I bet she thinks I did this on purpose.

I don't mean to say that it was an accident. I mean, Denise didn't just magically appear next to me in a bed when Jean was gone for a week visiting family. My dick didn't just accidentally fall into her. I put it there. It was a conscious choice.

What I meant was, I'll bet she thinks I did this to her on purpose.

That isn't true at all, and the thought actually makes me a bit angry. She, Jean, is a wonderful person, a beautiful, intelligent, kind woman who sure as hell deserves a better boyfriend than the one she had.

Now, why would I decide to cheat on my girlfriend of six years if she was so amazing? I couldn't tell you exactly, but I think the clearly unhealthy level of alcohol in my system combined with loneliness and lust could have done it.

I say could have, because I don't remember anything after the sixth whiskey. I'm actually impressed that I managed to last that long. I remember drinking number six and my next memory is waking up in an unfamiliar bed with an unfamiliar woman and only a couple used condoms in the trash to tell me what had happened.

My heart broke in that moment, knowing, but not remembering, what I had done. I jumped out of bed, went to the bathroom, and prepared to leave a note before taking off (I'm not a total asshole), when she woke up. I tried to explain that I was sorry, but I had made a terrible mistake when she smiled and softly said, "She doesn't have to know."

Knowing what she was implying, I replied, "Yes, she does. I've already cheated. I don't want to lie either."

Denise scrutinized me for a moment before sighing and saying, "You're a good one. I hope she forgives you."

I didn't.

She came home two miserable days later, running into my arms with a radiant smile, which turned to a frown when she realized something was up.

"What's wrong?"

I nearly choked, "I...We need to talk."

So we sat down in the living room of the house we were renting, bags still in her car, coat still on her back. I explained everything, which didn't take very long. I offered to show her, which she accepted with a nod. If anything good came out of that, at least she was able to tell it was a one time thing.

I'd expected screaming, insults, crying, throwing things, you name it, but I forgot who I was thinking about. Despite her notorious temper, Jean never threw tantrums. Well, almost never. There was the time Kurt caught her hair on fire.

She stood and said, "I think I'm sleeping on the couch tonight."

"No, no. Let me. It's where I've been since...then."

She nodded, and cried her heart out, breaking up with me the next day. I shouldn't judge though. I was crying too.

This was a year ago yesterday.

Jean hasn't started seeing anyone else, but I have. Though, if I'm honest with myself, Girlfriend #3 post-Jean won't last long either.

Opinions might be like assholes, but regrets are like scars. Some are from doing good, but not many. Some are easily forgotten, and others fade into the distance, but most are from doing something stupid. This scar across my broken heart aches with stupid regret.

There is a companion story from Jean's perspective, Mistakes.