Uncomfort Zone
It's dark and I'm sitting by myself in the back of an SUV. I pull my underwear and pants back on that have been down by my knees. I slide my shoes on, grab my rain jacket and search desperately for my fags in my pocketbook.
My mind is on pause and I can't seem to figure out what just happened.
Not sex. There was no sex.
I'm glad to check that off of my list.
**
The next morning I wake up hungover and searching for some comfortable clothes. I've misplaced my brain and refuse to look at myself in the bathroom mirror.
When I arrive at work I stare at my feet and make sure not to look anybody in the eyes.
Do they know? Probably. No, they can't know. It never happened.
I sit at my desk and try to go on with the day as normal. I check my voicemails.
T: "Hey, Sam. It's T. I'm just calling to see if you made it in okay. Are you okay? You know, you should really talk to H. You guys have to work together so it'll make things easier if you talk it out. Give me a call, okay?"
I don't have to talk about it. I can avoid it and remain in denial.
I search through my snacks to see if I have anything that is bread or bread-like. My stomach is churning and the water that I have doesn't seem to be helping me out fast enough. I flash back to the night before.
**
H: "You know, I'm the luckiest guy, sitting back here with the two most beautiful women on our contract."
"Uh huh. With the lowest self-esteem," I think to myself.
It's dark and I can barely feel the hands that are touching me. I'm so drunk that I can't feel my legs. How many drinks did I have? One, two, seven? Quite a lot I know that.
H: "What can I do to make you feel better?"
Is he talking to me? I don't remember saying that I felt bad.
A little kiss on the forehead, cheek and then mouth. That's supposed to make me feel better? The hands continue to move on my skin. I can feel the palm of his hands. They're warm. I'm cold. I'm so cold.
In the moment I don't care about what's going on. He keeps talking and I lay there like a vegetable. There's nothing emotional about it, I feel nothing. All I can make out are dark figures and the only thing that catches my eye is the glint of light that reflects off of his ring that has been wrapped around his ring finger the whole time.
**
After work I find myself at Tower, my new home away from home. I buy some CDs and then sit in my car listening to the soothing sounds of Hotel Lights. There's an overcast sky and the clouds appear to be teasing us. Will it rain? Maybe, maybe not.
I can't help the quick flashes from the night before that randomly pop up in my head. It doesn't matter how loud I turn up my music, how many cigarettes I smoke, or how hard I scrub myself with anti-bacterial soap in the shower, it's still there. I squeeze both sides of my head with my hands and think if I squeeze hard enough they'll be pushed out of my head through my ears.
My only way of keeping some kind of control over it is falling asleep. I'm so tired from the late night and the drinking. I fall asleep with the last words that T said to me as she dropped me off at my car that was patiently waiting for me in the parking lot.
"Don't worry about it, Sam. It never happened."
If it never happened, then why am I carrying it around with me everywhere that I go?