Separate Bedrooms

I was delighted when Francesca agreed to get an apartment with me.

She was beautiful, outgoing, and someone I'd always liked, and a two-bedroom place a few blocks from campus seemed like a huge improvement over dorm life. We moved in at the end of August, before the leaves had even started to turn, with no idea what October would bring.

The arrangement worked well at first. We split the rent and utilities, traded off cleaning, and neither of us gave the other much trouble. I liked living with Francesca, though she could be dramatic about small things. If something wasn't exactly the way she wanted it, she had a way of making it into a much bigger issue than it needed to be.

I usually let her have her way.

That's just the kind of person I am. If something isn't worth arguing about, I'd rather let it go.

Then she met Giovanni.

She brought him home on one of the first cool evenings of the season, the kind where you could smell woodsmoke from somebody's chimney even though it was only September.

"Giovanni, this is Barbara."

"Nice to meet you," he said.

His voice was low and even, the kind of voice that made you lean in a little without meaning to.

"You too," I said.

I found myself looking at his eyes. His irises were so dark I couldn't find the edge of the pupil. They seemed like a single depth of black, like a well whose bottom you couldn't see.

He was perfectly pleasant, and I told myself I should be glad Francesca hadn't taken up with someone unpleasant.

Still, I was surprised by him.

It seemed to me she could have done better.

I mentioned it once, when we were alone.

She smiled.

"Oh, there's something he's very good at."

"What?"

"He has a way of getting me to do things."

She smiled again, but didn't explain.

"Right," I said, and changed the subject.

That night, lying awake, I found myself thinking about the two of them together. I pushed the thought away almost as soon as it arrived.

It wasn't any of my business.

They seemed happy enough. Whenever they went out - a restaurant, a concert, a bonfire some friend of Giovanni's was throwing beyond the edge of town - they invited me along.

I always found a reason to say no. Studying, usually. It was often true.

But I envied Francesca a little. She seemed to be having a far more interesting college experience than I was. More than once I caught myself wondering what exactly Giovanni was getting her to do, and what it might feel like to let go of my own caution for once.

In the first week of October, Francesca came home with news.

"Giovanni's moving in."

"What?"

"He's moving in. It'll be fine."

That was usually the end of an argument with Francesca, and this time was no different.

A few days later, his things were in the second bedroom's closet, his groceries were in our refrigerator, and - something I hadn't expected - his cooking was on our table three nights a week.

He was tidy. He was generous. He insisted on paying more than his third of the rent.

Despite my reservations, I adapted.

Halloween was coming, and Francesca and Giovanni were far more invested in it than I was. They'd already picked out costumes for all three of us - pirates, three matching sets bought from some shop Giovanni knew about that seemed to specialize in exactly that kind of thing.

The women's costumes were more daring than anything I'd normally wear.

"Try it on," Francesca said.

I did.

It fit so well that, looking in the mirror, I had to admit I looked good in it.

When I came out, Giovanni looked up from the living room.

For a second he didn't say anything.

He simply looked at me in that unhurried way of his.

Then he smiled.

"You should come."

I felt an unexpected little flutter at that and immediately felt foolish for it.

"I don't think so."

"Why not?" Francesca asked.

"I have studying."

"You always have studying."

They went to the Halloween party without me.

I told myself I didn't mind.

A few nights later, Francesca and Giovanni had a terrible argument.

I couldn't make out the words through the wall, only the shape of it - her voice rising and cracking, his staying low and even the whole time.

Somehow that made it worse.

Then there was silence.

For the next few days Francesca barely spoke.

Then, on a gray, drizzling afternoon, she sat down beside me.

"I'm going home."

"For the weekend?"

"For the rest of the year. I can't do this anymore."

"Francesca, you can't just - "

"I can."

She said it gently, almost kindly, the way you'd tell a child something sad but unavoidable.

"What am I supposed to do? I can't afford this place alone."

"You won't be alone."

She paused.

"Giovanni isn't leaving."

I laughed because I assumed she was joking.

She wasn't.

She left three days later.

I was flabbergasted to discover that I had gone from having a roommate I'd chosen to sharing an apartment, for the rest of the academic year, with my ex-roommate's boyfriend - a man I barely knew, whose eyes I still hadn't quite gotten used to.

Giovanni insisted there was no practical alternative.

"I'll stay out of your way," he said. "And I'll help more. Whatever you need."

I didn't love the arrangement.

But I decided it might work.

Dinner was strange for the first few nights.

Two people who'd never really talked, sitting across from each other at the same small table.

We started reading while we ate, which made the silence easier.

Slowly, without either of us deciding to, we built a routine.

Not friendship, exactly.

But not uncomfortable either.

One evening he came home with two concert tickets and offered me the extra one.

I almost said yes.

Then I thought about what tickets like that must have cost and said no instead.

He shrugged, set the ticket on the counter, and didn't push.

I found myself thinking about it for longer than I wanted to admit.

The next day Francesca called.

Her voice dropped the moment she realized Giovanni was in the next room.

"I don't mind if you take up with him," she said.

I didn't know what to say to that.

When I hung up, Giovanni asked how she was doing.

"Fine," I said.

Then, before I could stop myself, I asked, "Do you miss her?"

"I guess I do. Sometimes."

He considered this for a moment, the way he seemed to consider everything, as if turning it over to check for a better angle.

"I think I'll play the field for a while."

I felt an unreasonable amount of relief at that.

The next evening he came home late.

And not alone.

A young woman clung to his arm as if she might fall without it.

She looked at me.

"Who are you?"

"Barbara. His apartment mate. Separate bedrooms."

She gave a little laugh, as though I'd said something amusing, and let Giovanni lead her down the hall.

The door closed.

I tried to study.

I lasted twenty minutes before giving up and walking to the library instead, telling myself I needed a change of scenery.

When I came home, the apartment was quiet.

I told myself that was a mercy.

The next morning, another woman came out of Giovanni's room.

She was older than the first - late twenties, maybe thirty - and wore an expensive-looking suit that made my entire wardrobe feel like something from a thrift-store bin.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Barbara. We share the apartment. Separate rooms."

"Oh."

She paused.

"Anna."

Then she let herself out.

That afternoon there was a third woman at the kitchen table, drinking something from a mug and laughing at something Giovanni had said.

"Simona."

She kissed him on her way out the door as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Once she was gone, I finally asked, "Three women?"

"Oh. That."

He didn't seem to think it required much explanation.

"I'm just dating around."

"Didn't the wind knock you flat as they all went whooshing by?"

He laughed.

A genuine laugh.

But he didn't elaborate.

I went back to my room feeling as though I'd walked into the middle of a story with no idea how it had started.

By the end of the week, I'd lost count.

Lucia, with dark hair to her waist.

Claudia, quiet and slight.

Alice, who moved through the kitchen as though she'd always lived there and started making herself - and eventually me - dinner without being asked.

I stopped protesting.

It was easier that way.

I told myself that was the only reason.

Then, one evening, I noticed the ribbon.

Alice was wearing it.

A thin strip of black satin, tied loosely at her throat.

It looked almost like part of a Halloween costume.

Except Halloween had already passed.

"What's that?" I asked.

She touched it absently.

"This?"

A small, private smile appeared on her face.

"You're lucky, you know."

"Why?"

"Living with him."

I stared at her.

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged.

"You could..."

She glanced toward Giovanni's room.

"... any time you wanted."

I didn't know what to say.

So I said nothing.

I finished my dinner and left for the library earlier than I needed to.

The next day I noticed another ribbon.

Then another.

By the following week, there wasn't a woman in the apartment without one except Anna, who came and went more like an old friend than any of the others.

She was unhurried. Familiar.

She knew the routine.

It made me wonder how long she'd been part of it.

Then I noticed the little table beside the front door.

I could have sworn it hadn't been there before.

On it sat a bowl.

Inside were dozens of black ribbons, coiled together and waiting.

I stood there looking at them for longer than I should have.

I told myself I didn't want to know what they were for.

Mostly, I believed it.

The apartment had begun to change around me.

Or perhaps I had.

One night I woke to find someone climbing into my bed in the dark.

Every instinct I had screamed at me to bolt out of bed, to demand what she was doing there. But my limbs felt like lead, submerged in a thick, heavy numbness that seemed to seep straight out of the floorboards. I opened my mouth to shout, but all that came out was a quiet breath. My heart was hammering against my ribs, yet my body simply refused to move. Eventually, the strange, unnatural warmth of the room dragged me back under.

When I woke in the morning, I found myself in the arms of Simona.

We were lying on our sides, with her behind me and her arm resting around my waist.

My heart gave a sudden, violent thud against my ribs. For three seconds, sheer panic surged through me. But then the panic hit a wall - the quiet, insidious voice in my head that had been managing my entire life. 'She's just asleep,' I told myself, trying to beat down the terror. 'She got the wrong room in the dark. It's an accident. Don't make a scene.' I forced my breathing to stay even, waiting for the pounding in my chest to stop before I dared to slide out from beneath her arm.

Then I carefully slipped out of bed.

Simona didn't wake.

I stood beside the bed looking at her.

She was beautiful.

There was something strangely peaceful about her sleeping face.

I didn't know what I was supposed to do.

So I put on my robe and left the room.

The bathroom door was closed.

I knocked.

"Come in."

I opened it.

Alice pulled me inside.

Claudia was there too.

Neither seemed remotely surprised to see me.

Alice was brushing her teeth.

"Go ahead," she said. "You can shower."

I glanced toward the shower.

Someone was already in it.

Lucia.

"How long?"

Alice shrugged.

"Not long."

I waited.

Eventually Lucia came out, and I hung up my robe and got into the shower.

For the first time that morning, I felt as though I had a little privacy.

Then the shower curtain moved.

Alice stepped inside.

"I'll wash your back."

I stared at her.

"No, that's all right."

"It's no trouble."

"I can manage."

She smiled.

I finished my shower as quickly as possible.

When I came out, Claudia handed me a towel.

"Here."

"Thanks."

She smiled at me in a way that made me wonder whether she intended to do more than simply hand me the towel.

I dried myself and returned to my room.

Simona was still asleep in my bed.

I dressed as quietly as I could and left.

Alice was in the kitchen.

"Breakfast?"

"No, thank you."

She had already started preparing something.

I left before she could insist.

That evening, things were much the same.

Women came and went from Giovanni's room.

The black ribbons were everywhere.

I let Alice make dinner for me.

By then I'd stopped protesting.

I ate quickly, gathered my books, and started preparing to leave.

There was no point trying to study in the apartment.

Then the telephone rang.

It was Francesca.

"How are things going?" she asked.

She sounded nervous.

"Fine."

I wasn't sure why I said it.

"How is... Giovanni?"

"I think he's doing fine."

"Do you think he misses me?"

There was something in her voice that made me think she might be having second thoughts.

"I don't know."

"Is he there?"

"Yes."

"No. Don't put him on."

There was an awkward silence.

"Okay," she said. "I'll let you go. I'm sorry I bothered you."

Then she hung up.

I stood there holding the phone.

For the first time, I wondered whether Francesca regretted leaving.

I went to the library.

Strangely, I managed to study.

Perhaps I was getting used to the apartment.

Or perhaps I was getting used to pretending it was normal.

When I returned that night, Simona and Claudia were asleep in my bed.

I stopped in the doorway.

For a moment I considered waking them both and telling them to leave.

Instead, I walked over to the bed.

"Hey."

I gently shook Claudia.

She opened her eyes.

"Oh. Sorry."

She moved over and settled beside Simona.

Simona didn't wake.

I looked at the remaining space.

There was enough room for me.

I stood frozen at the edge of the mattress. Every sensible part of me knew I should sleep on the couch, or lock myself in the bathroom, or leave. But as I stood there, a faint, sweet scent - the same woody, unnatural smoke that clung to Giovanni - wafted up from the pillows. It washed over me in a wave, dissolving my panic into a warm, heavy drowsiness. My knees felt weak. I told myself I was just tired, but as I climbed into the tiny sliver of remaining space, I knew I was giving in to the room itself.

I didn't want to sleep in the living room, and I certainly wasn't going to spend another night studying at the library.

That was all.

In the morning, I woke to find an arm lying across me.

Simona was pressed against my side.

I sat up and looked around.

For a moment I simply stared at the two women sleeping beside me.

Then I got my robe and slipped out.

The morning followed much the same pattern as the day before.

The bathroom was occupied.

Women came and went.

Alice offered me breakfast.

This time, I accepted.

By the time I reached the front door, I felt almost as though I were leaving a perfectly ordinary apartment.

Then I opened the door.

Anna was standing there, about to come in.

We looked at each other.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi."

I stepped aside.

She walked in.

I went to class.

I didn't even look back.

After my first class, I ran into Francesca.

"Barbara!"

She looked genuinely delighted to see me.

"I got up early and drove here."

"It's great to see you."

I hugged her and tried to smile naturally.

It really was good to see her.

I just wasn't sure it was a good idea for her to see the apartment.

"How's Giovanni?" she asked.

She sounded almost breathless when she said his name.

"Uh... fine, I think."

"He's there now, isn't he?"

"Probably."

"Let's go back."

I didn't usually return to the apartment after my first class.

And I certainly didn't want to take Francesca there.

But she was going to find out eventually.

Besides, she'd driven all the way back because of him.

I felt as though I owed her the truth.

"Okay."

We walked back together.

For most of the way neither of us said anything.

As we approached the apartment complex, Francesca finally spoke.

"Has he been seeing other women?"

"Yes."

She stopped walking for half a second.

"Yes?"

I nodded.

"Oh God."

She looked at me.

"Just one?"

"No."

She stared at me.

I didn't know what else to say.

We continued walking.

When we reached the apartment, I unlocked the door.

Simona was in the living room.

Claudia was sitting nearby.

Alice was in the kitchen.

All three looked up when we entered.

Francesca stopped dead.

"Barbara..."

Her voice was very quiet.

"What is this?"

"I don't really know."

She looked from one woman to another.

"Is this... Giovanni?"

She didn't finish the question.

She didn't need to.

"I've got to talk to him."

She walked straight toward his bedroom.

I watched her open the door and disappear inside.

I wasn't sure whether I should follow her.

Instead, I went into the kitchen.

Alice looked at me.

"Would you like some lunch?"

I almost laughed.

"Yes. Thanks."

She began preparing something.

I sat at the table and listened.

Nothing.

No raised voices.

No argument.

No sound at all came from Giovanni's room.

I found myself wondering what Francesca was saying to him.

Then the front door opened.

Lucia walked in.

She glanced around, walked over to the little table beside the entrance, and picked up one of the black ribbons.

She tied it around her neck.

Then, with complete calm, she began removing her clothes.

I watched. I wasn't sure why.

She seemed completely unconcerned about me. When she had finished, she walked down the hall and opened Giovanni's door. She slipped inside. The door closed.

I looked toward it.

Still nothing.

Francesca hadn't come out.

I waited another few minutes.

Then my curiosity finally got the better of me.

I stood up. I walked down the hallway. Giovanni's door was closed.

I stopped in front of it.

Normally, I would have knocked. But that suddenly seemed almost absurd. Women had been walking through that door all day without knocking.

I put my hand on the handle.

For a moment I hesitated.

Then I opened the door a little and slipped inside.

The room was heavy with the scent of melted wax and crushed lavender, dimmed behind thick, drawn drapes. Three wrought-iron candelabras stood around the bed, their flames leaning steadily toward the center of the room despite the absolute stillness of the air.

Giovanni was on his knees behind Lucia. Her pale back arched under his hands, her breasts swaying with every deep, rhythmic thrust of his hips. Tied tightly across her eyes was a thick black blindfold; her wrists were bound behind her with silk cord.

In front of her knelt Francesca, fully nude, her thighs parted. Her hands were buried in Lucia's hair, pulling the blindfolded girl's face flush against her groin. Lucia's tongue moved in desperate, rhythmic licks, her muffled moans lost against Francesca's skin while Giovanni drove into her from behind.

It was shocking, explicit, and utterly unnatural. Yet there was no chaotic frenzy to it - only a slow, mechanical, dark cadence, like a pagan devotion.

Francesca turned her head toward the door. Her dark eyes met mine, glassy and vacant, yet filled with a terrifying, calm hunger. She pulled Lucia's head back by the hair, exposing the girl's wet, trembling lips, before guiding her back down.

Francesca didn't smile. She simply tilted her head toward the floor beside her - an invitation to kneel, to take the blindfolded girl's face, to yield to the altar they had built.

A sharp, electric heat coiled in my gut, tangled completely with a cold, sickening terror. I wanted to run, but my feet felt rooted to the floorboards. Watching Lucia--helpless, blind, trapped between them and surrendered completely - I felt an awful, breathless envy. It wasn't just sexual arousal; it was a deep, hypnotic pull to give up control, to stop fighting the darkness that had been creeping through the apartment.

I backed out slowly, pulling the door shut until the latch clicked.

I stood in the hallway, chest heaving, staring down at the little table by the door. Resting on the polished wood was a single black ribbon, its surface woven with a delicate, lacy spiderweb pattern.

I picked it up. The satin was cold against my fingers. I thought of Lucia kneeling blind in the candlelight, held between Giovanni and Francesca, stripped of her identity and reduced entirely to an instrument of their pleasure.

My hands trembled as I lifted the ribbon to my throat. I tied it in a snug, neat bow at my neck.

I wasn't just putting on a piece of fabric. I was signing away my own free will - and as the lace pressed against my skin, a strange, heavy tranquility finally washed over the terror, welcoming me into the fold.