Sarah Mlynowski - Monkey Business

How did I manage to turn a potential disaster into phone sex, eh? I am a superhero. “Shower and then lunch?”

“Can we shower together?”

She loves showering together. I don’t. I get cold while I’m waiting for her to rinse out the conditioner.

“I only have one pair of flip-flops,” I say.

She swats me lightly with my one clean towel, grabs the flip-flops and heads to the bathroom.

Five minutes later there’s a knock on the door.

Kimmy. Oh, man. This is not a good plan.

“Hi,” she says. “Your girlfriend was preoccupied so I thought I’d say hi.”

“Hi. All good?” I scan down the hallway to make sure Sharon isn’t on her way back. I don’t want to engage her in a conversation. I don’t want Sharon to even see her here. She’ll be able to tell if she sees us together. I know she will.

“I’m okay.” She tries to make eye contact but I’m not letting her. I can’t flirt with her when Sharon’s here. Just can’t. I feel bad for Sharon. Hell, I feel bad for Kimmy, too.

She touches my arm. Is she crazy? I shake her off.

“This isn’t a good time,” I say, lowering my voice. “Can we talk later?”

She steps back like I slapped her. Her eyes fill with tears, and she turns and starts walking away. Oh, man.

“Wait, Kimmy, don’t be mad,” I say to the back of her head. I hate what I’m doing. To them both.

She shrugs without turning around.

“Can’t we talk about this tomorrow?”

She doesn’t answer and continues walking.

I’m about to go after her, when Sharon appears at the other end of the hall, in her towel.

Shit. Did she hear?

Kimmy raises her arm and gives me the finger.

Oh, man. Did Sharon see that?

I guess not. Sharon waves at me, and continues her journey down the hall. “My feet just don’t feel clean when I wear flip-flops,” she says, laughing.

I turn off the shower water and try to turn off my brain, as well. That was so close. I can’t believe how near I came to blowing everything.

I wrap my towel around my waist and peer out of the stall. Not in the mood for another Kimmy run-in. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.

I hurry back to my room and unlock the door. My stomach grumbles. “Are you starving, too?” I ask Sharon. Sharon is sitting on the bed, wearing just a bra and underwear, staring at something in her hand.

She’s staring at a condom wrapper.

Oh, man. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Sharon and I don’t use condoms.

An icy chill travels down my body.

She looks up at me, her face pale, her lips quivering. “My hair gel rolled under the bed. And look what I found.”

“Sharon, I…”

She tries to throw it at me, but it falls pathetically to the floor. Her hand starts to shake. “Are you cheating on me?” she squeaks.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

I open my mouth, close it, then say, “Yes.”

I lean against the door for balance, then slide down to the floor. “I’m sorry…I…” My voice trails off. Shit, shit, shit. “I’ll stop.”

“Who is she?” she asks, her voice rising.

“Kimmy.”

She flings herself off the bed, picks up the wrapper and waves it in the air. “Kimmy, the one who called you New Year’s Eve?”

I nod, my throat too tight to speak. “I’ll stop,” I breathe out again.

“You’ll stop?” She holds her stomach, and I wonder if she’s going to be sick. “You’ll stop?” she repeats, screeching. “Well, thank you, I so appreciate that, you slime bucket. How often, Russ? How many times did you do it? How many times has this fucking happened?”

Oh, man. “A few,” I whisper meekly.

“A few with Kimmy? Or a few women?” Her eyes look wild, and her hands are waving all over the room.

“Just Kimmy,” I croak. I don’t know if just Kimmy is better or worse.

“I can’t believe you could sleep with me all weekend, even though you’ve been sleeping with someone else.” She covers her mouth and groans. “We don’t even use condoms, you jackass, and you know why? Because I fucking trusted you!”

I’m crumpled on the floor, feeling sick to my stomach. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But you don’t have to worry. Kimmy and I always used condoms, I swear.”

Her hands are shaking. “Yeah? Did you use condoms when she gave you head? I’ve taught Sex Ed. If you get something from that slut, so help me, I’m going to kill you, do you understand?”

Bile rises in my throat. “I love you,” I say, because I mean it and because I don’t know what else to say.

She kicks me in the thigh. Holy shit. She’s never kicked anyone in her entire life.

She kicks me again. Ouch. Good thing she’s not wearing shoes. “Fuck you!” she screams.

“I love you,” I repeat desperately.

She starts getting into her jeans. “Save it. If you loved me, you wouldn’t have slept with someone else. End of fucking story.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m so sorry. I love you.”

“Too fucking bad.” She opens her suitcase and throws her hair dryer inside.

I have to stop her. “Don’t leave,” I say, sadness welling in my throat. What do I do? I don’t know what to do. I jump up and try to hug her.

She pushes me away and sobs, tears running freely down her cheeks as she finishes getting dressed. “I thought I was going to marry you.” She looks up at me, and her wet eyes look beautiful.

I gently touch her arm. I want to tell her it didn’t mean anything, but I can’t. It did, and I can’t lie to her anymore.

She zips up her bag and shakes her head. “It’s over, Russ. I can’t even look at you. Being in the same room as you makes me want to throw up.”

“Please don’t go,” I whisper. “Don’t leave like this.”

She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. I don’t move. She pushes me out of the way and opens the door.

“Your flight isn’t until tonight,” I say, desperate to make her stay.

She walks out the door and doesn’t look back. And then she’s gone. The hallway is silent. Oh, man. I feel dizzy and lean against the wall. That was so goddamn dramatic. Surreal. I can’t believe what just happened. I go back to my room. Why didn’t I check under the bed? How could I have left that wrapper?

I sit on my bed. Then stand up. Then sit again. A two-hundred-pound weight is pressed against my chest. My head feels like someone is squeezing it.

I lie on my bed and spend the next few hours picking at my face and staring at the ceiling.

7:30 p.m.

I’m lying in bed staring at the ceiling. I hate him. How could he jerk me around like that? How could he ignore me?

I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Not here,” I say. I don’t feel like talking to anyone. It’s not like it’s Russ. He’s too busy with his girlfriend. No time for me. I’m sick of it. So sick of it. He can have his precious Sharon. I don’t care. He can go to hell.

“It’s me,” Russ says.

Huh? What, did he send Sharon on an errand so he could get a quick blow job? “Go away.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” I can be strong.

Pause. “I told Sharon the truth. She left. Can I come in, please?”

What? I scurry off my bed and open the door. He looks sad and disheveled.

He told her. He broke up with her.

He told her. He broke up with her.

I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him inside. He chose me. I can’t believe it. A helium balloon of happiness rises in my chest. I kiss his neck.

He loves me.

I nap and wake up feeling happy. It doesn’t matter that he was a jerk. He realized his mistake and chose me! I turn over and see that he’s staring at the ceiling.