“Oh my God, what did he say to you? Are you okay?” she asks in a panic. “I am leaving right now,” she says, and she hangs up the phone, and I cry into the pillow. I don’t know where she was, but she’s here in twenty minutes. She comes running down the hall, and she gasps when she steps into my room. I’m lying in the middle of the bed, naked, with my toys surrounding me. The treasure chest was knocked over at some point, and her mouth hangs open when she spots porn on the television. “What in the fuck is happening right now?”

“He broke it,” I say, sobbing so hard that snot is running out of my nose.

“Who broke what?” she asks, afraid to even come into the room.

“My vagina,” I say, pointing at it. “My vagina is broken.” She looks at me shocked. “I can’t orgasm,” I say, putting my head back. “I’ve tried for the past twelve hours and nothing. Nothing, not this one,” I say, holding up my rabbit. “Not the dolphin,” I say, lifting that one and tossing it to the side. “Not even the dual pleasure can get me there.”

“Oh my God,” she says, and she still doesn’t move from the doorway.

“Karrie, you need to check,” I tell her frantic now. “You need to check and see if anything is broken inside.” I open my legs.

“I am not checking your vagina!” she shrieks, holding her hands up to block her eyesight. “Jesus, can you cover it?”

“I would do it for you,” I tell her, and then she shakes her head. Finally entering, she goes straight for the television and turns it off right before the woman has a squirting orgasm.

“This room smells of rubber,” she says, and she tosses me my kimono. “You need to take a shower,” she says, grabbing one of my shirts and then picking up all the sex toys scattered around the room. “Are those anal beads?” she asks me. “How many butt plugs does one person need?”

“You can take all those home. I don’t need them,” I say, getting off the bed. “I’m broken.”

“One, I’m not taking your sex toys home, and two, you aren’t broken. Maybe you just weren’t in the mood,” she says, and she tosses the T-shirt down and looks around. “I can’t even sit down.” She throws her hands up. “Go shower and don’t use the showerhead.” She points at me and walks out of the room. I take a shower, my whole body hurting me, and I find her in the kitchen heating up some food.

“I’m exhausted,” I tell her, sitting down. “My arms feel like hundred-pound weights.”

“You need to drink. You might be dehydrated,” she tells me.