I lay next to her in bed, half conscious, smelling of tequila and cigarettes. She didn't ask, but she already knew. I proceeded to relate to her my indiscretions, my shortcomings as a man. After everything we'd been through over the years, her infidelities, her choices in life, the cocaine addiction, the STD scare, the aborted pregnancies. She finally had something on me. The angel, the perfect one. I never judged her, but she felt I threw things in her countenance, now she had something to throw in mine. I'm human after all, I'm not perfect. The part that hurt the most was when she said "you're the last person I'd expect to do that." Not in her wildest imagination did she ever think she'd be hearing those words coming from my lips. The same lips she had kissed moments ago, were now spewing words of betrayal. Not necessarily words that betrayed her, but betrayed myself.
I know now what I must do.
(ED. NOTE 11/11: This is either word for word what happened last night, the first page of my new script, something I read, or a combination of the three. I'm not sure yet.)