Page 1 of White Room Virgin

1

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Jonah

A loud bang woke me from my sleep. I sat up, my heart racing. Irritated, I looked around, but there was nothing unusual. The door was still ajar and the lamp next to my bed was still on. I had fallen asleep with a book on my chest. In a daze, I put it away and rubbed my face.

“This fucking door…” someone mumbled in the hallway.

As the light flickered on, the wooden floor creaked under stumbling footsteps.

It must be Lucien.

“He’s coming home today. Don’t let him intimidate you!” My cousin and roommate Martin had said in a singsong voice as he left the apartment.

“What do you mean?” I had called after him. “And where are you going anyway?”

“To work. I’m on watch duty at the hospital. You know––earning money and studying for my degree. Have a good night!”

I’d been living in Zurich for a week now and Martin was looking after me like a big brother. My parents would have preferred me to pursue an apprenticeship as a farmer rather than studying science. “An apprenticeship is all you need to take over the farm. It will even save you time and money,” my father had said. After endless discussions, they finally gave their consent—on the condition that Martin would keep an eye on me. Even though I was already of legal age at the time, he had assured them that he would take good care of me and, with their financial support, set me up in a room with a bed and a bedside lamp. Apart from my clothes in the suitcase under the bed and the book I read before going to sleep, these were my only belongings in Zurich.

I should close the door.It was too late in the evening to make a good first impression. As I glanced up, the young man had already assumed a casual pose in the doorway as he examined the scant contents of my room. His wheat-blond hair was tousled as if he had just woken up. He had pushed his hair behind his ear, which might have been styled in a quiff earlier. He wore a brown V-neck shirt and black trousers covered in paint stains.

“Like in a museum…” he murmured, his demeanor tinged with awe, an unlit cigarette poised at the corner of his lips. He appeared aloof, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded. He fixed his gaze on me with a mischievous glint in his bright green eyes.

Martin’s words came back to me,Don’t let him intimidate you, and I held his gaze.

“Ah, the cousin from French-speaking Switzerland,” he remarked nonchalantly, tapping his fingers against his pockets in search of a lighter. “Do you speak German?”

“Uh… yes. I grew up bilingual,” I replied, slightly irritated by his soft voice. “You must be Lucien.”

His expression changed, seemingly annoyed. He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t pronounce my name in French!” he growled, his voice tinged with menace. “If you do, say it in English.”

I frowned in surprise. Martin had only referred to him as Lu. But there was a French surname next to Martin’s on the doorbell. To ease the tension, I got up and offered him my hand. “I’m Jonah. Nice to meet you.”

For a fleeting moment, he regarded me with suspicion, then tilted his head to the side, refraining from clasping my hand as his attention shifted beyond me. “Is that the Bible you’re reading?”

“Yes.” I didn’t mind if he wanted to make fun of it, but the fact that he was standing in my doorway and ignoring myoutstretched hand was starting to make me uncomfortable. Just as I was about to drop my hand and look down at the floor in uncertainty, he intervened.

“Come on!” he said and staggered toward the kitchen.

“Uh, why?” I asked but followed him anyway.

“To make a toast. Why else?”

“But … it’s Tuesday!”

He pointed to the clock above the sink, which already showed past midnight. “No, it’s Wednesday already.” He grabbed two bottles of beer out of the fridge, opened them, and put them on the table. He sluggishly plopped down on the chair, a seat I had considered mine for a week. “Come on, sit down!” He slid a bottle in my direction and raised his beer in a toast. “Welcome to your new home!”

Beside the stack of magazines on the table lay a lighter, and he lit his cigarette. Not wanting my room to smell like smoke, I glanced at my door to make sure it was closed, then turned back to him. “I don’t drink,” I said, but I still sat across from him.

“All the more reason to start now!” He laughed, leaned back after a big gulp, and crossed one leg over the other.

Meanwhile, I sat there like a log, not knowing where to look and wishing for the first time in my life that I had more experience in making small talk. My fear of saying the wrong thing was so overwhelming that I took a sip of beer––my first ever. All my facial muscles clenched at the bitter taste. Disgusted, I placed the bottle back on the table.

Lucien reclined against the wall, nestled in his chair, savoring a long drag from his cigarette before exhaling the smoke toward the ceiling lamp. He stared at me again as if I were a lab rat and my every move was of great importance. “Martin said something about ETH?”

“Agricultural sciences,” I replied, thinking I had found the beginning of a good conversation.

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