Monkey Business

kimmy is pissed

11:50 p.m.

I’m lying on Layla’s bed, slightly drunk from a bottle of Chardonnay I’d bought in a futile attempt to cheer myself up, flipping through channels, trying to find something on TV that isn’t about stupid Valentine’s Day.

Irresistible, my ass. That lipstick is going right in the garbage.

Everyone else in the world has something to do tonight. Even Nick and Lauren have dates. With two undergrad roommates, oddly. And I have nothing. I have to pee, but I’m afraid to run into Russ and his precious Sharon. I crept out of the building at ten a.m. and spent the day at the library, and so far I’ve managed to avoid them. I’d planned on showing up in places I’d thought they’d be, so that Russ could compare us in the flesh (and thus find her lacking), but I couldn’t bear to see them together, laughing and kissing, arms intertwined.

It’s now almost midnight and I can’t even see what’s going on in the common room downstairs, because what if Russ and Sharon walk by and see me sprawled pathetically on the infested couch, stuffing my face with chips?

I flip the channel again and see Russ and Sharon in the entranceway.

Oh. My. God.

I still can’t believe this average albeit attractive woman is the Sharon. When I met her in the entrance the other day I was shocked. This is my rival? This is the other woman?

I should have told her right then and there who I was.

Okay, fine, technically I’m the other woman, but nevertheless, she’s not what I expected. I thought she’d be tall and blond and waiflike, but she she’s kind of average. Like Joey from Dawson’s Creek but with less angst. She has shoulder-length brown hair, big brown eyes and a small slightly turned-up nose.

He opens the door for her, slowly kissing the spot on her neck between her chin and scarf.

I don’t want to see this. I don’t want to see them all loving and happy.

I keep watching.

She takes off her gloves and runs her right hand through his hair.

My eyes fill with tears, angry tears, sad tears, the screen blurs, and the next thing I know they’re gone.

How could he kiss her like that? How can he act like he loves her but then sleep with me? What is wrong with him?

Why do I let him get away with it?

Right now they’re climbing the stairs. I should meet them at the top. I should tell him to go fuck himself. I should tell her what he’s been doing-screwing me. I should shake my fist and scream and make her realize the truth, make them both feel as shitty as I do.

Maybe I will.

I smooth my hair and slide out of Layla’s room.

The hallway is empty and I stomp toward the staircase. I open the stairway door, listening to their voices coming from the second floor.

“I think I had too much wine,” she says, giggling.

“You only had two glasses,” he answers, and from where I am, I can see him patting her on the head.

“I’m a cheap date,” she says. Then she adds, “I had a terrific time tonight.”

I clench my hands into fists and anchor them to my hips.

Sharon stumbles over a step and giggles again. “I’d better not get sick tonight,” she says, still laughing.

“I’ll take care of you,” he answers.

They’re about to turn the corner in the stairwell, where they’ll see me. Any second now.

I think I’m going to be sick.

I can’t do this.

I step out of the stairwell, back into the hallway, unlock my door and, just as I hear them approaching, I close my door, tears streaming down my face.