My schedule has become ridiculously complicated and crowded, which doesn't mix well with re-writing. Thanks for all of your patience.

Chapter 35: Exquisite Torture

Erik

I was sick of her. I loved her, but I was thoroughly tired of her. She refused to open her eyes and face reality. Heaven forbid one of her fairy-tales not be true! After all this time, she was still childish enough to believe that I was a monster from whom she must be saved. She would not open herself to the possibility that the world – not I – was the monster and that she had already been rescued. No, that was impossible for her to grasp. She chose to believe the very society that nearly destroyed her than the one person who truly loved her. She was its prisoner as well as a prisoner of her own mind, and she lashed out at me for trying to free her.

I avoided her for three days. I hid from her like a beast. The fact that she searched for me during that time irritated me. We both needed time to collect ourselves after my indiscretion in the library. She even went into my room! I did not allow her to find me, though. I made her wait. I was too angry to face her. I needed to recover my shattered pride.

When I joined her for breakfast three days later, I did not spark any conversation between us. The foolish girl was confused. She did not understand why I was aloof. To my surprise, it frustrated her enough to cause her to sing quite badly. Finally, she demanded to know why I was angry. Angry! After the past week, she was still naïve enough to think I was merely angry! I could not help but laugh sharply at the irony of the situation. She was such a little hypocrite. She said one thing but meant another. She wanted to know the truth until it became something she did not want to see. Once faced with something unpleasant, she looked away. Even as I confronted her, she squirmed and tried to look away. I did not allow her the luxury. I made her look at me as I told her the complete truth. I put my heart on display before her and begged for her honesty. Then, I asked her the crucial question: "What do you want?"

She did not know.

Then, she said she was sorry. Again, she thought she could fix everything by uttering that simple word. She thought her apology helped, but it stung. It reminded me of her painfully young age and fragile mind. It reminded me that I was old and ugly and she was beautiful and naïve.

I left the room. I needed room to breathe, and I did not want her to see me lose control again.

Once I reached my room, I took out my violin. It was a shame that I was required to confine my music to my room. But, Christine was afraid of my music much like she was afraid of everything else, so I only played when she was unable to hear.

I was finished. I could not go on any longer. The girl caused me no end of anxiety. She was bad for my health. She had reduced me to a kidnapper. She would never love me. I would always be the man who stole her life. Never mind that it was a pathetic existence; it had been hers, and I had dared to interfere using the excuse that it was in her best interest.

As I vented my pain through my violin, I decided to remain distant and cold. If I did not, I would lose myself to her completely.

o0o

I must be going mad.

The thought was on the forefront of my mind as I held Christine in my arms. The hour was very late, but I was not tired. I have never required a great deal of sleep, and I did not want to leave her alone. She might have another nightmare. She might need me again.

My resolve to avoid her was gone, of course. She was irresistible, especially when she cried. I was not strong enough to ignore her tears or remain silent as she lay tormented. She wanted me to stay, and I could not leave.

It was the most exquisite kind of torture, holding her that night. Not that lust bothered me; all I felt was the overwhelming desire to protect her. She had fallen asleep with her face buried in my collar, and somehow, her arms had entangled themselves around me. Her cheek would occasionally nudge against my chest, and once, she smiled and sighed contentedly. When I tried to pull away, she clutched me as though someone were trying to take her favorite teddy bear and murmured, "Mine."

That was all it took to convince me to stay.

It was all bittersweet. She was in my arms, so entirely adorable and vulnerable. But, I knew that when the sun rose, she would recoil from me again. She did not need me during the day time, where I was the only cause of her fear.

Yet, I still stayed. She was so close to me. Even though her mind and heart remained stubbornly distant, for a few precious hours, I could pretend she was mine. I could pretend that she would wake, and when the light revealed my face, she would still smile at me.

But, it could not be, for the girl in my arms was too weak. I cursed her for her frailty even as I loved her for it. I had fallen in love with a child. No matter how long Christine lived, she would constantly need someone to hide behind, to comfort her from nightmares, to reassure her. She needed both father and lover. It was a pathetic situation, but I would have eagerly become everything for her if she would only say the word.

She needed me. The fact that she screamed my name in her delirium proved that she needed me. She knew she needed me. That maddened me more than anything else: she understood we were co-dependent upon each other, but she fought it tooth and nail.

I understood why she fought, though. She was not angry that she needed someone. However, being needed frightened her. Her young man wanted her, yes, but he could easily find another. Christine was not the last girl he could ever love. But, to me, she was everything. She was the only woman I had ever loved, and she was the only woman I could ever love. I did not simply want her; I needed her as well.

One thing was certain: I was through groveling. My pride could not endure it any longer. If I wanted her to respect me, I had to restrain my temper. If I wanted her to love me, I had to earn it rather than demand it. I had to be patient with her. One day, she would be strong enough to realize how essential we were to each other. One day, she would accept me. I would wait for her. I would remain by her side, continuing to love her until and beyond the moment she became reconciled to me. I had no choice, really. I was bluffing when I told myself I would stay away from her. I loved her too much to deny myself the pleasure of her presence.

I sighed and brushed a stray curl from her forehead. She smiled and took my hand in her slumber. "Mine," she insisted again. I consented and allowed her to hold my hand as I kept vigil over her sweet sleeping form.

"Yes, Christine," I whispered gently. "I will always be yours."