Page 22 of White Room Virgin

I let out an exasperated growl and ruffled my hair, then I felt dizzy. Upset, I hurried out of the room.

My first kiss! Is this a joke, or what?

11

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Lucien

I received an unexpected offer to participate in a group exhibition, and as it was to take place in a prestigious venue where people liked to buy a lot of art, I accepted. The space had become available on short notice, and the curator told me that Professor Seeger had recommended me. That surprised me. Whether he had done it out of pity or conviction didn’t matter to me at that moment. I was simply happy to have these two walls to fill with my paintings. Every art show I did boosted my rep, and every sale meant I could chill a few more months without borrowing money from Martin.

I only had a few days to hand in my two paintings, which suited me perfectly under the circumstances. As long as I concentrated on the art, I wouldn’t annoy my roommates anymore, especially one roommate.

Martin knew me, knew what made me tick and how to deal with it. I also knew what I could expect of him—and, above all, when. And right now was not a good time for such a confession, given that his deadlines were looming.

And as far as Jonah was concerned, I was in uncharted territory. I’d promised Martin I wouldn’t scare him, but the way he’d looked at me after the kiss, I’d actually done a good job of it.

Shit …

“Helloooo!” I heard from somewhere far away. “Earth to Lu!”

“What?”

I had been so engrossed in my work and thoughts that I hadn’t noticed someone coming into my studio—again.

“Steven … what …” Frowning, I glanced at the upper windows. It was already dark.

“Here! You need to eat something.” Steven placed a can beside me on the floor and ambled over to the couch, promptly rolling himself a joint.

“Beer?”

“Liquid food.” He unfolded a paper and crumbled the weed into it. “So, what now? Are we going to the party or not?”

“What party?” I still hadn’t quite come to reality; Steven was already taking a drag from his joint.

“Check your cell phone, man. There’s a gig at Marco’s rehearsal room today. It’s like a dress rehearsal. The release party is coming up soon.”

“Oh … that was today?”

“Do you even know what day it is? And why are you still sitting here—didn’t you hand it in yesterday?”

“To finish this.”

I pointed my brush at a seven-by-seven feet canvas lying on the floor. If the muse had kissed me and I was in the flow, I had to take advantage of it. Because if I were to get a place at an exhibition at short notice, it would be an embarrassment to have to cancel because I didn’t have any paintings in stock.

“It looks more than finished to me,” Steven said, taking a drag from his joint. “Come on! Give yourself a jolt. It’s Thursday.”

This meant I had already spent thirteen days in the studio. As I always changed into work clothes first, my clean everyday clothes were still hanging in the wardrobe. But I desperately needed a shower.

“Have you noticed how terrible you look?” Steven remarked casually. “A bit of socializing would do you good.”

“Is there a shower there?”

“Uh … it’s a rehearsal room—I doubt it. When was the last time you were at home?”

I went to the sink, cleaned the brushes, and quickly washed myself. The cleaner I became, the more aware I became of my greasy hair.

I still had some shampoo lying around somewhere and rummaged through the cupboard where I kept water cups and paper towels. It wasn’t the first time I’d gone to a party from the studio. And sure enough, in addition to razors, skin cream, soaps and bandages, I also found some shampoo. The sink was big enough to hold my head completely under the water, so I washed my hair as well. As I rubbed it dry with a towel and saw my reflection in the mirror, I noticed dark circles under my eyes that hadn’t been there a week ago. Steven called out from the couch, “And while you’re at it, shave! You look terrible.”

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