After almost being caught I went downstairs. As I sat at the breakfast table half asleep eating dry cheerios, I tried to ‘play it cool’. He got off easy if you ask me; lying in bed pretending to go to sleep, I could have done with that part! Anyway there I was. I instantly joined into conversation, the others were just blabbering on about the night before; what was funny, filling one another in on all the gossip.
As the morning went on a girl’s name was mentioned. I knew her but I couldn’t think how. Who was she? Did she go to school with me? I didn’t think she did. Then it dawned on me! I knew who she was. She was nameless guy’s girlfriend, or at least his ex. They must have broken up. I was just after spending a night with him. He couldn’t have a girlfriend. He wasn’t that kind of guy. Was he?
My head was spinning with all the questions. I couldn’t tell anyone. If it got around that something happened between us, people would never look at me the same again. It happens all the time; I tried to reconcile myself. It didn’t work.
I felt so guilty but at the same time I didn’t regret it. I know what it was like to be cheated on. I couldn’t help feeling slightly proud of myself, I mean he was seriously good looking. I couldn’t pass on the opportunity but I know I should have. I feel bad now. As soon as I found out the guilt came pouring in. It was inevitable to feel guilty.
Through using the skills I acquired by watching Sherlock Holmes, I managed to find out that they were still together (okay, so it didn’t take much skill, I just casually dropped a few questions into conversation.). he certainly had a girlfriend, that was the truth. Somebody said she was away on holiday or something, but they didn’t know when she was back. I was just a bit on the side.
I suppose in the back of my mind, I had known he wasn’t available, I didn’t like to think about that at the time though. I wanted to pretend he was available and I convinced myself he was. Why did I do that? I should have said something. I should have stopped myself.
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