Page 49 of White Room Virgin

“I haven’t received your concept for the term paper yet,” he said in his stern tone.

Damn.

When I didn't answer, he peered over the rim of his glasses and gave me a curious look. I didn’t even have the strength to put on a sheepish smile or use my charm in any other way, and a lie wouldn’t work with the man anyway. On the other hand, it was optional to have the concept checked. So why should I even bother?

“Don’t you want me to approve it?” Seeger asked, somewhat irritated. “Because it seems to me that migration is not your topic. That’s why I would recommend that you definitely take advantage of the opportunity to get feedback.”

I still didn’t know what to say. My thoughts were all about Phil.

“Are you all right?” Seeger asked with concern. “You seem a little pale.”

And then I saw it in his eyes again. That sparkle. It wasn’t the same as a year ago, but it was exactly what had reminded me of Phil back then. Had I ever actually apologized to Seeger for the kiss?

I really am a disaster. My presence alone must be a burden for him. Let’s get this over with.

“I’m … I’m sorry that I kissed you.”

Seeger frowned in surprise. “That was over a year ago, Gilliéron.”

“It won’t happen again.” As empty as I had felt the last few days, I was now fighting back tears.

Shit, man, how pathetic!

His expression softened. “What’s happened? Is it over the same thing as a year ago?”

I regained my composure, took a deep breath, and rubbed my eyes. “Am I dismissed?” I asked in a shaky voice.

Seeger seemed undecided and stared at me with concern. “What’s bothering you? Maybe I can help.”

I hung my head and exhaled. “Thank you, but … I’m fine.” I slipped out of the room without looking up. It was half past four and I didn’t want to see anyone anymore. I just wanted to be alone, so I took the back exit. Steven would be fine.

My route led me to the gas station, where I bought a bottle of vodka before heading straight to the studio. My only goal: to get drunk as quickly as possible. That seemed doable, given my stomach was almost empty.

But once I was in the studio, I realized that even the isolation didn’t give me any peace. I was pacing around like a junkie in withdrawal. Memories raged in my head like a thunderstorm. The feelings of guilt almost tore me apart and I wanted to scream.

It wasn’t until I had drunk about half of the bottle that a sense of calm finally washed over me—or, at the very least, over my body. From then on, I felt miserable. While I was sitting on the couch smoking a cigarette, Martin knocked on the door and entered the studio.

Great …

His eyes darted around as if he was looking for something.

A rope, perhaps? Or a couple of razor blades?

“Hello,” he said.

I took a drag on my cigarette and flicked the ash into the ashtray on my lap. Martin froze a few steps in front of me as the half-empty vodka bottle caught his attention.

“Whad’ya want?” I slurred.

“I’m here to take you home.”

“Wha’ for?”

“We’re worried about you.”

“We? Who’s … we?”

“Believe it or not, your professor wanted to talk to Steven today because he’s worried. And Steven called me again earlier because he hasn’t been able to get through to you for two weeks.”

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