You sent Jacob a recording of you fucking a janitor!

"Jacob..." you whisper, clenching your eyes shut. "No no no no no...." You like Jacob, now he'll think you're some common slut. He'll know you cheated on you, he'll call you up, and he'll... well, you'll deserve it, whatever it is. you fucked a janitor and let him cum on your face.

The thought of losing Jacob and of the resulting humiliation makes you bow your head and give up your efforts to be free. No doubt he'll tell everyone why you two broke up. The whole world will hear how you fucked a janitor in a closet and assume you do it every day. You'll be ruined. Disowned.

Deep in despair you lose track of time, not even hearing the librarians calling out that the library will be closing. It's only when you phone rings that you shake out of it. In fact you jump in startlement, whipping your head to the side, jostling a shelf and see the phone.

'Jacob Wright' it says, and as it rings a second time you freeze in indecision. If you answer he'll break up with you. If you don't answer....

It rings a third time and you lunge for the phone, the bucket toppling, oil and water splashing across the floor, followed by you. By milliseconds your hand beats the water to the phone, and by another few milliseconds you beat the answering service.

"Hell...." a couple more bottles of oil topple from the shelf from the impact of your efforts, their contents spilling all over your back, "...o?"

"Jenny? Jenny, is that you?" Jacob asks, sounding upset as you knew he would.

"Yes, Jacob. It's me," you say quietly, only vaguely feeling the oil you lie in sink into your front.

"This... this message...." he stops, breathing hard, seemingly at a loss. "What..."

"It...." you stop, realizing that he isn't certain what it is, that you don't actually have to tell him what it was. You could lie. You could save your relationship with him. Yes, it would be based on lies, but it would mean the two of you were still together. It certainly wasn't the honorable thing, and he'd be furious if he ever found out.

You hate the thought of taking even one step down that dishonorable road, of opening yourself to such moral ambiguity. The temptation to deceive would grow stronger each time, you're certain, and each time you'd be weaker to resist.

You make up your mind.