The Curse of Assimilated Memories

Back in the heyday of our affair/fling/whatever Inamorata and I used to talk for hours about anything and everything, but one of obvious favourite subjects was sex.
This, it appears, was unfortunate for me, as her high libido and sledgehammer honesty made for some occasionally uncomfortable listening. One story she told me has lodged itself so deeply in my mind that even now I’m loosing sleep over it.

Shortly after finishing university Inamorata and her best friend went on holiday, and whilst steaming drunk she slept with a barman from a club around the corner from her hotel, and from what I remember of her description of that encounter it wasn’t the most satisfying of her life.
This in and of itself isn’t a problem, its her life and she’s obviously free to do as she wishes, but the assimilated memory of that encounter has stuck in my mind ever since, and when it crawls back into my consciousness I’m there, floating above the bed as this guy humps her.
It’s not a true memory of course, but that doesn’t stop a knot forming in my stomach every time it surfaces. It doesn’t strike as often or make me feel as physically sick as it used to, but when it does its still fucking awful.

I suspect that tonight’s revisitation of that night before I knew her has something to do with Kitten inviting me to go on holiday with her at the end of the month, but I suspect that’s not the whole story.

A couple of weeks ago I walked into the break room to grab a coffee and overhead Inamorata talking to one of her friends about the holiday she has booked towards the end of the year. She’s not going with her husband, instead she’s going with that same friend from university and possibly to the same resort as the memory that haunts me.

This wouldn’t be such an issue if it wasn’t for another incident that also affected me rather deeply.
At some point after our dalliance started Inamorata attended a friends wedding. As usual she got very very drunk and ended up waking up in the back of her car the next morning – the only problem is she can’t remember anything of what happened between the bar closing and her waking up in her car.
This would never have been brought to my attention if I hadn’t have asked if she’d had a good time when I saw her the next day – the sheepish look and deliberate evasion immediately set off alarm bells (she’s never been afraid to talk about a night out before or since) but she seemed uncomfortable so I avoided pushing the matter. The full story eventually came out in conversation a few days later – she doesn’t think she slept with anyone (although there were several guys who would have jumped at the chance) but can’t be 100% sure.
The thing that really shocked me was that she admitted that she wasn’t worried about cheating on her husband, she was more concerned about how I’d take the news…..

So you can see why I’m unsettled at Inamoratas choice of holiday destination and travel companion – with ‘us’ now a thing of the past I wouldn’t blame her for indulging in a bit of no-strings fun whilst away on holiday.
It’s the idea of that look on her face again when she eventually comes back to work that’s got my stomach turning somersaults and a cold sweat forming on my brow.

I wish I could escape her, or at least stop these feelings from eating me up from the inside, but for now I can’t – it seems I’m cursed to be endlessly hurt by my love for this woman – a fitting punishment for the pain I’ve inflicted on my ex-fiancĂ©e no doubt


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