My name is Stella.
I am twenty-one years old.
It is a Tuesday evening in April.
I’m a junior at a small community college in Chicago.
That’s…that’s all I can come up with. Paying attention to facts is not easy when I’m in this state.
I drive for a while. Later, I park the car and go inside my boyfriend’s third-floor apartment near campus.
You aren’t anything to me. Don’t you understand that?In my head, I hear the words that have been said to me so many times.You are forgettable.
Jay lets me into his place. After thirty seconds of small talk, we’re in his bedroom. He’s big on having sex as much as possible, and I’m big on forgetting it as much as possible. But I’m on my back in no time, and I let him go ahead and do what he wants.
I turn my head to the side. Today, I don’t have the will not to fade off. It gives me pleasure to escape for a bit. The shades are open, and flashes of sunlight pierce through my closed eyelids, furthering my distance from reality. I let the rhythmic motion of him on top of me drag me into oblivion. If I’m lucky, I’ll just disappear. If I’m really lucky, maybe I’ll disappear far enough that I’ll find myself in a world where I am happy, where my father did not take off in the middle of the fucking night and leave me with a screwed-up mother and a sister who went from angel to demon. Luck, however, does not seem to be my friend.
My thoughts shut down, and a fuzzy haze takes over. I like this space because time does not exist. My body does not exist. Most importantly, I do not exist. Nothingness is my salvation. Maybe I’m going crazy, but I don’t care much right now because this is at least a degree of peace.
Then, I hear a noise, and I am ripped away from my alternate world.
A male voice. Oh, it’s a groan.
My hands touch down beside me and run over cool fabric. Sheets. I am in a bed, on my back. My shirt is unbuttoned all the way, my bra still on. A breeze rushes in and crosses over my bare stomach. I reach out until my hand hits skin.
That’s right. I’m having sex with Jay. Great.
I open my eyes. Jay is too busy fucking me to notice my spaced-out state. He’s an asshole like that. But I want to be the kind of girlfriend who gets her guy off—one who is perfect in bed and out—so I need to do something other than lie on my back and battle the crazy swirling in my head.
Generally, I’m very good at hiding the fact that something is wrong with me, but I have lapses, like right now. So, I lift my hips and make appropriate noises of ecstasy, as though I am so totally caught up in the throes of sexual fulfillment that I can barely contain myself.
“That’s fucking good, huh?” he mutters.
I nod and fake a smile.
I close my eyes again and let him crush his body into mine over and over.
When he’s done, I grab my purse and escape to the bathroom.
My reflection in the mirror upsets me. Eyeliner is smudged, and my hair is a disaster. The linen shirt I have on is now wrinkled. I squint. I think it’s pale green, but I could be wrong. My mother said it was purple. However, perhaps I misheard her. I look down and realize that I have no idea what color it is. For five minutes, I examine the fabric, looking for clues that will help me answer this. It’s green, I confirm.
The color is green. That is a fact,I think.
But I don’t know for sure. It’s really just a guess.
I pull a small bag from my purse and begin the process of redoing my hair and makeup. While my curling iron heats up, I wipe away eyeliner that has traveled across my cheeks. I pause. It looks like I’ve been crying, but I don’t remember doing that. I don’t know if I hate Jay or myself more right now.
It takes a thorough primping process for me to make myself presentable until I can leave the bathroom.
I kiss Jay good-bye with a hundred times more sexual energy than I actually feel, and he slaps my ass as I get back into my car. The engine rolls over a few times before it catches and finally starts.
It’s not particularly cold out, but I am shaking, so I crank up the heat.What the hell is wrong with me?My hand trembles while I touch up my lipstick in the rearview mirror.
Back home, I make it to my room in the guesthouse, undetected. I am exhausted. Every day is an exercise in faking happiness and sociability and enthusiasm for life, none of which I actually have.
I toss my keys on the nightstand and assess the glowing small lamp. It is supposed to be precisely in the middle, but for some reason, I cannot get it to stay there. It is clearly a few inches to the left of the center. I move it back to its spot. A routine check of my desk gives me pause. Something is wrong, but I can’t tell what. The clock tells me it is past midnight. I didn’t know that I’d been gone for so long.
Showering right now is a necessity because I must steam off the aftermath of Jay. The old tub doesn’t drain well, but I don’t mind because I find it comforting to stand in water while the scalding shower pours over me. It’s like I’m a child again, playing in puddles with my sister.
