"Oh Erik. Why? Why?" She whispered, her head falling against his woollen trouser encased thigh and she buried her nose in the rough material, inhaling the rich, heady scent of her beloved in his drugged oblivion.

He could not answer her. In his drugged oblivion, he could not comprehend logical thought, his mouth working uselessly like a fish out of water. After several minutes of tears, she wiped her face against his trousers and rose on shaky legs, not knowing what to do.

'I must do something. I can't just sit here crying. He needs my help, desperately." She said, crouching beside the chair and grasping his hand in hers. Pressing it to her cheek, her fingers closed around his weakly fluttering pulse, her eyes fell to his exposed forearm. She couldn't believe her eyes. The marks upon his skin. The scars of his past, his secret shame. All those years mapped out upon his flesh.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She whispered incredulously, her fingers running over the dips and indentations of his tightly-stretched skin. How many years had he been inflicting this pain upon himself? These marks were not recent. Some had nearly healed, whilst others were the pearly ivory of scar tissue. What had he so desperately tried to forget?

'I shall fetch him a drink and a blanket and spend the rest of the afternoon and night here until he recovers." She said, pressing a slim hand to her forehead as a spasm of pain passed through her forehead. She shouldn't be exerting herself like this. She had been ill, and was still recovering. It wasn't fair of Erik to do this, it was selfish of him. In that moment, she didn't think that she'd ever disliked him as much as she did in that moment.

'I shouldn't think that, I can't. I love him too much. He needs my support, not my anger and dislike.' She said, bending over his sprawled form and pressing a kiss to the rough skin of his forehead.

"I shall be back in a moment Erik." She said, her eyes lingering upon his face, but as she turned to leave, a hand snatched at the skirt of her dress.

"Christine." He slurred, struggling to rise to his feet, leaning heavily upon the arm of the chair, staggering under his own weight.

"Yes Erik. But sit back down, I shall fetch you a drink and a small bite to eat. You must rest. I know that you are currently...indisposed. Stay here for me, my love." She said, gently removing his hand from her skirt and guiding him back into the chair. She placed her hand upon his shoulder, pushing gently, but instead of complying, his arm locked around her neck, his other arm rising to grip her tightly around the neck.

"Christine, Christine, I want you to know how much I need you. How much I love you. You are my whole world. I would be nothing without you. You are so special to me." He started to laugh, deep and throaty as it resonated deep within his chest, a smile splitting his face into a grin like a cat that had got the cream. As his laughter continued, Christine's face fell repeatedly. This was not her Erik. He laughed, certainly, but normally he was far more reserved. Whatever he had taken had completely altered his personality.

"I know this Erik, I know. You don't need to tell me that you love me. I see it in your eyes and in your voice." She said softly, attempting again to return him to his seat, but failing as he exerted his full strength, his arms tight and constricting around her.

"No Christine, you must listen. I want you to know it. You must know it. I feel like a moth, like a small, insignificant little moth fluttering in the breeze. And you are my light. I am drawn to you, heart and soul. You enchant me." He drawled, his face close to hers and the sweet cloying scent of alcohol upon his breath nearly overwhelming her. She struggled meekly against him, turning her face away from his so that she could breath fresh, sweet air.

"Erik, please, you're scaring me. I know that you love me. Let me fetch you a drink. I shall sit by you while you recover from your temporary malady. I will be here." She said forcefully.

"Christine." He stuttered, and his hands fisting tightly within her curls, his lips locked awkwardly with hers, as his hands clasped her head possessively. She loved him, she did, but she did not relish his touch. At this moment, she would rather be alone in the comfort of her bed than here in his drugged embrace, at the mercy of his whims.

"You are my everything Christine. My everything." He panted against her lips, his arms locking like an iron-vice around her ribcage. His mouth opening under hers, his tongue probed for entrance to the sweet cavern of her mouth. She resisted, her lips shut tightly under his, but he was unrelenting. She could do nothing but submit to him.

"Please stop Erik, I don't like this." She protested, her hands pressed against his chest as she tried to push him away from her, her lips unmoving as she attempting to turn her face away.

His lips breaking from hers, he cupped her chin firmly within his hand and turned her face to look at him. Their eyes met, hers wide and hurt and his unfocused and bleary. The scarlet and gold of the flames that danced and raged within the hearth cast deep, dark shadows upon his form and face, making his features appear more horrific than ever.

"Christine, this is what I want. I want you. I need you." He drawled, and suddenly seizing her slim, fragile wrists within his larger skeletal hands, he pulled her to him, his lips connecting with hers. She tried to fight him. She pushed against him chest within all of her might, trying to get him off of her. She couldn't do this, didn't want to do this. It was not how it was meant to be. It was meant to be romantic, an expression of their love for one another. Not a display of one's power over the other.

'It was only several hours ago that he tried to kiss me and left me for this reason. He fled because he thought that he was abusing his power over me, and that's what he's doing now.' She thought to herself as her lips were forced to respond to his provocation.

But as suddenly as it started, it ended. His lips breaking from hers, he burst into a fit of tears, collapsing back into the armchair, his legs curled up to his chest like a foetus. His arms locked around his knees, he rocked back and forward, muttering incomprehensible syllables as the tears poured from his eyes, running rivulets over the dips in his uneven cheeks.

"What has Erik done? What has Erik done? How could Erik do that to his Christine? He loves her, he does, with all of his heart and soul. She means the world to him, and he destroys everything by abusing her trust." He cried, his head falling against the high back of the chair as he wept bitter tears that wracked his slim frame.

"Erik, I...I must go. I cannot stay here with you. I shall lock my door tonight. I do not wish your company." She said, goosebumps rising upon her exposed skin as she cast pitiful, soulful eyes upon his pathetic form. She hurried from the room, her eyes blinded by tears as she fled, arriving in the safety of her room. The familiar scent of rose and lavender met her senses as she fumbled with the knob of her door, shutting it quickly behind her and turning the key within the lock.

"I need a bath to relax my frayed nerves. I cannot cope with this." She said to herself, shaking her head to clear the thoughts of Erik sprawled within his chair, his eyes wide and unfocused as he slurred incomprehensibly.

Walking slowly to her dressing table, she sat down upon the velvet stool, her eyes trained upon her reflection. Her pale, drawn features were in stark contrast the redness of her cheeks and eyes that were puffy with crying. Her curls were loose and knotted about her shoulders, and seizing her gilt hairbrush, she set about ridding the mass of its tangles, wincing as she tugged at her scalp. With deft fingers, she plaited her hair and secured it with a pretty pink ribbon, her fingers fiddling with the loose ends.

'Stop it. He chose to do that to himself. You tried to help him and he rejected your efforts. It is not your problem.' The sinful voice taunted within her head, her hands falling back to her lap to stop herself from fiddling.

'But he is. He is your husband. It is your duty as his wife to protect and care for him in his hour of need.' The rational part of her brain replied, and her cheeks flooded with shame. She should have tried harder to protect him. It was all her fault. If she had been a better wife, then he would never have taken whatever dreadful substance he had injected into his porcelain skin.

"Help me." She whispered to the air, her mind spinning. She pleaded with God for the strength and patience to face the demons that were destroying her Erik. She walked into the bathroom, opening the taps and watching transfixed as the hot, steaming water filled the marble tub, her mind temporarily occupied with something other than her beloved.

'I should go to him. He could die if I am not there. He might choke on his own vomit, or have a hear attack, anything. I must go to him.' She thought, her hand straying to the tap to turn it off.

'Don't. Think of just a moment ago. How close he was to hurting you. If you hadn't protested, he could have done anything. Think of his raw, masculine strength. Under the influence of such a drug, he could do anything.' Her hand resting stationary upon the tap as the water continued to gush forth, the thought resonated deep within her brain. 'It would be safer if I stayed here. He has done it many times before, and each time I have not been there to mollycoddle him.' She thought, trying desperately to justify her conflicting thoughts.

With a sudden sweep of her arm, she pulled the night robe over her head and stepped into the water, letting the heat envelope her weary body. Trailing her hand languidly within the swirling water, not one thought of Erik was within in mind. This was her 'me' time. Erik used drugs to forget. She took a bath.

She lay within the tub, staring blindly at the trickles of condensation upon the wall until the water became chilly, and lowly rising, she wrapped a thick, fluffy towel around he middle, the ends of her plait dripping.m

'I shall snuggle up with a good book and try to sleep. I am weary and need rest.' She thought to herself, slipping her night gown over her damp body and towelling the ends of her hair. Humming to herself, she skipped from the bathroom ad went to bed, retrieving the first leather bound volume at hand.

'I will not think of Erik, I will not think of him. He caused himself and you this pain. He does not deserve your sympathy. You must be strong Christine.' She said to herself, pulling back the covers and climbing into bed. How good it felt to be back in her own bed, between her soft cotton sheets. Fumbling in the beside table draw, she struck a match and lit the candle, the flare of light illuminating the darkening room.

Settling back against the pillows, tucking the curls that had fallen from her plait behind her ear, she snuggled beneath the covers and opened the volume, letting her mind be filled with nothing but the story that was unfolding before upon the page.

For hours she lay there, absorbed within the story, her hands numb from blood loss as she held the book aloft before her. Stifling a yawn, the book fell from her hand, its thud muffled by the plush carpet. Curling up beneath the covers, her eyes fluttered shut and she waited for dreams to overtake her.

It was at that moment that a noise awoke her. Eyes snapping open, she listen as the sound came again. It was the rattling of her door knob, and she knew who by, for there was no one else in the house. It was Erik. She would ignore it and fall asleep.

"Christine, Christine, please, open the door. Let me explain. I am perfectly fine now. Please, I must talk to you. Christine." He called, twisting the knob energetically and banging upon the door. She lay there, not daring to breathe. She couldn't open the door, she wouldn't. She would wait until morning and let him explain then.

"Alright Christine, if you will not open the door, then I will spend all night outside your door. All I want is for you to listen to me. Please." He called through the door, and she was torn. What should she do? She she go to him, let him explain his actions, be the wife he so needed. Or should she leave him to wallow, to suffer as he had caused to suffer when she had found him sprawled within that armchair. What was she to do?

So...what should she do? He may seem a little out of character, but these are the true effects of drug abuse- uncontrollable laughter, violence, desperation, rambling etc. I hope that you enjoyed it, as it took a lot of time and effort. I long debated posting this, but I hope that I succeeded! :)