Page 25 of White Room Virgin

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Jonah

Frustrated, I glanced at one of Lucien’s paintings and felt annoyed at being at an exhibition again. It was all because Martin had left the stupid flyer on the kitchen table when my parents were visiting. My mother insisted on making a detour to the gallery before our planned visit to the restaurant, and it felt like my punishment.

Lucien had stolen my first kiss and I had even liked it too. As a consequence of my failure to resist temptation, I found myself seeking forgiveness from God for days, and I continued extending my running route—Lucien had recently dubbed it self-flagellation.

All around me, people were swirling glasses of wine and having sophisticated conversations. To top it all off, my parents were embracing the role of art connoisseurs amid the modern, youthful art scene. They proudly discussed our original Hans Erni painting, which adorned the wall above our dining table at home.

Since no one seemed to be paying attention to me, I ventured into the next room, feeling anxious and hopeful about encountering Lucien. There was a picture of him in this room too. It was unmistakably dark and confusing. The angels, appearing to clash like monsters, were downright grotesque and evoked a sense of confinement within me. After all, angels were a symbol of goodness, grace, and hope for me. They were God’s messengers, the protectors of mankind. But what Lucien had depicted here seemed to be evil personified, trampling on people with all its might and bringing them hell on earth. I let my gaze wander over the other pictures in the exhibition. Lucien’s artdefinitely stood out and was distinctive from the rest. I looked at Lucien’s paintings again.

It’s hard to believe he painted that.

I stood there for a while, feeling a sadness welling up inside me, heavier than the weight of my insignificant problems. Who was I to take myself so seriously? Yes, I messed up, but I was back on track. There were much worse things in the world than my mistakes.

Suddenly, Lucien appeared next to me. I caught a glimpse of him from the corner of my eye, but some strange force made it impossible for me to look at him as I stood transfixed, stubbornly staring at the painting. It had been two weeks since the night he kissed me, and we hadn’t seen each other since then. I was grateful for that because it gave me time to digest the situation. But at that moment, I wasn’t so sure I was really over it. I would have loved to turn to him and look him in the face. I had secretly been looking forward to our reunion. I wanted to look into his green eyesand the lips that had kissed me.

…that I had kissed … Oh damn!

“Do you like it?” Lu asked in a soft voice.

“I … don’t know.”

“Would you like to see more of it?”

Is he still talking about the paintings?

After all, he only had two on display.

Lucien was standing so close that our arms were touching. I suddenly felt very hot. My heart was beating in my throat, but I didn’t dare take a single step away from him. I nervously bowed my head and took a deep breath. Summoning all my courage, I met his gaze. He pressed his lips together, noticeably struggling to maintain his attention on the painting. His breathing was shaky as he gave me a brief, shy look, which he averted again. I had never seen him so tense before.

Is it because of the exhibition or … because of me?

He was pale and appeared sleepy.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

He turned to me so slowly, as if he had to force himself to do so, but his gaze softened as soon as he looked at me. He tried to smile and wrapped his arms around himself as if he were freezing cold.

Behind him, I saw Martin and my parents enter the room. When my mother saw me and waved to me, I stepped back from Lucien and stroked my hair sheepishly. He glanced back at his painting, his expression resembling someone caught in a downpour.

“Lu!” Martin said when they were only a few steps away from us. “May I introduce you to Jonah’s parents? Auntie …”

But Lucien simply lowered his head and hurried out of the room, looking like a defeated dog, without uttering a word.

“Uh … Anyway,” Martin said. “That was our roommate.”

“And this is his painting?” my mother asked with interest, stepping closer to the picture.

“What happened to him?” my father grumbled.

“What do you mean?” I asked, irritated.

“Well, looking at it, he seems to be a pretty unbalanced young man.”

“Yes, that’s just Lu,” Martin replied, trying to grin away the tense mood.

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