  After talking to my Temptation a bit today, I've decided not to tell Jasmine what transpired this weekend.
He thought it ill-advised, no good could come of it. He has no intentions of telling his lover about it, he said he's chalking it up to drunkeness, something that happened and is done. In my conversation with him, I'd wished that I didn't have a conscience and could just pretend it hadn't happened... and shortly thereafter the guilt went away.
I just stopped feeling it. I know already that this relationship is doomed, that she and I are not going to be together much longer, so why put her through added unpleasantness in the meanwhile by telling her about this. I feel some remorse over how calculating I'm being, thinking in terms of how much money I need to be able to strike out on my own, rather than how the next few months are going to affect her, the person. I feel badly that I'm going to keep such secrets so as not to disrupt my plans. That's just where I'm at in my head. I want to succumb to the evil in me, to stop caring about other humans and just exist for my own selfish pleasure.
I want to fuck him again. I enjoyed it, I want it to happen again. I doubt if he feels the same, and would probably find the turnabout in my attitude alarming, at least, but we'll see what happens. I entirely accidentally left something behind, something that I'm hoping will go unnoticed until I can retrieve it; it's a bit of a telltale item. And I think I will attempt to retrieve it soon. Perhaps suggest drinks while I'm there. Something has finally snapped inside of me. I'm regressing back into the heartless, thoughtless monster I once reveled in being, rather than the crippled abomination I've become.
But it's late and I'm still sleep deprived, we'll see if the remorse doesn't come back in a flood when I wake tomorrow. When I have to face her tomorrow night. But now I know, for certain, it is the relationship that is making me unhappy. 
