Alyssa's Story: Every Morning at 4am

Two minutes. That’s all the time she needed. Two minutes and fifteen feet and Alyssa would be out of there. Find all of her clothes, get dressed and get out and she would never have to see whatever-his-name-was again. That’s what she kept telling herself as she fastened her bra and pulled on her jeans. It’s so much easier this way. So much better than the awkward moments the next day when you try to keep smiling as you tell each other what a wonderful time you had last night and make empty promises to call each other in a day or two. Things are better this way. Get dressed, sneak out at four in the morning, hop in your car and drive home. So much better than playing the game. Lying because it’s the thing to do. This is better.

That’s what Alyssa kept telling herself the entire drive home. It was warm for October, and she had the top to her convertible rolled down. The fresh air helped to clear her head — hopefully, it would be enough to fight off the hangover that the gin wanted to give her. But, the wind coming off the lake made her wish that she hadn’t lopped off so much of her hair three months ago when she broke up with Ken. It wasn’t long enough to tie back into a ponytail, but there was still enough of it to blow in her eyes and be generally frustrating. Fuck it. Maybe she should have cut it all off. Okay, that’s just stupid. The new look was hot. Sexy. What kind of guy would give a bald chick the time of day?

This is better, she thought again as she entered her bedroom and tossed her keys. They missed the dresser entirely and made a muffled clang as they hit the carpet, but she didn’t care enough to pick them up. Three seconds later she was face down on the bed, her nose buried in a fluffy down pillow. She fell asleep without even bothering to take off her shoes.

She didn’t dream that night. She never really did anymore. Not that she could remember anyway. Better not to dream at all than to wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. Better to feel nothing at all than to feel constant fear. That’s what used to happen. For weeks after she left Ken she woke up at four o’clock in the morning, still thinking he was there. Sometimes, she would wake to the sound of a car door slamming outside, sure that it was Ken coming home in a drunken stupor. She’d lie in bed crying, waiting for him to stumble in and climb into bed beside her. She could almost feel his warm, alcohol-soaked breath burning at her neck. Muscles throughout her body would tense as she imagined his fingers, sticky from beer and yellow from cigarettes, reaching between her legs. But he would never come. An hour would go by and the bedroom door would never open. It was a dream. Ken was gone. He wasn’t coming back. She would cry until she fell back to sleep.

Alyssa was past that now. She didn’t think of him anymore when she slipped between the covers of her bed. She didn’t think she heard his voice in the hallway or that she smelled his pot in the next room. She didn’t think of anything more than getting a good night’s sleep.

Every night was the same. She’d get off of work at five and be home by six. By nine she was at Jack’s and by eleven she had usually decided who she was going home with that night.

Men are easy, really. They don’t require much coaxing. Seduction isn’t the right word for it. Seduction implies a certain amount of effort. All Alyssa really needed to do was pick out a guy from across the room, stare at him until he noticed her, nod him over and he was snared. The man would then do all the work. He’d buy her drinks all night. He’d compliment her. He’d try to feel her up on the dance floor. Around one A.M., she’d whisper into his ear, ask him to take her back to his place and fuck her brains out. It was always the same. A sly grin would spread across his face and he’d take her by the hand and lead her out of the bar, winking at his friends about his new "conquest," firmly believing that he had seduced her.

It varied of course. Sometimes they wouldn’t actually make it to his apartment. Sometimes she’d go to his car in the parking lot, or maybe into a nearby alleyway. Occasionally she had them rent motel rooms. Every once in a while she’d try something really kinky: handcuffs, a hot tub, the men’s room in the back of the bar. Three weeks ago, she had even taken on two guys at once. It all depended on how adventurous she was feeling that night — how horny. The one thing she never did was bring a man back to her apartment. That would just be messy. It was hard enough trying to get out of some love sick puppy dog’s bed before he woke up in the morning; much worse having to wait for him to wake up and leave. And then she’d have to worry that he would try to come back again.

It was just another night. It had started like the countless nights before. She had put on a sexy outfit. She had ordered a White Russian from Angel, the only drink she intended to pay for that night. She had taken her seat at the bar. She had turned down an advance or two by Gino, and it was nearing eleven o’clock. There were at least three or four possible prospects in attendance tonight. All that was left was for her to make her choice. Then she saw Ken.

It shouldn’t have bothered her. After all, it had been over three months. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t seen him in the bar before. But tonight it was different. There he was, across the bar, hitting on some Hispanic girl.

She had been trying. She really had. All night she had tried to keep her mind off of him, to find some other guy who’d get her drunk, get her laid, and help her forget for another night. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t stop feeling. It wasn’t jealousy. Not exactly. It wasn’t anger. Not quite. It was fear. Fear of being replaced.

Alyssa was never special. She had always believed that she was. For nearly three years, she had convinced herself that she was special to Ken. That he loved her. It was this love — this specialness — that made her stay for so long. It made her put up with the drugs. It made her put up with the cheating. It made her lay awake in bed waiting for him to come home from a bender. It made her spread her legs when he’d finally arrive so that he could drive himself deep inside of her. It made her fight back the tears and smile.

But, it had never been love. It had been fear that she felt all those times. The fear of being alone. And now she felt it again. She felt it as she realized that all she ever was to Ken was a good lay. Maybe not even a good lay. Maybe just a convenient one. She felt the tears welling up in her eyes again. She felt cold. Scared. Alone. And then that all changed.

It was such a simple gesture. So fast, and yet so perfect. So significant. The girl lifted her drink and threw it in Ken’s face. She stood up and walked away. That simple. Ken’s friends, B.J. and Chaz, laughed as he approached their booth. Alyssa felt vindicated. She felt as though this stranger had somehow gotten him back. Done her a favor and exacted some revenge.

The stranger was now sitting on Alyssa’s side of the bar, only a few stools down. More importantly, Alyssa realized that Ken was now looking at her. He must have seen her when he was looking at the girl. The fright returned for a moment. The powerlessness was back. She looked away from his cold stare. Looked to her right — to the stranger. The power returned. If the stranger could do it on her first interaction with Ken, then after all this time, she should certainly be that strong. "Jack, two White Russians please."

"I am." She tossed a couple of bills on the bar counter and took the glasses over to the stranger. "Here you go," she said as she extended one of the drinks forward. She could feel Ken’s eyes digging into her back and she couldn’t help but tremble slightly. A single drop of her own drink jumped out of the glass and splashed on the floor. The stranger didn’t seem to notice. Hopefully, neither did Ken.

"What’s this for?" The young, Hispanic stranger sounded cautious, somewhat untrusting, but she reached for the drink anyway.

"Well, you looked like you needed a new drink since my ex-boyfriend is wearing your old one."

You never know what you’re missing until you find it. That’s what Alyssa thought to herself as she ran her fingers through the silky black hair of the head on her chest at four in the morning. This was anything but the way she expected this night to turn out. She had never even considered being with another woman before, not even with all the experimenting she’d been doing lately, and certainly not before her relationship with Ken. Eighteen years of strong catholic upbringing had taught her better than that. As for the four years with Ken – He had actually suggested it a couple of times, but it was never something she could agree to do.

Now look where she was. Sharing her bed with the girl that Ken had been hitting on. It was wonderful. Being with Elena was different than anything she had ever experienced. She was comforting. She was gentle. The sex they had together was something shared. Until that night Alyssa had always thought of sex as something to be taken. Something you do to someone, not with them. Last night was different. Last night was wonderful.

Alyssa woke up a little after eight in the morning and crawled out of bed. She was halfway through her first cup of coffee when she finally realized that Elena was gone. She looked around her room. Clothes, shoes, jacket, purse. All of it gone. No note. No phone number. Nothing. Alyssa put her face in her hands and began to cry.