Adulterer

I cheated on my love.

Yup, I saw something shinier, newer, and more interesting—and I went for it. With a vengeance. Am I proud of what I did? No, I’m not. Was it worth it? Not really. Will I do it again? Maybe, I can’t say never…but I will think before I do it this time, the guilt is not worth the payoff. I can’t believe I did it. Cheated on the man I love.

I cheated on the Count of Monte Cristo.

I cheated on the Count, with a non-fiction book called The Kiss, about a woman who has a sexual relationship with her father when she is twenty years old.

It was quick and painless, I started my affair last night before bed, I’m already finished, but that doesn’t make it any less painful, for me or the Count.

I love the Count of Monte Cristo, I’ve been with him before. He’s dark and mysterious and angry and vengeful, but he’s also brave, intelligent, gracious and able. The Count is not easy to understand, you have to be patient, read lines over and over to get the story and the meaning. The Count makes you work for it, the thrill of the hunt.

The Kiss was easy, too easy. It gave itself to me without me even working for it. I didn’t even have to get to know it before I tossed it aside, another notch in the bedpost.

The Count means everything to me, I’ll return to him now, hiding my cheating, not speaking of it, acting like it didn’t happen. The Count has to know…

That The Kiss? The Kiss meant nothing to me.