There was a space between us that I couldn't seem to close in the coming days. Instead of snoring, Christian took to muttering in his sleep, tossing and turning. He looked tired even when he woke up in the morning. He spent more time sitting in the bathtub with the water so hot it turned his skin red and raw. If I came into his room, he'd ask me to leave or even worse, not acknowledge me at all.

As I laid awake on my couch, listening to the TV, I wondered if I should have awakened him earlier. If I should have done it when we were happy. Then Tasha wouldn't have ruined anything. I turned off the TV and paced. Tasha solved nothing. If I had turned Christian, she would have still come hunting for him. She'd kill him. Even the thought of that made me hiss. No, I had done the right thing. I had kept him safe.

The hours seemed too long without him. I switched on Christian's camera to watch him roll over, muttering something too quiet for the camera to pick up. I sighed. He just needed time.

It did, indeed, take time. Eventually, his desire to not be lonely won out. By the end of the week Christian no longer asked me to leave when I visited. He started playing games again, going for walks with me outside. Quieter than usual, sure. I had no idea how much longer it would take for him to return to normal. I no longer remembered what it felt like to grieve.

The night before the deadline, I was watching his back steadily rise and fall with deep breaths. Without thinking, I reached out and began to rub his back in gentle circles. He shook, whether with revulsion or sobs, I couldn't tell. Perhaps a mixture of both. But he allowed me to hold him, to stroke his hair in silence.

"Why did you do this to me?" His voice was muffled by the pillow.

I had no answer.

His sobs continued long into the night.