Kerri was so angry. She didn't even know why. He had just pushed all of her buttons.
She was mixing her paints, venting some of her frustration on the liquids. Tonight there would be angry colors gracing her canvas.
"Kerri, are you alright?" Marie stood on the opposite side of the room.
"No, not really."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Not unless you have policemen handy."
"I could call them if you'd like…"
"No, don't." She cut her off. She searched around her for something fervently.
"Where the hell is my pallet knife?"
"Behind you." Marie pointed.
"Thank you." She replied shortly. She cut a section off the bottom of the canvas, painting the entire remaining cloth vibrant red. She dabbed the scrap into the orange, sponging it on. She painted black hearts, some with holes, some broken, some simply bleeding.
She had forgotten to tie her hair back, and as a result, when she went to scratch her forehead, she smeared three kinds of paint on herself. She sighed, looking up at the ceiling.
"It's because I'm not a virgin, isn't it?" She asked aloud. "You're unhappy, so I'm unhappy."
"Is there anything I can help you with?" Marie asked. Kerri jumped at the sound of her voice.
"A wet cloth would be nice. And something to help me sleep.
The girl nodded, standing aside on her way out to let her mother in.
"Kerri, we need to talk."
"Oh, you're not attempting to have that conversation, are you?"
"I'm serious Kerri. You're playing with fire, and you will get burned."
"No. I'm smarter than that."
"Who am I talking about then?"
"Raoul, of course."
Delia sat down on the bed.
"Actually, I am referring to Erik."
"Erik is completely harmless, trust me."
"That is exactly what I mean. You forget that this man is a murderer."
"Well he hasn't harmed anything since I've brought him here."
"But that doesn't mean he won't. I understand that you're still mourning, but that is no reason…"
"You think I'm trying to replace Christian?" She asked slowly.
"Yes, in a fashion."
Kerri slammed her brush down.
"Get out Delia."
"Excuse me?"
"Get out!"
Delia sat wordless for a moment, then left. Marie seemed to take the hint, because she put the pills and washcloth on the dresser silently.
Kerri sat at her easel, sobbing. She had thought the very same thing two mornings ago, when she'd woken up in Erik's arms. She hadn't regretted anything, but she regretted why she had done it. For her own conscience, and because she was tired of sleeping alone. She had even dreamt of Christian. Her own subconscious was trying to drive her insane. Was Erik feeling the same way?
She was the most frustrating human being! All he had said was that is sounded like she was being judgmental, and off she went on her little crusade. Were all women this way?
He ran his hands over the violin, picking it up again.
A more up beat tempo escaped him, but it was somehow still filled with a sad passion. It became more frantic, involving sour notes and low chords.
He stopped suddenly, as one of the servant girls entered the room. She wasn't afraid of him anymore, but she never called him by his name.
"May I help you?" He sighed.
"Do you want me to talk to her?"
"No. Let her get over what ever she needs to."
"She can be pretty stubborn."
He chuckled. "I know."
"As mature and well-spoken as she can be, she's still fragile, you know. Be careful."
"That seems to be the suggestion of the week. Is there any particular reason?"
Marie gave him a sad smile.
"Two years ago last night my brother was shot."
Noow he felt like a jerk. He knew something was wrong, but he hadn't felt the need to ask. If she'd wanted to talk, she would have. At least, that's what he thought.
Feeling very asinine, he left the room, wanting to talk to her. He stopped himself just short of knocking. Marie had just reminded him that she could be extremely stubborn, and this seemed like one of those times that she would be pigheaded. And beyond that, no light escaped from under her door. She was probably already asleep.
But even beyond all that, all of the things Kerri had said, however heated and rash, were true.
Both Erik and Kerri fell asleep that night thinking about what had been said; by each other, by themselves, and by others. In the end, neither dreamed.