What Lies Beneath

This story is from Roxie, a 22-year-old grad student in Boston, as told to Raz:

I’d heard about Johnny before I met him. Let’s just say his reputation was somewhat slutty. No, it was very slutty. But when we met at a party, we really clicked. He was so cute, we had so much in common, and he was quite the charmer.

So he’s been with a lot of women, I thought. What’s the big deal?

We hung out a couple times after that first meeting. I could tell that he was playing me a little—the way he never directly invited me on a date, just to group events, and how he was only affectionate towards me when no one else was looking—but I was smitten.

After our third hang out, conveniently located at his house, he invited me to check out his bedroom. I followed him, and we immediately started hooking up.

After some pretty amazing sex, he snuggled up next to me and passed out. Content to stay the night, I took off my earrings to put them on the nightstand. But one slipped out of my hand and fell under the bed. When I reached down to get it, I came up with something else instead—it was a huge, bloody tampon.

I screamed and dropped it, waking up Johnny.

“What is it?” he asked groggily.

“There’s a bloody tampon under your bed!”

He didn’t seem fazed at all. “It’s probably yours,” he mumbled, and went back to sleep.

So many thoughts were running through my head: I had to leave. I had to wash my hands. I had to wash my body. How long had that been there? Had he changed the sheets since it’s arrival? Why didn’t he seem as upset as he should be?

First thing’s first: I got up to wash my hands, and noticed the time—it was 4am. It seemed too late to figure out a way home. After scrubbing until I was raw, I reluctantly got back in the bed. Then I remembered that the tampon was still there—big, bloody and taunting me.

Suffice it to say I didn’t sleep much that night, and I booked it out of there as soon as possible the next morning. Plus, I never did find that earring.