I couldn't sleep with her next to me. I knew what she had done. It was despicable; it made my stomach churn. But there she was, next to me, sleeping soundly, like a baby without a care in the world. Her breathing came in short shallow gasps. Her snores got on my nerves and as I try to sleep all I can think of is what she's done. What I've done, now that I know. I'm part of it. A romantic evening, a shared bottle of Merlot, shared secrets; too much. A night of passion, a night of disgust. Now what? I wonder how I can rectify the situation, should I tell? How to make amends. I think of that poor soul, their family and friends, waiting, wondering, forever unknowing. She felt comfortable with me, confided in me. What was I supposed to say? I joked at first, stunned, I couldn't believe my ears. As I turned her confession over in my head I started to form a plan. As night slowly turned to day I knew what I had to do. I had no choice. I had to save and lose my own soul.
I reached for a pillow, straddled her, and cleared my conscience of her confession.
I couldn't sleep with her next to me.