The Roommates

My MSN was blinking. I moved some bottles before I could reach the mouse.

Iddy: Hi Nella, are you there? *poke poke*

Iddy: Lora?

I looked closer at the screen. "I WANT OUT," written on it with an eye-liner. My eyeliner. I rubbed it to make sure it'll go out when I'll get to the cleaning. For now, I just moved the MSN window to a cleaner place.

Nella: Hi Iddy.

Nella: It's Nella. At last.

I could almost feel Iddy smile, on the other side of the globe.

Iddy: Glad to know you're back.

Nella: Ahem. Lora "went out", apparently. Can't remember a thing, I messaged, and then came the headache. That crazy feeling that my left eye was about to fall out. I sipped some coffee, it didn�t help.

*** Nella AFK, I typed before rushing to the bathroom.

That didn�t help much either.

Coming back from the shower, I realized what a mess my room was. I was the only clean thing in there. I tiptoed over the sticky floor and around the wreckage of the last night: some underwear, a bunch of yellow flowers stuck in a dry vase, an array of drinks and snacks on the desk and by the bed. Several large cardboard boxes I didn't recall bringing in, and a pack of cigarettes on top of them. At least Lora hadn't been smoking inside. The room was reeking only of spilled beer and sex.

I moved my body, feeling the limbs snap into place, getting ready for hours of cleaning. Dmitri says I'm obsessed with order. Well, he could very well live in a mess like this or, rather, he wouldn't notice his surroundings as long as he was working. I wouldn't be able to concentrate until everything was in its proper place.

Just then I noticed my smart-phone lost in the sheets, a frantic dance of lights signaling a missed appointment. I picked it up.

Muhomor @ Lovebite, 2 PM

It was 14:15. And Muhomor was important.

I called him immediately.

"I'm sorry-sorry-sorry for being late," I said even before he could reply.

"Nechevo," Muhomor said, "Ja ponyimayu."

His Russian caught me off-guard. It's nothing? I understand? Oh, where was Dmitri when I needed him?

"Ja shas budu," I said. I almost could feel the words wriggle in my mouth. "Cherez polchasa...ilyi nyemnoshko...later." I hoped that I got the promise to be there in half an hour right.

Muhomor laughed.

"Take your time, there's no rush," he said. "And don't bother with Russian. Your accent is terrible."

His accent was terrible too, but I didn't argue. Instead, I ended the conversation and braced myself for the mirror. Never got used to these things, never will. The only one I had was hidden in the inner door of the wardrobe. It always takes a minute to re-acquaint myself with my RL avatar, and several more minutes to lick it in shape. My hair was still wet after the shower. And there was just so much I could do about my eyes and the blandness of my skin.

Just when I was finished, I spotted Dmitri behind me.

"Don't mess this up," he said. "I like working for Muhomor."

"Just sit tight and we'll be fine," I said. "Just sit tight."

The headache was receding, and I was able to choose appropriate clothes. I didn't quite remember why the heck we set a meeting at Lovebite, of all places. Considering Muhomor had come here all the way from Russia, probably he just wanted to see everything we could offer. I wondered if he was expecting a guy to show up, somebody who could be a sidekick for a chick-hunt. No, hardly possible. I just called him, and he hadn't sounded surprised to hear a woman's voice.

"What did you tell him, Dmitri? What did you tell Muhomor about me?"

Blank silence, blue-screen eyes.

Don't panic, Nella, I said to myself. Consider: Dmitri is so good that his employer agrees to his roommate signing a contract. Dmitri is so damn good that his employer goes all the way across the ocean to set the legal matters straight. So you'll be fine. Just put siggie on the dotted line, shake hands, smile and express your hope to see him online some time. And hope he gets the hint.

Outside, the air was fresh, the city washed by midnight rain, grass sticking out its small green fingers through grayish soil. I took a deep breath. Steady as I go. The wind cooled my poor splitting head, the people on the streets passed by without looking at me, hidden behind their troubled faces. Just to think that each of them had a gem inside, and maybe even more than one�the whole world of marvel inside of each of them.

And they're all necessary. Like me, a soft astute voice in online therapy rooms, helping people to take control over their lives, even if I myself was failing at that so often. Like Dmitri, who couldn't face others in real world, but fluidly merged with Russian online folks, designing games that could cross the threshold of reality. Even Lora could be necessary somewhere, somehow�if only she knew how. If only she wanted to.

At least so I told myself, opening the oaken door of Lovebite.

I had just unbuttoned my coat when it was gently lifted from my shoulders. Looking back, I saw a tall, slightly crouching man with a bizarre, half-shaved haircut and kind eyes; somebody I hadn't expected to see at Lovebite at all.

"You look lovely," he said with the familiar accent. "I booked a table for us."

I winced, wondering whether this was an implied rebuke. But the red rose on the table and the champagne didn't seem like a rebuke at all. I guessed Russians have a very nice perception of how business is conducted.

"I apologize for being so late," I said after we ordered.

"It's okay," Muhomor said. "You looked so exhausted yesterday I was getting worried."

"Yesterday." For the love of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Yesterday?

"Izvinyi, ya imel v vidu..." he reached out for my hand and switched to English, "I meant you looked beautiful, but very tired at the end. It was a long night, so don't be hard on yourself, Lora."

"I'm not," I said, my lips freezing. Lora.

"I hope you aren't mad," Muhomor said.

I forced a grin.

"No."

Nella: This is an identity theft, for Chrissakes. I typed as soon as I got home.

Iddy: Calm down. What happened?

Iddy: I don't think it's a good idea. Even if it's possible.

I felt my fists tighten. Yea, right, not a good idea, but what was a good idea, in his opinion? Just putting up with everything, until the bomb stops ticking and goes off?

The phone rang, and I picked it up without looking at the caller name. A bland "Yes", a crazy idea that it's Lora, suddenly started a life of her own. Instead, it was Muhomor. He sounded confused, and I didn't blame him.

"Listen, I'm sorry for intruding," he said. "My time is rather short, and there's a thing I promised Dmitri."

"Go ahead, then," I said, tired as a dog. Dizziness swept over me, a black cloud of flies. Probably I should start using the pills that were lying at the furthest corner of my drawer, the pills that made me sick and dumb and depressed. Smearing out those moments of darkness throughout my life instead of letting them gather in big greasy lumps I couldn't swallow and couldn't spit.

"Come over and let's get through with it," I heard myself saying. I had missed what he said in the end but hoped I got the right response.

"It's the papers, right, Dmitri?" I asked. "I forgot to sign them."

"No." He was reluctant, withdrawn.

"Please don't start this guessing game again," I said. "It's been a harsh time for all of us."

He was silent.

"Dmitri. I need your help."

More silence.

"Did I offend you somehow?" I asked.

"No."

"Is it about Lora?"

"Yes," he said.

"Okay, why? She messed with you just as much as she messed with me, maybe even more."

There was a long pause, but a pregnant one. I waited.

"We are all alike," Dmitri finally said. "Without each other we are lost. For a long time, you have taken care of things, but now...you're cracking up."

I sat there, staring at my hands, feeling his warm presence at my shoulder.

"This isn't fair. Why doesn't Lora at least talk to us?" A whiny tone crept in my voice.

"She doesn't talk to you because she knows you don't like her. She's afraid of you."

"Wait, you mean she talks to you?"

"Sorta, yes."

"You never told this to me."

"You wouldn't like it."

"Damn sure I don't. I trusted you, Dmitri."

"You thought that you were the one in control," he said softly.

Only because they wanted me to take care of things. Only because they asked me to help.

"Don't cry," he said. "Don't cry. The doorbell's ringing."

I buzzed Muhomor in. Again, I was the one who had to deal with everything.

Muhomor smelled of grass and wool, and he brought a basket of bright red tangerines. He was so real, so close, that it made me cry again. He carefully put the basket on the floor and hugged me. My head barely reached his chest, and my ear pressed against his beating heart.

"I know this probably means nothing to you," Muhomor said, "but you are the most amazing woman I have ever met."

"They say that Russia is full of remarkable women," I said and wiped my face against his sweater.

"Tell them they're fools," he said.

We sat in the kitchen, peeling tangerines, talking. He called me Nella as I insisted. That playful sparkle in his eyes suggested that he thought it was all a puzzle he had to solve, a mosaic of pieces that would eventually fall together, preferably in bed.

I didn't tell him that most of the pieces were lost.

"So, about Mitya," Muhomor said.

"Mitya?"

"Dmitriy. Oh, I guess it's Dmitri for you."

I grinned. "One guy, many names."

"You are his closest friend."

"We're roommates. We have to be friends," I said. A half-truth, but that would have to do.

"Okay." He nibbled at a tangerine for a while, then lifted his head. "He isn't just my employee. He's like a friend. One of the best guys I've ever known."

I nodded. I knew Dmitri. He was the best of us three.

"So I was thinking long and hard about this. And today, when you said that Dmitri needed help..."

"I said that?" I blinked, wondering what else I had been saying.

"Nella," he took my hand in his enormous palm. His skin was warm and slightly rough. "I have to ask you a question."

"Shoot."

"Is Dmitri autistic?"

"What?"

"I know some people like him. I, in fact, work with them every day."

"Oh." I was quite well-versed in disorders myself, so I could actually imagine a high autist working for a gaming company, if the manager was willing to provide the right environment.

"Is he?"

"Possibly...slightly," I said.

"I have just the right thing for him then," Muhomor said. "Come. I'll have to teach you to operate it, since he wouldn't let me near. Now where are the boxes we brought in yesterday?"

I followed him to the room. He headed straight to the boxes in the corner and opened them one by one.

There was a mattress that he unrolled on the bed and plugged in the power.

"This is a special design for high-end hospitals," Muhomor explained. "With built-in vibration and ventilation power, to prevent sores even after long sleep. He must be naked, and covered with this blanket. That way, you won't even have to roll him over."

A large stand with a sophisticated infusion pump and a tube stretching to the bathroom.

"This is the intravenous feed. And some basic health monitors. They are self-adjusting, so, in fact, Mitya won't even need you to be here. We have several virals working independently for months now."

"Virals?"

"I'll get to that," Muhomor said.

He produced a light helmet that resembled a rigid, bandage with soft padding.

"This is where it gets sci-fi. Our guys created this for gaming, but it turned out to be too complicated for casual usage. Basically, it hooks your brain to the computer."

"Wait, wait. Don't tell me this is..."

"It's what the rumors call Russian Matrix," Muhomor laughed softly. "Not that scary, though. It just makes your experience more straightforward. Our virals don't get transferred to the internet or anything like that. Basically, what it does is..." he paused to search for the right words, "it allows you to project whatever would be on your screen right in your brain, without strain to the eyes. And it allows you to operate your computer without typing or clicking your mouse. You never lose your self-awareness. It's whatever you do usually, only without the mediation of your body. Just your brain and the computer."

"And what happens if the computer crashes?"

"Well, the viral just gets out of the trance. It has happened several times over the years. They say that it's very disturbing, but nothing that a person can't handle."

"I see," I said.

"It is very simple," Muhomor said, "but you won't believe what my autists achieve with this. Imagine, after the adjustment period, working as fast as you think. No bodily distractions, except for sleep. No need to have anybody nearby, if they're uncomfortable with people. In a while, even sleep changes."

"For how long can one stay like this?" I asked.

"The estimate is one year. Long enough to make adjusting worthwhile, but with no permanent damage to the body."

"And Dmitri was determined to do this."

"Nu, da. He talked about going viral for quite a while. And, from what I know, I think he is a perfect candidate."

I felt my fingers go numb. Dmitri. You didn't even tell me.

"Oh, and there's the catheter too. You'll have to adjust it as well," Muhomor added.

"Swell," I said.

Muhomor shifted uneasily.

"I would do it myself," he said, "but he said that he needed you and only you. So I'll just guide you through the process, so you can repeat it on him. One cannot do this alone, not for the first time."

"This is all wrong," I said.

"You're shaking," Muhomor said and held me close. "Don't. It's his choice."

"You don't get it. Dmitri is not just my roommate."

"Oh crap," Muhomor whispered. I felt his arm go tense. "I didn't know...I'm sorry."

He let me go carefully, as if I had suddenly grown fragile. "Lora...Nella. If I knew...I shouldnt've gotten involved with you. I thought you were just sharing an apartment."

"No. No. We're not lovers," I said. "We are indeed sharing space, in a way...Dmitri lives in my body."

"I lost you."

"He is in me. As well as Lora is," I said. "It's called a dissociative identity disorder."

"A what?"

"The old term is multiple identities. Split personality. Alter ego gone wild. I have been trying to cure it, but...it just doesn't work as it was intended to. Not with the internet, when you have multiple personalities by default."

"Because online, you can be anybody."

"Yes. I have a therapy session, and then I go back home, and there they go again. Nella and Dmitri, and even Lora. The treatment....it's for roommates. On the internet we don't have to be bound."

"And you really are..."

"Honestly? I don't know. In real life, I'm Nella. Nella can deal with the mundane things without forgetting them, without going on a drug spree and without cutting her hands just because she had to talk to the shop-assistant. Online...online, it's all of us. Even Lora, I guess."

"Lora. Was she the one I met yesterday?"

"Yes," I said. "I'm sorry. I lost control." I bit my lip, imagining what things she must have been doing with my body. With him.

"She's quite a woman." I felt a smile in Muhomor's voice. "So wild. The things she told me all about her Second Life account..."

"I didn't even know she had one," I said.

"There is something about her..."

"There is something about her which makes her unable to tend for herself for a single day," I said. "If you hadn't been there, she would have awakened in the gutter, doped and raped, without a clue how she got there. If she had awakened at all."

"She said that she has her big sister who takes care of her," Muhomor said.

I felt a pang of guilt.

"She did?"

"Yea. And she cried, she said that her sister cleans up her messes and pays her bills, but never talks to her."

"True enough," I whispered. "True enough."

I closed my eyes and tried to reach her. Deep in the cracked soil of my mind, she was bubbling and brewing, hot and wild and unpredictable. Lora.

Get on with it, bitch, came her muffled voice through all the layers of rejection and hate. I imagined Lora screaming in a locked basement, and still her voice wasn't more than a whisper.

Why? I asked. Why would you need it?

Then, an image� \a shackled beast, tied to my human body, tied to my oh-so-perfect self, tied to all the obligations and restrictions of real world, when the only reality she could survive would be one where she could dance half-naked in a rain-forest, soar high above stormy sea, pierced by lightning, shaken by thunder, free� \and never with me.

I agreed.

I was lying on the mattress, naked, wincing as Muhomor inserted the catheter in my bladder as gently as he could. I felt the soft blanket covering me, and the cool liquid flowing in my veins. I felt Muhomor lean over me.

"Goodbye, Dmitri," he softly said. "Goodnight, Nella."

And then he kissed me, a kiss of sleep. There I went, a Snow-white, finally unchoked.

After the blackness, after the dizziness, the headache receding, I saw my MSN blinking.

It was Iddy.

Iddy: Are you there, Nella?

Iddy: Poke me when you're on.

Ieva Melgalve is a Latvian writer currently writing in English. Her short story, The Siren's Song, recently appeared in A Cappella Zoo magazine.