This is the only concrete memory of that night - a fading bruise clinging on. I don't remember the end of the meal, by that time I was far gone into my usual drunken repetoire. Guess how much of me is real? Guess how many people I've slept with? Guess the most horrible thing I've done? And somewhere in the midst of that blurry night, I found myself in the bed of a stranger and agreed to have sex with him. I remember flashes of it, kneeling on his bed, kissing his chest, him pulling off my knickers, pushing my dress up, pulling my bra down, kissing me hard, and then having sex with him. And then making him promise not to tell anyone before I got dressed and walked off. I see him later, I take the cigarette from his lips. He got his flight in the morning and I never spoke to him again. I will probably never see him again. The only connection I have to him is the friendship request on facebook. I see photos of him and his girlfriend. I think they'd just celebrated their year and a half anniversary. They make a beautiful couple. She is beautiful.
And I can't stop looking at his facebook, looking for clues. Who was he? And I don't know why. I don't know why I feel this need to give him a personality, to give him context. He was the anonymous stranger I get to fuck. The anonymous stranger whose meant to numb the pain for a while and stop me thinking of the ex-boyfriend. It worked. I can't think of the ex-boyfriend without feelings of overwhelming guilt. It wasn't just the anonymous stranger I fucked that night. I had sex with one of my female co-workers afterwards. She knew and she still had sex with me. In the morning she kissed me back, stroked my body and held me until I stopped shaking. She told me I was beautiful and asked me why I'd waited so long to make a move on her. And all I could think of was the Stranger as I lay in bed with this beautiful woman.

Why? Why? Why?

I don't know why I do anything any more. I knew I wanted to get drunk that night. And I knew it would end something like that. And I still did it, knowing fully that the next morning all I would feel is shame and guilt and disgust. I didn't even use a condom with the Stranger. But I can't get a test yet - I only went last week because I was so angry with the ex-Boyfriend and wanted to prove to him how I disgusted I was with Rose. But I am her. I don't even care enough about myself to use protection. What am I?