I never imagined that I would sob for hours on end in a hotel shower.
The strange thing is that, despite my hysteria, I'm fully aware of how absurdly dramatic and funny this is. I can still find a tiny bit of humor in this, even though I'm crying for a heartbreakingly terrible reason, my contact lenses are flipping over in my eyes from the tear-water onslaught, and I lack the strength to get up, turn off the shower, and reach for a towel.
Is it typical to feel this cut off from reality after a breakup? Is this sadness? God, I have no idea.
And as usual, my thoughts are straying. I can't help but comment on the nice shower gel and how I wish I had a dinner plate showerhead at home because it's so depressing to cry under the pitiful trickle in my tiny white bath.
Oh God, home, home.
I start crying once more as soon as reality sets in.
I'm curious about how my black eye is healing, but I'm afraid to look in the mirror. I swear when I'm this exhausted, my jowls droop. That's just unfair on top of everything else life has given me, like my inability to distinguish between right and left, lust and love, and my inability to drink whisky without getting very tipsy.
I've been feeling ill for days, and it just won't go away. If it ever will, I wonder.
I'm going to add a little more heat to the water and curl up on the floor. There. I feel almost at ease. The bathroom, like the rest of the hotel room, is dark and sexy with a touch of chinoiserie and flattering lighting that whispers "five star" in a posh accent. The shower is enormous and occupies about half of the room. I always tell people, "Hey, if you're going to have a breakdown, you might as well have it in the Mandarin Oriental in Hong Kong."
Maybe I should give my sister a call. Sophie. She is excellent at providing consolation. The best thing about younger sisters is how much time they spend wishing they were older sisters. For example, when they are waiting to start high school, to get a bike without training wheels, or to get their wily ears pierced. When it comes down to it, they're far wiser than the elder ones could ever be
Sophie got her ears pierced the same day as me, despite the fact that I'd been begging for YEARS and I was 13 and she was only 11
. She is currently in Chicago, so that is the only... Oh, I'm so confused by time zones.
Even the time in this location escapes me. late in the day?
Today in Hong Kong it seems like the sun hasn't quite risen. It's cloudy, muggy, and stormy. When the weather and my mood are in sync, I love it.
I almost feel like I'm sick of taking showers. Maybe I should return to the hotel room floor and lie down once more. I previously sobbed for a good two hours next to my open suitcase. I believe... Wait. That door, was that it?
I listen carefully as I ponder the universe.
Another loud, impatient knock comes. Not like the hotel staff's gentle knock.
Perhaps it's him! Anyone else who might it be? Yes! It has to be. He's there!
With my hair dripping water all over my face, I scramble to my feet, turn off the shower, and shout, "Coming!" I quickly wrap the bathrobe around myself and run to the door. I knew he would discover I was here, I knew it was an error, I knew—I'm shocked. I wasn't expecting the man to be here.
Why are you in this place? I finally pass out.
He responds angrily, "What are you doing here?" What the fuck happened to your face, Christ?
He rushes in and slams the door behind him, pushing me through into the bedroom as I sarcastically say, "I got in a fight."
He says, "We need to call Sophie and your parents right away."
I sigh. 'Why?'
Because you've been gone nearly two days in a row? because you took a flight halfway across the globe without informing anyone of your destination or your plans? Since you turned off your fucking phone?
‘It ran out. Of juice," I quip in a very sarcastic manner that I know will irritate him. I am delighted to be making him feel as bad as I do right now when I see the rage in his eyes.
Is that bad?
He screams, "Do you have any fucking idea what you've put us through!"
Why do you refer to "us"? I answer. I don't care if I sound like a brat because I'm so worn out and miserable. They are my friends and family! How dare you be so nosy to me.
I get a moment of blank stare before he snarls, "You stupid bitch."
"SHUT UP!" I yell. Simply "SHUT THE FUCKING UP!" I'm aware that I'm acting hysterically, but I'm incredibly exhausted, queasy, and inconsolable. My life will never work out because I don't know what I want or how to get it if I did. I don't want to be here anymore, and nothing is how it should be. As I think this, I scream so loudly that tiny lights dart in front of my eyes.
Then, much to my surprise, he gives me a hard slap on the cheek. It's not difficult, but I'm so shocked that I had to stop mid-wailing. Has he struck me?
I take a seat on the bed. That was certainly dramatic. Particularly for me. I've never been one for the dramatics. More of a drama queen in the making.
I continue to look at him with my mouth still open in shock as he sits down next to me and tries to catch his breath. He appears worn out, I observe. By now, it must be Friday. Is it? When did I depart from London? I can't recall. It hurts to swallow.
All of a sudden, I'm powerless. This is too much for me. All of this is intolerable to me. I then collapse onto the bed, ball up, and begin sobbing.
Again.
I know it's so pitiful, but I can't help it. How can I possibly still be crying? Oh, God. I need my mother.
The wrong man extends a large paw and begins to stroke my head while removing my wet hair from my face and uttering calming'shhh' sounds.
I scream, "I'm sorry." "I appreciate that you found me. You were accurate. I observed them. as well as my face, my face.
He's not worth it, I say. I'm so sorry I hit you, I'm sorry I slapped you.
He continues speaking, but I can't hear him because I'm crying so hard right now that I don't even want to be here. Why in the world did I think that? I cry nonstop until finally I'm exhausted from crying. Thanking God that he found me is the last thing I think before falling asleep.