Mess After You

I should have known better. If only I had paid attention to the warning signs, or asked myself what I was really getting out of these nights. Looking back, I wish I had walked out sooner, or stopped pretending I was fine with the way things were. Maybe if I had trusted my instincts, I wouldn't be standing here with this awful feeling churning through me. It's a muddy mix of shame and regret that sits low in my stomach, making it hard to breathe. I feel like I wasted something real and important, and all I'm left with is this hollow ache. There's a longing I can't shake, not just for the past, but for some sense of peace that I keep reaching for and missing. I keep wondering if I lost something essential, or if I ever had it in the first place.

There was trash everywhere. All I could smell was rancid beer and cheap vodka. I didn't remember whether I'd had fun last night, but this mess wasn't worth it. I could see that much from the doorway, half asleep.

The sun was getting higher, and it would be hot in an hour. This would all be worse if I put it off, so I got a bag and began to pick trash off of the floor. The black plastic crackled in my hands as I opened it and bent down, fingers sticking where beer had dried in patches on the tile. Something sharp grazed my palm and I winced, feeling grit work its way under my fingernail as I fished up broken pretzel pieces. The cans were slick with condensation and half-dried liquor, some flattened, others heavy with stale swill that sloshed as I dropped them into the bag.

My footsteps stuck to the ground, peeling up with a faint squelch every time I moved. The bag grew heavier as I worked my way around the room, and the cheap plastic handles bit into my fingers. Each can and crumpled cup I picked up just reminded me how alone I really was here, like I was cleaning up someone else’s mess in a place where everyone had already forgotten me. Nobody stayed or volunteered to help. The apartment felt empty in a way that made my chest ache, but at the same time, I felt strangely numb, just drifting through the motions. There was no booze in it. No buzz in the agreement, and my so-called friends had no real interest in it.

Jessica. He thought of her as he picked up. She really only made an appearance because she had “so much to do.” Six months ago, she and I were still together, and at the time, I had no idea that she was also beginning to see Steve. Now, for the past four months, she has officially been Steve’s girlfriend. In the brief period between us and her relationship with Steve, she was single for only about two weeks—perhaps the only time in her life she was truly unattached. We spent about four years living together.

I met her at a party, wasted beyond belief. That had set the tone for things between us. It became a college fling, which we both grew out of. It had also proved to be largely physical. The conversation was shallow. However, as soon as we touched, it was suddenly very real and passionate. No matter how long it had been, who or what had elapsed between us, we would both be back on a certain frequency only we shared.

For a few years, we were only friends. I never trusted her. On some level, what we shared was animal, and I saw her as animal. I saw her as stupid, but that was really just a way for me to protect myself. It was easier to look down on her than to admit I was scared of being vulnerable, or that I didn’t know what to do with someone who actually wanted to know me. It wasn’t her intellect I was rejecting; it was my own fear of being truly seen. I used to joke about never letting anyone close, but with Jessica it was more than just a joke.

There are moments I return to: her asking me, quietly, about my childhood and me brushing her off with some sarcastic story; the time I watched her face fall when I made fun of something she cared about, just to deflect attention away from my own insecurities. Sometimes I remember sitting with her late at night, feeling the urge to tell her something real about my family and catching myself just before the words came out, swallowing them because I couldn't handle my own softness. I was the one who turned every conversation away from anything real, every time steering it back to flirting or dick jokes. Maybe I was afraid that, if I let her see too much, she would find me lacking. I decided that it ultimately didn’t matter how intelligent somebody was as a sexual partner. At least within the normal range, what’s a few IQ points between lovers?

Things progressed. I couldn’t really sleep until I had seen her. I couldn’t relax if I weren’t around her enough. My stomach dropped and tugged at the scent of her perfume one day when she was not there, and I knew that she had me bad, and I was really screwed at that point. It became a relationship in name, which really it had been all along in function.

I am in agony at the thought of being between those thighs in a few hours. I ran into her at the grocery store, and she said it. She wasn’t really very happy or loyal to Steve. So this put me in a position that I like to be in with women, but not her. With most others, there is a distance I can keep, just enough to keep things simple or purely physical. But with Jessica, it’s always more complicated. I care about her, even when I try not to.

The fact that I want her is tangled up with guilt, and the feeling that I am betraying something real we once had, and maybe betraying myself too. It isn’t just about hurting her, or even Steve. Every time I go back to her, I lose a little more of my own self-respect. I wonder if I am breaking the last fragile thread of hope I have for becoming someone better—someone who could actually hold onto real connection instead of running from it. It hurts that she can move on so quickly, or act like none of it meant anything. I keep thinking I should just walk away, but I keep being pulled back in, wanting something I know will only leave me feeling emptier.

I wasn’t over how easy it was to live with her, be with her, make love to her — every day. I can’t stand waking up alone anymore, but I said yes anyway. I did all my laundry, especially my sheets. I will order some Chinese takeout and do what I do as soon as she calls after she goes shopping with her friend. Steve thinks she is staying for a while. I was wishing she were staying all night, but that would be worse. So much worse.

The phone started ringing. He saw her name and got the strangest feeling. “Hello,” he said.

“Hi, Derek, what’s up, baby? I miss you, and that dick!” said Jessica.

“I miss you, too, baby. I want you so fucking bad. How long can you stay?”

“Not long; I have work in the morning. It’s really the only time I can get away all week. You know I want you too, so bad. I want you inside me, Derek; I want to fuck so bad.”

“How long until you get here?”

“Maybe twenty minutes. I’m going to call my mom while I’m on the way. Should I just sneak in?”

“Mmmm yeah baby, come right to daddy.”

She walked out of work to the hot, humid parking lot. It was around nine already. We had stayed late to do my hair at work, and now I had pink tips for Derek. Her skin tingled, and she had goose pimples even though it was well above 80 degrees. What was she thinking, leaving Derek for Steve? She should have stayed and tried harder. Now, she was trying the wrong way, but she didn’t care. The more she had of Steve, the more she missed Derek’s touch.

She thought of her mother and money. Was that her motivation? Financial security. Supposed peace of mind that never really comes. Maybe she had just been tired of things. The sex just wasn’t the same. She felt it in her bones with Derek. It was spiritual, but she couldn’t explain how or why.