Page 20 of White Room Virgin

To my surprise, no one seemed interested in why I had missed the lecture that morning. It still upset me for days afterward. It was only the fourth week, and nobody oversleeps in the fourth week of study … at least not me.

“What if I don’t show up here for several days because I’ve died? Won’t anyone care then?” I asked Simon.

“But you didn’t die. Relax!”

“Yes, thank God! But a little more sympathy wouldn’t hurt.”

“Maybe where you come from, it’s common for everyone to be interested in everything. But here in the city, folks value their privacy and tend to mind their own business. After all, you wouldn’t want to offend anyone.”

Growing up, I had ample space to maintain my privacy. I had to admit that here in the city, I had become one of those who fiercely defended their personal space. Not as strict as Lucien, whose bedroom door was always closed, while mine was usually ajar. But there was no way I was going to let Martin tell me how to furnish my room. I loved my room! It was quiet and helped me to concentrate. Prison cell or not. At least there were no unnecessary frills to stop me from studying.

Around eleven o’clock, I was lying on the bed reading, as I usually did, when I heard the door unlock. Martin was at work, so it could only be Lucien. The slamming confirmed my theory.

“Fucking door…” he muttered angrily.

As he walked past my half-open bedroom door, cigarette smoke drifted in. Shortly afterward, I heard the kettle bubbling, chair legs scraping across the floor, and the crockery cupboard being slammed shut.

What a noise!

When I heard a cup being placed on the kitchen counter, I slid forward onto the edge of the bed, realizing it was time to close the door. All of a sudden, I heard the clink of breaking china.

“Ah! Shit, man!”

I rushed out to check.

Lucien was standing in front of the kitchen counter, clutching his left wrist, his face contorted with pain. There was a smoldering cigarette on the floor, a broken cup in the sink, and a steaming kettle next to it. My eyes fell on Lu’s hand. At least there was no blood.

“What happened?”

“Shit, man! The boiling water!” He picked up the cigarette and tucked it into the corner of his mouth.

I turned the faucet on, set it to cold, and grabbed Lu by the wrist. “You have to cool it right away, man! Everyone knows that!”

“It’s not so bad,” he said.

“Not so bad? That was boiling water!” I pulled his hand under the cool stream and held it there. I released my grip only when I was confident he would follow my instruction. Recalling seeing cooling pads in the freezer once, I retrieved one and snatched a fresh kitchen towel before returning to Lucien. He leaned over the sink, both elbows resting on its edge. His left hand remained under the jet of water as he shielded his eyes with his right hand, gritting his teeth in pain. The cigarette was now in the sink.

“What a … shit …” he gasped.

“Come here,” I said, gently pulling his hand out from under the stream of water. “Where exactly did you get it?”

The burn hadn’t left any marks yet. Lucien indicated that it had run directly over the back of his hand. I carefully dried thearea with the kitchen towel, noticing his long, elegant fingers. He had really beautiful hands.

God! Jonah! Pull yourself together!

I wrapped the frozen cooling pad in the kitchen towel and tied it around the scalded hand. When Lucien tried to tug it away, I pulled back. “Hold still!”

“Ow!”

I secured the cloth in place as best I could and wondered if any bandages were around.

Lucien winced and straightened up. Only then did I realize that he was pretty drunk and could barely stand upright.Again.“Why do you constantly feel the need to go overboard?”

He patted his pockets and found the open pack of cigarettes.

“No!” I firmly said. I snatched the pack from him and put it on the table. “That’s enough for today!”

“Spoilsport,” he muttered, fiddling with the cooling pad.

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