The sun was just starting to peek in through the windows. Everyone else was fast asleep. And you, you took my face in your hands, turned me to you, and kissed me.

Oh, it would have been terribly sweet.

If you'd been sober and single.

But you weren't, were you? Five months taken, eight hours drunk, kissing your best friend.

Or ex-best friend, as the case may be.

Four days ago I called you, and you cried like a child whose party balloon had just gotten caught in a ceiling fan. Sobbing to me, telling me you couldn't remember anything at all. Everything that happened happened because you wanted it to? Oh god, you WHAT?

No.

NO!

You CAN'T believe that!

So don't.

You say a lot of things, but the stories don't always match up. I pretend to believe you. I do believe you…don't I? It's the truth. That's why I so fervently try to tell your friends. The truth. So you don't HANG.

In the secret part of my mind, I doubt you.

Midnight.

You know, sometimes you wish you were still single.

How drunk were you then, hm?

How drunk were you then?

Six in the morning.

I'm not going to tell anybody, am I?

How about THEN?

Seven in the morning. Your friend wakes up for work. We wake after forty five minutes of sleep, huddled together on the end half-occupied by his legs. Our legs are entwined, and your head rests on my stomach.

How drunk were you THEN?

Seven to eight.

Eight to nine.

Nine to ten.

Three hours to ourselves. Your arm around me, pulling me close and holding me there.

HOW DRUNK WERE YOU THEN?

My guilt, oh god, my guilt! What the hell have we done? You're "Cupcake" and you're hers. HERS, HERS, HERS, ALL HERS.

But she doesn't know.

Not yet.

And you don't know that she ever will.

Oh, but I do.

Did you plan it the whole time?

No. it was spur of the moment. You feel bad too, but it can be forgotten. You were curious. I was willing. That's all.

THREE.

DAYS.

LATER.

HOW FUCKING "DRUNK" WERE YOU THEN?

Now she knows. Now everybody knows. Now you "don't remember". And I believe you. Because that's what we agreed on FOUR days later. Or were you drunk THEN, too?

This isn't the first time we've sculpted our own reality. This isn't the first time we've made our own decisions about what's what, how it was, and how it will be.

I think maybe this time the false is really moving in on your reality. Oh, I don't doubt you were drunk, not even in the secret part of my mind. Nor do I doubt the fact that you honestly don't remember a thing…at the appropriate times, at least.

There are so many things you don't know about that night. There are so many things your friends and hers don't know. I saved you. I saved you from so much. And I left even you oblivious. You don't need to be told.

Because on one hand, telling you would cause you to feel so much guilt, I worry what you'd do.

And on the other hand…

You.

Already.

Know.

EXACTLY.

WHAT.

YOU.

DID!