UGH. I can not stop replaying the events of that night, the night I slept with Will, in my head.
I know I am to blame for all of this. I should not have had sex with him. That is where it all went wrong. And the sad part is, I knew this...before, after...hell, even DURING, I was thinking to myself that it was a mistake. I do believe that my post-coital awkwardness contributed much to our demise. I keep thinking about what I said and did and how I acted. I acted bizarrely, awkwardly, self-consciously, everything that those women's magazines warns you about.
But I was acting that way because in my mind, I knew that I had just lit the fuse on a bomb that would eventually explode in my face. I knew the second the condoms came out that I was making a mistake. And because of that, I must suffer.
My conscious is punishing me through obsession.
It was over before it even had a chance to begin. And now all I have are memories of a mediocre sex and a crappy night.