Page 47 of Back Room Host

A massive painting hung on the wall, matching my taste and somehow out of place here. It was dark and bizarre. Lizards hid in caves from the light, lurking as if they were about to attack at any moment.

“Yeah, that …” Luca ran his hand through his hair, looking somewhat puzzled, and shrugged. “My landlord has a thing for peculiar art somehow. It’s all over the place here. This painting here is new. From some young Zurich artist.”

“I like it.”

Luca placed my bag on the white sideboard under the painting and handed me the pillow. He then shut the dark blue curtain and surveyed the room. In the corner next to the window was a small desk. He removed the chair from in front of it, cushioned with felt pads on its feet to prevent noise on the hardwood floor.

“Here,” he said, placing the chair beside the bed. “Who knows, maybe you’ll need to get up at some point and I won’t be here. But don’t worry, I’ll leave my phone on. In case anything happens.”

I peeled off my coat, which he hung on the hook behind the door. He also helped me untie my shoe and store it with the other one under the sideboard. Then he reached for my sweatpants and T-shirt out of my bag. When he saw me struggling to take off my pants with just one hand, he rushed to assist. In the end, I had no choice but to accept his help.

Normally, I didn’t mind being naked in front of others, but this time it felt weird somehow. Maybe it was because I was so battered. Or because I wasn’t getting paid for undressing. Maybe it was because this wasn’t about sex at all, but about me ending up in a state of needing help like a helpless child again due to injuries. Plus, we hadn’t even talked about what had happenedin the back room yet. I sat there shirtless and became aware of all the scratches and scars.

“What the … These aren’t from me, are they?”

Before I could react, Luca leaned forward to inspect the bruises from Tuesday. Less than two hours had passed since I had to explain to the doctor that I hadn't been abused. When Luca reached out his hand, I instinctively slapped it away.

“How about some space?” I said, annoyed. “You’re almost suffocating me.”

“Oh … I’m sorry. But … What …?”

“It’s nothing,” I said in a serious tone.

Luca’s horrified look told me he didn’t believe a word.

“Trust me. It’s fine.”

“Nothing is fine! You’re already injured, and I nearly threw you down the stairs. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I can do to make it up to you.”

“Damn,” I said, snatching my shirt back from him and rolling my eyes. “Believe me, you’re doing enough already, so get a grip. I can’t hear it anymore.”

“Who did this to you?” he asked, helping me into the shirt.

“It doesn’t matter,” I replied curtly and lay down.

“Do you want to brush your teeth?”

“I just want to sleep.”

“Should I call someone for you tomorrow? Employer or something? Where … uh … do you work anyway?”

For a moment, I was wide awake again and swallowed dry. “No, it’s fine. I’ll handle it myself.”

“Fortunately, there’s not much going on over Christmas and New Year’s,” he said, smiling. “You can recover well then.”

Luca stood in the doorway, appearing somehow undecided, as if it were hard for him to leave me alone.

“Hmm …” I just said.

If he only knew! I’m missing out on the most lucrative time of the year right now.

“Okay, then. Good night.”

“You too.”

As soon as he was out the door, I took a picture of my splinted foot and injured hand with my phone. I sent the photo to Franz, my client from Thursday, and explained that I would be out of commission until New Year’s. Feeling exhausted, I decided to cancel the remaining bookings tomorrow. I managed to turn off the light and fell asleep immediately.

17

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