I wasn't sure just what to make of Christine's epiphany. And the fact that I didn't know what to make of it made me inherently paranoid. Was she mad… or toying with me? Or could she possibly be really and truly in love with me? Of course the latter had been my greatest fantasy for a long time now, but I sincerely doubted there could be any truth to it.

She was 100 percent correct in everything she had said, you see. She had no where to go, no future to speak of… and no one to turn to for help. No one except Erik, that is.

But couldn't that be enough? She could find no better friend than I. I, who would provide for her every whim and protect her with the very fiber of my being. Could the same be said for anyone else? Is there another who would die for her? More so, is there another who would kill for her?

Um… I decided to keep that last bit to myself. I didn't think she'd take it as the reassurance I intended. Women are funny creatures. But I am learning, you see… slowly learning.

So, yes, everything she had revealed to herself was true. She had finally come to accept the lesson I had so long tried to teach her. Christine was learning to depend on me. The biggest hurdle was behind us.

But… I was still unsettled. It was her tone, I think… it made me think that something was up. It was like… she loved me… or at least needed me… but didn't… well… want to. Which didn't make a lick of sense.

But that didn't stop me from lying to myself for the time being. I could over-analyze her motivations tomorrow. It wouldn't hurt to spend one evening playing house with a wife who loved me.

And it didn't. In fact, it had been one of the best days of my life thus far. Christine has that effect on me, you see. She can take a day out of my pathetic existence and make it worthwhile. Clever girl…

"Come inside with me," I prodded, helping her up from her kneeling position on the pavement, "I think… a cup of tea would be nice. Don't you agree, darling? Shall we go back home?"

"Home…" she murmured, not bothering to remove her gaze from the… nothing… that she had been staring at.

I laced her arm through mine and led her back to the house. Our house. The house I lived in with my wife who loved me and whom I shared everything with.

Well… almost everything. The important things, anyway. But let's stay on topic, shall we?

When we returned to the house, I glanced at the clock. "It is nearly lunchtime, my dear. Are you hungry? What would you like to eat today? Your husband will fix you anything you like. Oh I love you so, Christine."

She nodded. "Whatever you think is best."

I was unperturbed by her answer. Well, mostly. I knew her indifference had to be born out of the tension of the morning. There was a good chance she was still experiencing some jet-lag. If I was a better man, I would have sent her to her room for a nap… but I was not willing to give her up to sleep just yet. We'd just have to retire early tonight.

She began to eat silently. I wished she would say something; I'd learned it was much easier to stare openly at her under the guise of being an active listener. It didn't seem to bother her, though. Actually, she didn't seem to notice me at all until she suddenly looked up at me.

"Won't you eat?" she asked. She was looking at me like I had four heads.

"No, darling. Not right now."

She was still staring. I self-consciously felt for my mask. Still in place.

"You never eat."

"Would it please you for me to do so?"

She nodded and turned back at her food. My chest swelled a little, I think. No one has ever cared enough to be bothered by my neglectful habits. It felt good, you know? Really, really good.

"Then I promise to eat once you are finished."

She nodded and shrugged like she didn't care either way… but now I knew better. My shy flower had already shown me that she cared—she was just being bashful. It was all so very endearing; if she had smiled as well I am sure my heart would have melted right out of my chest.

--

After lunch, she rose to go wash up and change clothes. I grabbed an apple—because I am a good husband and true to my word—and went downstairs to wait for her.

I almost fell down the last step, though, when I heard her shriek my name.

I am forever thankful for my quick reflexes. I think… well… I feel like I have enough working against me to be tripping over my own feet. As it was, I managed to catch myself and bound back up the stairs to see what had so upset my wife.

"Christine!" I cried as I tore my way into her room. She was facing the window.

"Christine?" I asked, this time, trying to get her attention.

When she turned around, my insides jumped a bit. She was looking at me again… staring. It was that same look as before… empty and piercing at the same time. What on earth had caught her attention so? It was unnatural.

Again, I felt the need to fidget. Egads, woman! Stop looking at me like that!

I wonder if that's how people feel when I am watching them. It sure would explain a lot.

"Oh hello, Erik. What are you doing here?"

"You called for me." I was getting exasperated. She'd called me in such a panic. Had I imagined it?

She frowned. "I did, didn't I? I'm sorry. I… I don't remember why I did that."

"Don't be sorry, darling, I was just so—Ah! Christine, you're bleeding!"

A spot of blood had started to soak through her long-sleeved shirt. I yanked up the sleeve to have a better look. Sure enough, she had a good sized gash in her forearm.

I was mortified.

"Oh that's right," she said indifferently, looking at the cut limb curiously, "I remember now. I nicked myself on the corner of the desk."

I felt the corner. She must have hit it really hard to cut herself so. Was she not paying attention? I asked her as much.

"I got distracted," she answered, "I think I hit it pretty hard. Do you think?"

I blinked. Didn't I just say that?

She was unresisting as I took her to the closest seat—at the offending desk, oddly enough—and left to fetch some first-aid supplies.

"Christine… go sit down. Erik will take care of you."

"You do, don't you?" she said, smiling slightly. "You do take care of me."

"Always, love."

--

Later that night, I was flipping through an article that had caught my interest when I heard light footsteps padding down the hall. Silent as a ghost, Christine floated into my study and took a book off the shelf.

My assumption had been that she'd been experiencing some insomnia and was looking for something to read, and so, naturally, my expectation was for her to take her book and go back to her room. In fact, her intent seemed so deliberate that it didn't necessitate a greeting on my part. I just watched her out of the corner of my eye and waited for her to leave.

Instead, though, she wandered over to my chair and handed the book to me. I stared at her, waiting for her to explain, but she did not. She settled down delicately at my feet and laid her head on my knee.

It was all so unnervingly silent.

I began to read.

I felt her relax against me as I read to her and I had to smile. When I ran an experimental hand through her hair, her head rested even heavier on my knee. Her eyes were closed.

This is how I had imagined it to be between us. I would be her slave… but, at the end of the day, she would snuggle up beside me and I would have a family.

After a fashion, she rose and took the book from my hands. A whispered 'thank-you' and a half-hearted smile and she wandered back to bed.