Dirty for a Day

"What's wrong?" Adam asked.

"I wish I was special to someone."

"Well, I think you're special, and all my friends think you're special."

"You mean, the ones I just had sex with?"

"Yeah. Especially Laura."

"Who cares about Laura. I hate Laura." And then I started crying again.

The following morning, I felt dirty, not because I participated in an orgy, but because I let Adam see that I was an emotional freak.

"I realize I'm not your girlfriend, so I don't know why I reacted that way."

"It's okay. Don't worry about it. You were just drunk."

"Yeah," I said, relieved that he had given me absolution. And then I went and fucked it all up.

"Have you guys had an orgy before?"

"Yeah," he said. "A few times."

I knew it!

"Except for Laura."

Laura. My blood suddenly caught fire. "That's surprising. She seems like such a slut." I knew it was a low blow, but that's what happens when all you see is red.

"She is, actually," he said stoically. "I've heard stories."

"But you've never been with her before?"

"Well, I just met her last night."

"Speaking of sluts," I said, then stormed out.

I came back minutes later and apologized and then slept while he went out for breakfast with them. When I awoke, we barely spoke, except for one brief conversation wherein he listed all the things he thought were unattractive about Laura. I agreed with all these things but wondered how he was able to have sex with her twice in one night. I also wondered why it affected me so adversely. Had Hannah ever been affected in this way? I doubted it.

The dirty feeling came back as I visualized Adam and Laura together. Again, tears prickled my eyes. He left the room, leaving me to stew in my own filth. I spent the rest of the day skidding in and out of consciousness, wanting to annihilate the memory, if only in little spurts; wanting to free myself from my emotional state.

The next day was a bullshit day (possibly the worst day of my life), which involved being at the fair with Adam and Mary Louise Parker, the three of us dressed up like cowboys and eating hot dogs. He doted on her while she posed for a picture with her winning whatever-the-fuck-it-was that she had baked. I felt like a third wheel, which basically made me want to kill myself, but because that "thing" about him that I never noticed before was now obvious, I didn't. No reason to end your life over a sleazy motherfucker.

The remaining days were uneventful and sexless. I lied in bed with food poisoning from the hot dog, and he worked on his art, filtering paint through tiny, drilled holes, into the shape of a deer. It was clear neither of us were interested anymore. Nevertheless, he burned me a copy of the orgy pictures, upon my request. I wanted something to remind me of my humility.

By the time I was at the terminal, I was ecstatic to be getting away from Adam, the sleazy motherfucker, and he looked equally ecstatic to be getting away from me, the emotional freak. We said our goodbyes and patted each other on the back. When I got home, I checked out the pictures. I was pissed to discover that there were hardly any of me; mostly, they were of Laura, the slut.