I remember it well.
Different from what I wish I could say, I do remember it well.
The way he approached me, with a smile; complimenting my hair and my lipstick.

I remember the taste of his lips.
Red wine.
Sweet like red wine, bitter like regret.
An addicting regret.

As I had never been a good liar, my feelings had soon become clear.
He didn’t stop though. He was determined to make me change my mind and appreciate that moment instead of crucifying myself for something I had not yet done.
Did I, at any moment, give him hints that I didn’t want that? Absolutely.
I wanted him to stop, but at the same time, I wanted him to go on.

I knew his name and his name only.

His lips felt warm and soft on my cold neck, but it burnt my skin; his hands were on my waist, but it seemed out of place, as if it didn’t fit.
The more we kissed, the more I regretted.
An addicting regret.

He teased me, and as much as my body would react to his, my heart wouldn’t.
It had been merely lust that had taken me there.
Insensate lust and childish anger.

It had been anger more than anything.
I had been accused of something that had never, not even once, crossed my mind, so I was angry.
He distrusted me with no reason, so I would give him a reason, because I was insensate and angry.

What other reason would a woman have to lay with a man other than the one she loves?