I thought he was joking, but Steven was serious. Suddenly, it felt as if an alien force was squeezing my heart like a sponge. “Please, Steven, don’t make me do this.”

“Yes, I will. Tell him!”

Every fiber of my being resisted, and a sinking feeling spread through my stomach. Just standing in front of his grave killed me. With all my strength, I tore myself away from Steven, but he grasped my arm again and held me tight.

“You lay bleeding and half-naked in my yard after the party, damn it!” he hissed. “And all because of him! So say his name, for fuck’s sake!”

I tried unsuccessfully to get away from him until I finally gave up and hung my head. The blood rushed through my body, and my pulse pounded loudly in my skull. I wiped my eyes and winced. The pain that welled up inside me threatened to overwhelm me. But I held myself upright and looked at the name on the dark stone.

“Phil,” I whispered and wiped my eyes again. I felt sick for a moment and pressed my lips together.

“Again!”

“Phil.”

“And now forgive yourself!”

“No. It was my idea to go to the gas station.”

“This is nonsense. It was our idea. But if anyone is to blame, it’s the truck driver.”

“But I …”

“No, Lu! It's time you finally forgive yourself. It was not your fault!”

My whole body was shaking. I felt dizzy and clung to Steven as if he were the only one who could keep me from collapsing.

“Do you understand me? It. Wasn’t. Your. Fault.”

The words gradually got through to me and I nodded slightly. Even though I couldn't believe it, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. Despite not believing it, a sense of relief washed over me. Steven let go of me and took a step back.

“I’ll … be right up ahead if you need me.” Steven turned around, leaving me alone.

I stood there for a while, attempting to sort through the myriad thoughts piling up like mountains of garbage in my head and kept repeating Steven’s words over and over again: “Not your fault.”

I’m so sorry, Phil.

With my sleeve, I wiped the tears from my face and tried to keep my composure. But just as I thought I’d finally collected myself, Jonah crept into my thoughts and disrupted everything once more. The memory of our night together surged within me, and the feelings I had been struggling to suppress since then broke through all barriers like a tidal wave, compelling me to crouch down and cover my face.

Shit, man …

I could no longer avoid admitting to myself that I had fallen in love with Jonah. I thought about him the whole time. He was everywhere. He was my buoy, keeping me afloat while Phil threatened to drag me under like an anchor.

But even though I had shown Jonah the possibilities of what kind of world he could dive into, I couldn’t get my hopes up. Unless he allowed himself to be dissuaded from his religious beliefs, he would never take the step of opening up to his true self.

And that hurt incredibly.

It took me a long time to pick myself up, take a deep breath, and say goodbye to Phil. Steven was waiting on a bench and got up as soon as he saw me coming.

“Are you all right?” he asked, rubbing his arms.

I bit my lower lip and nodded cautiously.

“They’re always open here,” Steven said with a grin on his face. “So if you feel like it, you can come here any time. They really do let anyone in here. It’s a great place.”

I struggled to force a smile. “It’s not just him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I … met someone.”

“What? And why are you only telling me this now?”

“Because it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want to know about me.”

Steven sighed. “I’m sorry, man. Shall we go for a coffee?”

By now I was also feeling cold and was glad about the suggestion. As soon as we had left the cemetery, Steven pulled out the tobacco. “Oh, by the way,” he said as he crushed the weed in his hand. “You’re celebrating Christmas with us.”

“What? But your parents …”

“They’re surprised at how stubborn your old man is about kicking you out. And Clarissa has also spoken up for you. So they agree—on one condition: stop drinking. It’s not good for you. I mean, I’m not passing judgment on your poems, but have you ever looked at the painting that’s lying on the floor in your studio?”

“Yes. It sucks, I know,” I replied dryly.

He laughed with relief. “I’m glad you think so too.”

For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe again and had some hope of getting back on track, even if it would take a while.