He bought me a drink the next time I ran across him, and I thanked him rather shyly. I was in love with him, no longer caring or even believing that he had ever followed me. A fairy tale in the making, I took him home.
I awoke the next morning to find him beside me in my bed. His brown hair disheveled, his eyes barely open, he smiled. "Good morning beautiful." I just lay there looking at him. I couldn't remember a thing about the night before after we got to my apartment and I was terrified, and dizzy. I returned his smile to stave off any awkward conversation between us, not really knowing if my voice would come out steady.
I rolled over and snuggled up to him while pretending to go back to sleep, hoping that the dizziness would subside. I counted the drinks in my head from the night before: three. Only three drinks, this was not a hangover. Last night was not a blackout, but yet it was.
There was no doubt in my mind that we had made love. My brain may have lost the memory of it, but my body had not. I was scared that something was terribly wrong with me. Never once did I believe that he had anything to do with my memory lapse.
In the following weeks, he called on me often, taking me to dinner, to the movies, even silly shopping sprees. When we weren't together, we were texting each other the mundane details of our days. When we weren't in public together, we were exploring each other in the bedroom. He seemed to worship my body and in return my body ached for his. I all but forgot about the black out episodes, life was good.
One month into the affair, he came clean about being married. He had picked me up that evening with a dozen roses in hand. He took me to my favorite Indian restaurant to celebrate our one month anniversary. It wasn't until I was snuggled safely in his arms that night that he told me what I thought was the truth about his other life.
I awoke the next morning to find him beside me in my bed. His brown hair disheveled, his eyes barely open, he smiled. "Good morning beautiful." I just lay there looking at him. I couldn't remember a thing about the night before after we got to my apartment and I was terrified, and dizzy. I returned his smile to stave off any awkward conversation between us, not really knowing if my voice would come out steady.
I rolled over and snuggled up to him while pretending to go back to sleep, hoping that the dizziness would subside. I counted the drinks in my head from the night before: three. Only three drinks, this was not a hangover. Last night was not a blackout, but yet it was.
There was no doubt in my mind that we had made love. My brain may have lost the memory of it, but my body had not. I was scared that something was terribly wrong with me. Never once did I believe that he had anything to do with my memory lapse.
In the following weeks, he called on me often, taking me to dinner, to the movies, even silly shopping sprees. When we weren't together, we were texting each other the mundane details of our days. When we weren't in public together, we were exploring each other in the bedroom. He seemed to worship my body and in return my body ached for his. I all but forgot about the black out episodes, life was good.
One month into the affair, he came clean about being married. He had picked me up that evening with a dozen roses in hand. He took me to my favorite Indian restaurant to celebrate our one month anniversary. It wasn't until I was snuggled safely in his arms that night that he told me what I thought was the truth about his other life.
oo nice bit of intrigue to end on...scary about the blackouts...i like the unexplained scary though...keep it going!
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