As I work up the next morning, I wished silently that the ending to the previous night hadn't just been a dream. I opened my eyes and looked to the other side of the bed and saw Jeff lying there. Part of me wanted to cry and the other part was mad that I hadn't gone to John.
I rolled onto my back and examined the ceiling, praying I could will myself out of bed before he awoke.
"Is the ceiling really that interesting?" My prayers were shattered by Jeff's question. I turned onto my side to look at him. I may not have slept with him but my conscience was telling me that I was just as wrong for being here.
"No, it's not that," I replied, trying to hide my shame. "I was just trying to will myself to move."
"Aw, poor baby, want me to carry you?" He moved closer to me under the covers and I shied away, pushing his outreached arms back to himself. "What's wrong?"
"I can't do this." I got up and walked out. I didn't bother explaining. What would be the point?