The Two Girls in the Room Across the Hall in Mallorca

A couple of years ago I met Sienna online. She was half English, half Spanish, and she lived in Mallorca. We had met in person only once, when she came to my city to visit a mutual friend. She was one of the most beautiful women I had ever been with: short, five foot five, porcelain skin, dark brown hair with lighter ends, and pale blue eyes so light they almost looked gray.

What I liked most about her, though, was the tattoo on her right forearm: a weeping willow with violet leaves that stood out against her white skin like a signature. For months we talked by text and video calls. She described Mallorca to me, the hidden coves, the terraces with salt in the air, and she invited me without quite inviting me, with those phrases that stop halfway between courtesy and promise.

I didn’t have the money to cross the ocean. I didn’t have the courage either. Until I won a short story contest. The prize included publication of my work and a decent advance. I didn’t think twice: I got my passport, bought a ticket, and chose June, because Sienna had told me it was the best month for the beaches.

I would go for two weeks, with the vague hope that something would break between us in the good sense. I’m five foot nine, I have brown hair, I don’t work out too much, but I play drums in a metal band and that had shaped my arms and back. My only flaw, according to me, was the glasses that covered my eyes. Even so, I considered myself presentable.

I wrote to her from Palma airport, without warning her first. I wanted to surprise her.

“I’m so sorry,” she told me on the other end of the phone, her voice cracking. “I’m in Seville. I came to visit my grandparents. If you’d told me, I would’ve put it off. I’m coming back on Friday.”

“Don’t worry,” I answered, trying not to let the disappointment show. “I’m staying for two weeks. We’ll see each other when you get back.”

I hung up with a metallic taste in my mouth. It wasn’t all lost, I told myself. It was a beautiful island, and I had days ahead of me to lose myself in it.

I took a taxi to the Airbnb I’d booked. I couldn’t afford a hotel, so I’d gotten a pretty cheap shared house with a pool. The only weird thing: the app said the tenants were men, and I, despite not being picky, preferred to enter known territory.

I knocked on the door. A girl with Asian features opened it for me, tall, with tan skin and straight black hair falling to the middle of her back. She was wearing a gray crop top and a floral skirt. You could tell she trained.

“You must be Diego,” she said in Spanish, with a good accent but not quite a natural one.

“Yes. Sorry, I think there’s been a mistake. The app said I was going to be sharing with men. Are you one of their girlfriends?”

“My boyfriend Étienne also rented the house. My name is Mei.”

She held out her hand and I looked at her, confused.

“I’m Vietnamese and French,” she added, reading my face.

“Ah, sorry,” I said, shaking her hand.

“Come in. Things changed at the last minute.”

The porch opened onto a huge living room. There were three more women on the sofa. I froze in the doorway.

“Girls,” Mei announced, “the other tenant’s here.”

“I thought…”

“Yeah, I know,” Mei said, laughing. “Étienne was going to come with his friends, but in the end they canceled. We freed up the rooms and they rented them.”

Mei introduced them one by one.

“Hailey,” she said, pointing at a blonde in a bikini and denim shorts.

“Hi. Nice to meet you,” she greeted me in English. She looked to be about twenty-six. Her smile lit up her whole face.

“I speak English too,” I told her, and I saw her relax.

“Daphne, from Greece.”

The redhead stood up to shake my hand. Her hair was a natural fire color, her shoulders freckled, her skin so white it made the red stand out like paint. She looked like the youngest in the group, I guessed.

“And Charlie. English.”

“Welcome,” she said, with a strong accent.

Charlie had skin a little more tanned than the others, chin-length hair, and brutal blue eyes, almost as light as Sienna’s. Something about the way she looked at me — without smiling, without looking away — made me uncomfortable for a second.

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” I said. “If you’re uncomfortable with me being here, I can find somewhere else.”

“Not at all,” Daphne cut in with her marked accent. “If Mei’s boyfriend is coming, then we’re even. Don’t worry.”

“We can go out for a drink later,” Mei added.

“For sure,” Hailey smiled.

I chose the room farthest from the main hallway. I closed the door, dropped my backpack, and sat on the bed. Jet lag hit me like a hammer and I fell asleep fully clothed.

***

When I opened my eyes, it was already pitch dark. I went out into the hallway. Through the glass I could see Hailey and Daphne in the pool, laughing. In the kitchen, Charlie was boiling water for tea. She was wearing an oversized T-shirt and, clearly, no bra. The fabric fell exactly where it shouldn’t, outlining the curve of one breast.

Her skin was smooth, her stomach defined, her legs incredibly long. She looked like a dancer or a gymnast.

“Did you sleep well?” she said, and it clicked in my head: I had been staring at her without realizing it.

“Twelve hours of flying left me wrecked. I’m going to take a bath.”

“There are two bathrooms. The one at the back has a tub, and the owners left bath salts. In case that interests you.”

“Thanks.”

“Welcome to Mallorca,” she said, and winked at me.

I went to my room to get a towel. I sent Sienna a message while walking to the back bathroom: I was settled in, I was waiting for her. That was when I heard something that made me stop.

A low moan. A woman. I stood still in the middle of the hallway, not knowing what to do. I thought it must be Mei with her boyfriend, who had apparently arrived. I moved a little closer to the bathroom and the moan became clearer. It was coming from inside. I put my hand on the knob. The moan cut off abruptly.

“But you said you were coming today!” I heard, the voice already strained with frustration. “I’ve been waiting for you since this morning. I was ready. That’s not enough for me! You know what? I’ll call you later.”

The door opened and Mei almost ran into me. She jumped back.

“Sorry,” I said, stepping away. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Did you hear me?” she asked, and stood there looking me up and down. I saw her bite her lower lip for a second.

“I’m sorry. I thought…”

“No, it’s fine. It was Étienne. He won’t be here for two more days. A work emergency.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah. It’s just that…”

She didn’t finish the sentence. She looked at me again. And that gesture again.

“Just that what?”

“Nothing. Enjoy,” and she left the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

I stood there for a second, taking in what had just happened. Then I filled the tub, poured in the salts, and sank in. The heat and the exhaustion knocked me out again. I fell asleep right there.

***

When I opened my eyes again, the water was lukewarm and the house was absolutely silent. I dried off, put on shorts and a T-shirt, and went to the kitchen for something to eat. The oven clock said one in the morning. All the lights were off. Nothing could be heard.

I poured myself a bowl of cereal and walked back to my room. To get there I had to cross the long hallway at the back. Halfway across I stopped: the door to the second room on the left was ajar, and through the crack a faint yellow light escaped, along with two women’s voices, laughing in whispers.

“Don’t be like that.”

“No! They’ll hear us.”

I should have kept walking. I didn’t. I leaned my shoulder against the wall on the opposite side, set the bowl on the floor, and moved close enough to the crack to see.

Charlie was kneeling on the bed, leaning forward, trying to kiss Daphne. The redhead kept dodging her mouth with a small laugh, biting her lip. They were both wearing long socks and crop tops. Charlie’s was gray, Daphne’s orange. The light came from a table lamp covered with fabric.

“Charlie, no,” Daphne said, laughing. “What if someone comes to look?”

“If they come… let them look,” Charlie answered. And the redhead, instead of pulling away, offered her mouth.

The kiss turned slow, deep, with Charlie’s tongue clearly entering Daphne’s mouth. The redhead grabbed the back of her neck, pulled her closer, and lay back, letting her end up on top. I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

Charlie worked her way down Daphne’s neck with her mouth open. The orange top rode up a little and exposed the pale side of her stomach. The English girl kept going down her ribs, her waist, until she reached the socks. She bit one thigh. Daphne put two fingers in her mouth and started sucking them, eyes closed.

Charlie slowly pulled down her socks, set them aside on the bed, and went back up, kissing her legs until she reached the edge of the T-shirt. She took the fabric between her teeth and started lifting it. Daphne tried to pull it back down, playfully, chuckling under her breath.

“Come here,” Charlie said, and sat her up on the bed. She kissed her while massaging her breasts over the fabric until she finally tore the shirt off in one yank.

Daphne’s breasts were left bare, round, with pink nipples standing up. Charlie asked her to turn around and she obeyed. She swept the red hair to one side and started kissing the back of her neck, her shoulder, while wrapping one arm around her body. The redhead closed her eyes, let her head fall back, and from her mouth began to come a low, controlled, contained moan.

Charlie’s hand slid down Daphne’s stomach and went between her legs. I didn’t see exactly what she did with her fingers, but I saw the redhead’s hips moving to the rhythm of that hand, I saw her arch her back, saw her drive her nails into Charlie’s thigh. The English girl was talking to her ear, slowly.

“Do you like it, love?”

Daphne nodded, biting her lip. Charlie pulled her fingers out and brought them to her mouth. The redhead opened her eyes and sucked them with a slowness that made me clench my jaw.

Then Charlie pushed her down onto her back, spread her legs, and went down. I saw her head moving between Daphne’s thighs, saw the redhead cover her mouth with her hand so she wouldn’t scream. I also saw, on the bed, Charlie’s socks with a wet stain marking the crotch; her free hand went there and started touching herself while she ate Daphne out with the other. Her fingers moved in small, fast circles, as if she were in a hurry.

“Come here,” Daphne said at some point, and grabbed her face to pull her up to her level. They kissed with the other’s mouth still wet. Daphne whispered something in her ear. Charlie nodded, climbed onto her body, and the redhead pulled down her socks.

Charlie braced herself against the headboard wall with both hands. Daphne’s head was below, between her legs, licking her from underneath. I saw the tongue going up and down. Charlie grabbed Daphne’s thighs with one hand to open her wider and, without letting go of her, started masturbating herself with the other while the redhead gave her oral.

Then Daphne, underneath, bent her knees and started touching herself too. The two of them were masturbating at the same time, one on top of the other, with Daphne’s tongue still on Charlie’s sex. The English girl pressed her face against the wall, opened her mouth in a perfect O, and her moans came out louder now, less controlled.

I wasn’t breathing. I didn’t realize I wasn’t breathing.

At some point they shifted without separating their mouths from each other’s bodies. Charlie turned, ended up with her back to the wall, and suddenly they were sixty-nineing, their heads buried between the other’s thighs, their fingers tangled. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. The two of them were moving in a strange synchronization, with that silent concentration people get when they already know the other person’s body well.

And then Charlie looked up.

She stared straight at me.

My breath caught. I thought about running. I didn’t run.

Charlie didn’t pull her face away from Daphne’s sex. She kept licking her, slowly, without taking her eyes off me. Then she pulled her mouth away, slipped two fingers into Daphne, and the redhead arched. The English girl kept looking at me. I was the spectator and she was the actress. More than that: she was using me, her audience, to turn herself on.

Her face suddenly broke into a spasm. She turned her head, moved her hips with a new speed against Daphne’s mouth, and let out a long, open moan that hit me like a slap. She came looking at me.

When the orgasm passed, Charlie let herself fall beside the redhead. They caressed each other in silence, slowly, until they stopped moving. The lights no longer mattered to me. I picked up the bowl from the floor, went back to my room, and closed the door.

I had come too, inside my shorts, without touching myself. There was a warm stain cooling down.

I lay down with my heart racing. Had I been spying on them? Yes. Was it wrong? Probably. But that look Charlie gave me at the end — that look that wasn’t reproach, but something else — told me she already knew I was there. Maybe from the very beginning.

I looked at the time. Four in the morning. Two hours. They had lasted two hours. No wonder they were now sleeping.

I closed my eyes. The last thing I thought, before sinking into sleep, was that this trip, even without Sienna, might end up being the best trip of my life.