Las Vegas Weekly

July 20, 2010 · 4 PM

Was this reunion with the ex at all healthy? Probably not

By Justice

I came back to Vegas from Alaska, went to Arizona for a few days and now I’m back in Vegas. The drinking and the anti anxiety meds and the late nights have been too much for me. I need to stop. I’m a mess. When I returned from Arizona on Friday, I went straight to the Tool concert with people from work. After the show, I went to work.

I promised myself I'd stop drinking when the night began. It ended with me pressed against the ex's front door. Ringing and ringing his doorbell until he would answer. I leaned against it unable to stand on two legs, so inebriated. When he finally answered, I fell inside. My weight just collapsing into the doorstep. He told me he had company and I had to leave. I played it cool like, "Oh? Company? That's totally fine."

I saw the teal pleather purse on the couch, confirming that company meant a shiny new woman. I quickly dove for it, consumed with curiosity. There was a pack of cigarettes in it. A white paper box with a turquoise and purple streaks on it. I wanted an ID. Or a lipstick color. Something that was more telling of who I was replaced by. He stopped me.

This was nothing.

I ran toward the bedroom.

Upon entering the bedroom, I saw the clear outline of a body in the bed. The bed that I had made every morning for over a year.

He was right behind me. He grabbed me around the waist, attempting to drag me out of the bedroom. I kicked and hooked my legs against the doorway. The commotion woke her up. She introduced herself calmly and asked my name. I calmly told her mine in a nonchalant-as-possible way before grabbing a corner of the blanket and pulling off the entire thing in one yank and leaving her exposed. On my sheets I discovered a fat chick. A super-fat chick with red hair and nothing but a bra on.

I think she was mad. I don't know. I would have been more scared than anything if I was in her situation. I walked out of the bedroom, down the hallway, out of the house and down the street. I walked away with no direction. I made it around the corner before he caught up to me in his Jeep.

I wanted to know everything. "How was it?" I asked repeatedly. "Nothing happened," he told me. He lied, clearly. I’m almost in love enough to believe him. As he drove, I lost my mind. With my back facing the door, I reached behind myself and opened it. I fell out of the tall car like a sack of potatoes, my head hitting the hot black pavement like a watermelon.

He braked, got out of the car and came to see me lying on the road in the fetal position. He scooped me up and tossed me back in the car as I held the back of my head, dizzy from the blow to the head.

Inside the car, I probed more, head spinning and wishing the fall would have better resolved my situation. He was dropping me off at home, where I had tools to better and more dramatically end myself. I didn’t want to travel, I thought. I wanted nothing but for this to work and it didn’t. I told him to take care of my dog and I took all the money out of my purse for the trouble.

We ended up going to a hotel room and staying in bed all day ordering room service and watching movies. Her bodily fluids were still on him while we had sex.

I think I need to leave town again.

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