I did the backpacking around south-east Asia thing, like a lot of twenty-somethings.
One night in Jakarta, the boyfriend and I were in a hostel with very, very thin walls. There was a girl in the partition next to us, talking to a boy she’d obviously just met. She told him horrible things about her life, abuse, beatings, a rape, and after each story, they fucked. Three times maybe, from memory. It was loud-ish sex, and we felt like we were in the room with them. Which is why we heard the boy sneaking out before dawn while she slept, and her wracking sobs when she woke up alone.
Last April, I’d already met Sexy Dilbert. (Okay, that’s not any better than “E”, is it? What the hell. Eric. It’s not like some unique name or something. Not that I’m giving out mine!) I’d met Eric and my sexual re-awakening was already happening. I was thinking about sex all the time (which hasn’t stopped since, more on that later). So the couple having loud sex in the room above us was a bit annoying, but I was mostly jealous. She moaned in a particular way that was rather emotional, and it went on for hours.
In the morning, I’m slowly waking up, and I hear the moaning again. I’m ready to scream, or go bang on their door or something until I realize that he’s no longer there. She was crying alone.
But the thing with the end of a relationship is there seems to be no end to the tears.