“If you don’t mind me saying,” I persisted, dropping a bit of my affected professionalism, “You are an attractive young lady. I imagine you could easily get a date if you were so inclined. There must be some reason you go to have anonymous sex instead. What do you get out of it that you can’t get in a date? What makes it better?” She looked at me viciously. Her eyes were inflamed and her face was flushed.
“You don’t know anything,” she said, “This was a mistake, you can’t understand,” she said. I became nervous that things were rushing out of control.
“What do you mean?”
“There is nothing better about that place. It is just better than being completely alone. It is better than just cutting myself out of the world entirely. But it isn’t better. You don’t understand that I can’t get a date. Or that I could get a date, but that it wouldn’t go beyond that. It is my destiny to be alone. This is just something I do to numb the pain. It isn’t better,” she said. I was shocked. I hadn’t expected this at all. She sounded like… me. “You don’t feel some sort of connection to the people there? Something that gives you hope?”
“Hope?” she asked incredulous, “No I don’t go there for that.” The tears were flowing now and she buried her face in her hands, “What did I expect? I can’t believe I did this, I knew what would happen? For a little fucking money!” she said, crying harder now. It was clear she was talking to herself.
“You don’t feel anything good about going there?”
“I feel like when I have a ton of anxiety, I go there and I feel okay for a minute. And then I just feel ashamed but I don’t feel anxious for a while. It is not good, but it is less bad,” she said. I could see her biting her finger after she spoke, like she was trying to release some anxiety right then. Her range of emotions felt incredibly familiar. I felt dizzy and confused.
“I…” I started to ask another question but she cut me off.
“I go there because I want to feel a little bit like other people get to feel. To have a person in their life that they make feel good. And to have that person want me in a way that no one wants me outside of that room. To feel like I am desirable and sexy and loving and loved. Just for a minute. That is why I go.” She started to cry harder now. I felt completely out of my depth. It was like I was speaking to myself. She was so beautiful. How could she think these things? What sort of connection had I felt with her? Mutual pity.
“Michele, I don’t understand what is wrong. Please explain it to me,” I stated. I stood now and walked hallway across her living room to be closer to her. She looked up now, her eyes were red and she looked desperate.
“You don’t understand what it is like to be me. You don’t know what it is like to know that you are supposed to be alone. That people, if they really knew everything about you, that they’d think you were disgusting. You don’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re only way to get a connection with a person is to suck it out of a stranger’s cock in a dirty bathroom. Didn’t you say that I didn’t have to talk to you? I am done, I don’t want to talk anymore. Please leave and don’t bother me again. Here, I will give you the complete answer to all of your questions before you go. Why do I do what I do? Because I hate myself but hate my loneliness more. And you see a pretty girl or something and you think I am a slut and you can’t possibly understand what it is like to be me. But thanks for letting me know that my self-hatred and my loneliness make me some kind of object of intellectual curiosity, that really fucking helps.” she said.
This had all happened so fast. This was nothing like anything I’d planned. I stood in the middle of her apartment completely dumbfounded. She was still curled on the chair, her eyes closed and her cheeks glistening with tears. I felt horrible. I turned and started to walk away, I wanted to give her back at least a little of the peace I’d just stolen from her. I’d never wanted to hurt her.
I reached the door and put my hand on the knob. Then I looked back at her curled, beautiful body. I saw the pain that was trapped inside that body. I had made it worse. I hadn’t intended it, but I had been negligent with her. I had been so intent on pumping her for information that I’d disregarded her feelings. I pushed through her discomfort with lies and deceit. I’d breached the wall she’d clearly built around her insecurities. I knew what that was like, that was the fear I had every day. How could I leave her like this? More importantly, how could I fix it instead?
For a moment I just stood at the door, wondering what I could do. I tried to think of words of reassurance I could say to make her feel better, but there was nothing there. Just like she had no wisdom for me I had none for her. Words were insufficient. I thought of going to her and comforting her and telling her that everything would be okay. But would that be more lying? I had to act, but it had to be honest and it had to treat her with respect.
A thought burst into my mind. It was white hot with the intensity of the truth contained within. But, like anything white hot, it promised danger and I recoiled from the strength of that idea. I felt my stomach tie up in knots and my heart pound in my chest before the idea was even fully formed. My nerves were completely on edge as I realized the only honest thing I could do. I had come into Michele’s life with lies and promises and I’d torn away her shields. The only way to make it right was to tell the truth and bare my own insecurities. To throw her a lifeline in her misery, even if all I could add was that I did understand.
I knew what that meant, but I didn’t know if I could do it. But as I looked at this frail girl crying on the couch, I realized something. She was a young woman on her own for the first time and she felt crushed. She was exactly like I was in college. What would I have given for someone at least tell me at that moment I was not alone? Even if my savior had been at least as screwed up as I was, it wouldn’t have mattered. If I helped Michele, it would be like going back and helping myself as well. That gave me the strength to let go of the doorknob. I walked quietly back through the room until I was standing just a few feet from Michele’s chair.
I stood for a few moments, my chest rising and falling and looking at her. Finally, she realized I was still there. She looked up with her reddened eyes with confusion and some anger.
“Why are you still here? Just go, I don’t want your money,” she said as her thin, white fingers flipped tears out of her eyes. Her voluminous lips quivered as she looked at me. Suddenly, my nerves calmed and I felt that I could go forward.