Page 62 of White Room Virgin

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.

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