At 21, Part 7

1992


I don’t like myself right now. The tense, angry person I’ve become. I’m a jealous beast as I sit in the dark outside Elisa’s house, on her front step, in the middle of the night, her family soundly asleep inside. Elisa’s whereabouts are currently unknown. It’s a stifling summer night. Humid as hell here in Jersey. I’m sweating, although I’d probably be sweating even if it were a cool night because my insides are like a blazing furnace. I don’t want to be this person. The person who waits for his girlfriend to come home, his girlfriend whom he’s sure is out cheating on him. I’ve had other girlfriends, but none like Elisa. I love her so much I almost hate her. And that doesn’t even make sense, except that I know it’s true. I want to be the cool guy who trusts his girlfriend completely and doesn’t sweat it when she’s out without him. The guy who knows that his girlfriend loves him and would never sacrifice that life by cheating. That guy is awesome and I want to be him. But, sadly, I’m the sweaty guy who’s convinced that his girlfriend is at this very moment probably jerking some guy off in the back of a seedy van on a sticky patch of shag carpet while incense and candles burn nearby. Oddly enough, when I think of cool guys, I keep getting this image of Greg Brady from "The Brady Bunch" in my head, but it’s the hip version of Greg, the Johnny Bravo version, with his sunglasses and tight pants and marginal singing talent. But then reality will take hold, and I know that if Elisa’s cheating on me, it’s probably with some guy who’s the complete opposite of me, a guy with muscles, a tan, thick dark hair, lots of money, a cool car, and a huge dick. That’s my nightmare. The antithesis of me. Because once Elisa meets that guy, my days are numbered.

I feel like a boy in a world of men.

We had a major fight earlier today. I said some things, she said some things. Hateful things I’m sure neither of us truly meant. I’m not even sure why we were fighting. Most likely because I’m an irrational asshole. I live my life in constant fear that Elisa will cheat on me. Because she’s beautiful. Because she’s done it before. With me. My downward spiral began last week when she went to visit her ex-boyfriend in Philadelphia. She took the train to the city, spent the day with him, came home to me, swore that nothing happened. Didn’t even tell me she was going until after she returned. "Relax, Ervin," she said, "I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d make a big deal about it. We just sat around and watched a movie. I swear. Dirk is still my friend. Just because I broke up with him it doesn’t mean I can never talk to him again. Sheesh." I wanted to believe her. I always want to believe her, but she’s a terrible liar. She blushes slightly when she lies, her color rises, a delicate pink creeping up her neck. That’s why she likes to talk outside at night. The creeping pink. I can’t see her lies in the night.

I see headlights. Her car. She’s home, finally. I feel like I’ve been waiting for hours. Because I have. She pulls up in front of the house and stumbles out of her car. She’s moderately drunk and clearly feeling good. She’s all giggles and wobble. By the time she notices me, she’s practically tripping over my feet.

"Shit! You scared me. What the fuck are you doing here?" She asks, standing over me as she bends down and removes her high heels.

"I didn’t want to go to bed tonight with us mad at each other. Where have you been all night?"

"I was at a club with some of the girls from work."

No eye-contact. Bad sign.

"It’s almost three in the morning, and it’s a weeknight. Wouldn’t the club have closed already? Like, long ago."

"What is this, a fucking interrogation? Damn it. Leave me alone."

"Why are we always fighting?" I ask.

"Because you’re a jerk. You’re always up my ass."

She smells of cigarettes, pot, perfume, and cologne. She carries the aroma of sweaty, musky men. Of rich Italian guys who drive fancy cars and buy their girlfriends new breasts. I wonder how the scent of other men has found its way onto my girlfriend’s clothes and skin. It had to be an accident. Those dance clubs can get pretty packed. No room to walk. Have to fight your way through the crowd. Yeah, that sounds like a good explanation.

Elisa steps over me and unlocks the door, as if I were a trash bag. She’s wearing a tight, short black dress and dark stocking. She looks gorgeous. Stunning. I know every guy at the club was looking her way. How many of them asked her to dance? How many asked for her phone number? How many tried to kiss her?

"Can I come in? I’m sorry. Let’s make nice." I smile, the biggest, phoniest smile I can muster. I need to inspect her. Need to get her into the light.

"I don’t know, Erv. It’s late. I’m buzzed, and you’re a killer of buzzes right now. I just want to go to bed."

"Please let me come inside. I’ve missed you. I’ve been waiting here for hours to see you."

She sighs. "God forbid I have a couple of hours without you. Fuck. Okay, Fine."

I follow her inside. Into the light. The telling illumination. I see the red around her mouth. Like she’s been drinking juice. A closer look reveals the truth. Little red bumps. The kind a girl gets when she’s been making out with a guy who hasn’t shaved that day. Oh no. Oh shit no. Her breath is different as well. Sour, but not her kind of sour. Someone else’s kind of sour. A guy’s bad breath. A guy’s saliva. I know all of Elisa’s various odors, and these are not here odors. She’s doused in the scent of another.

"You fucking cheated on me," I say.

"Shh," she says. "Everyone’s sleeping."

We’re in her kitchen. Flies are buzzing over a pizza box on the table. A slice of pepperoni pizza that looks to be about three days old sits in box. The trash can is overflowing onto the floor. The kitchen smells like the Dumpster behind Pizza Tent. I feel like I’m going to vomit, but it’s not the dirty kitchen that’s making me nauseated. It’s what I now know. Elisa has not been faithful.

I grab her shoulders and push her against the refrigerator. Our mouths close. Our noses touching. "I can’t believe it. You hooked up with someone. You’ve just ruined us."

Her actions can never be undone. There’s no fixing this. She cheated. On me.

She starts to cry.

"I...it was nothing. I don’t even like the guy. He was just...random, just there. I mean, I’ll never see him again."

Confirmation hits me like a sledgehammer to the gut. Like I’m leaking acid on the inside and it’s working its way to the outside.

"So it’s fucking true? This is really happening?"

I let go of her. Turn away. Walk into the living room. She follows.

"We just kissed. We made out for awhile in the back of the club. We danced, you know, dirty dancing, like in the movie. Then we kissed for a long time. He had stubble and hurt my face."

I collapse onto the couch and bury my head in my hands. "I hate you," I whisper. She doesn’t hear me.

"Ervin, you were such a jerk today. All that fighting we did. It made me angry. I was fucking pissed."

"So you cheat on me? What kind of bullshit is that? Couples fight all the time. It’s common. But then they don’t go out and cheat on each other. That’s, like, sickening. Like you were just looking for any excuse to mess around with some other guy."

She sits down next to me and says, "We just kissed. I swear. I wouldn’t let him have sex with me. He wanted to, but I wouldn’t. He wasn’t even good-looking. I was drunk and he was sweet, but then later on he wasn’t so sweet." She touches my damp hair. My chin. Lifts my head until we’re eye-to-eye. "It won’t happen again. I realized when I was doing it just how much I love you. That’s why I stopped. It started out as, like, revenge on you for being mean to me, but then it got out of hand. I drank too much. I love you, honey, more than anything."

I stare at her face, at the red, pimply outline around her mouth. Clown lips. Another man did that to her. Stuck his tongue in her mouth. Tasted her saliva. Mixed it with his. Her soft face was damaged by his the roughness of him, the faceless brute who will forever taunt me.

The bad thoughts hit me rapidly. I can’t fight them off. It’s a losing battle. What if she’s lying? What if they went further than she’s willing to admit? What if he touched her in places deep and dark and mine? What if his erection thrilled her? What if he took her somewhere private? His car? Behind the club? The men’s room? What if she lifted her dress for him? What if she eased her panties down below her knees and allowed him entrance?

Oh, man, I’m going to be sick. Have to know for sure. Have to check her out. Give her a physical. Inspect the merchandise. I’m a horrible, jealous, angry person. I am not myself. Still, I need to know the truth. And the truth is right there in front of me. If I can get her panties off, I will know right away if another man has been there. It’s awful, I know. But right now I see no other options. I can’t leave without knowing. Can’t breathe without the truth. I need to know if my girlfriend has been tainted. I can smell him on her mouth, and I’m sure I’d be able to smell him between her legs.

"C’mon," I say, taking her hand and leading her upstairs. I will get her into her bedroom and lock the door. I will undress her. I will inspect her body as if it’s a crime scene. And she will let me. Because all the while I’ll pretend everything is fine. I’ll touch her tenderly. Rub and stroke. Whisper loving words. Until I get the information I need. I don’t want to know. I have to know.

"It’s okay, baby," I say, pushing her back on the bed, spreading her legs apart.

"Stop," she says. "I don’t want to do this right now."

"Because you’ve already had sex tonight?"

"Fuck you."

I’m grinding against her. She moans against her will. Elisa does not want me to make her feel good, but I do it anyway. I kiss her neck. Nibble on her ear. Pinch her nipples. She tries to kiss my lips but I quickly turn away.

"What?" she asks.

"I’m not kissing you after some other guy had his tongue in your mouth. That’s gross. I’ll have sex with you, but I won’t kiss you."

My fingers slip under her panties. She’s soaking wet.

"You’re a jerk," she moans, her nails digging into my back.

"And you’re a cheater."

"If I wasn’t, we wouldn’t be together."

I hate it when she makes sense.

Again she tries to kiss me. Again I’m too quick for her.

"You wanna play games, Ervin? Fine," she says, laughing without a trace of humor.

She wraps her arms around me and we roll over. I’m on my back. She’s on top. Her dress comes off. My pants follow. She pulls my underwear down, sees my excitement, takes hold of it. Doesn’t take her panties off. Pulls them to one side. With her fingers, she shares her wetness. Then takes what she wants. Has her way. I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard. This excited. Elisa’s never been as wet. Our excitement will be the end of us. We revel in pain and jealously, transform anger into excitement. We’ll have an amazing ten minutes. But we will be forever tainted. Will we be able to look each other in the eye when we’re done? Will there be any respect? How much love will be lost?

She takes hold of her breasts and licks her own nipples. Her hips rise and fall. Elisa looks down and smiles slyly. She loves seeing me disappear inside of her. Her filthy magic trick. We’re quickly soaked all over. Sweat, tears, sex. Elisa pounds against me with a violent fury and I fear she may break me. She scratches me. Add blood to the wetness. This isn’t love. This is something else. Only one more fluid has yet to be added to the nasty mixture, and she’s working like an animal to get it out of me. Get it inside of her. She’s moving so fast she’s like a strobe light, a shadow, a runaway train. She slows down when I tell her I’m close. Slows to a near-halt. We’re both panting. She rises up just enough so that I slip out of her. Fucking torture. My manhood throbs and bounces about my stomach like a fish pulled from a pond and thrown to the grass.

"Please," I say, with pathetic, voice-cracking desperation. "You’re not playing fair."

"You won’t kiss me after some other guy has, huh? That’s a joke. But you’ll fuck me after someone else has, is that it? You’ll take sloppy seconds? You’re so fucking noble, right? That’s a laugh."

"Stop it!" I say.

"Stop what?"

"Talking," I say.

"Don’t worry, Ervin. I wore a rubber with him. I always wear a rubber with guys I don’t love. That’s how you know I love you."

She’s drunk and angry. Maybe mostly angry with herself. Saying things she’ll regret. Things she needn’t have revealed. I’d have rather not known. Not been given the details. Because tomorrow I am going to hate her. The love will still be there, but it’ll be wrapped in a putrid ball of hate.

I think about what she said. Her cheating. The other guy. I think that there will always be an "other guy." I know it. I start to lose my erection. Elisa notices, and quickly wraps her fingers around me.

"Do you love me right now, or do you hate me?" she asks.

"Right now I don’t see a difference. Ask me again tomorrow."

I close my eyes as she eases me back in. We’re both crying. Elisa is sobbing. I’m quiet but my eyes are no less damp. We don’t speak. We’ve run out of words. Out of words and out of respect. We have sex. Reckless sex. Because that’s all we really know how to do together. We do it until I’m done. Until I can no longer stay inside her. We do it until my limpness severs the connection, then I roll off of her and stare at the ceiling. Elisa sits up and lights a cigarette.

Tears begin to stream down her face, drip from her chin.

"I’m so sorry, Ervin."

"Me, too," I say.

"Do you still love me?" she asks.

"I do."

"Can we just pretend tonight never happened? The bad parts of tonight? I promise I won’t hurt you like this again."

"We can try," I say, nuzzling up against her.

Elisa smells bad. Has the rank odor of a sweaty girl who has spread herself around. Still, I kiss the dark skin of her belly. Pull her close. Squeeze.

We cry together for awhile. Then I dress and leave.

I feel dirty and despicable. I’m not even sure what just happened. All I want to do is go home and shower. Cleanse myself. Redden my skin with scalding water until I’m clean, if that’s even possible anymore. I’m sad because I know that cozy future I had planned out for us is never going to happen. I know our relationship is over. I’m just not ready to admit it yet.