"Okay, here it is. It's not much but its home."

Opening the door to her apartment, Wren pocketed her keys and fumbled with the wall trying to find the light switch. When the light finally came up from her lamp she instantly wished she was more cleanly. The dining room and the living room were connected but they might as well of been one room. A large lumpy red couch sat against the wall across from the door, sporting several squished throw pillows. Earlier that day, she had slept on it and the pillows were still formed how she had set them. There was a wooden low coffee table, covered in homework papers and stacks of books. Several week old coffee cups sat scattered about in random spaces with dark brown rings half way down the bottom.

A large firm brown recliner sat with its back to the dining room with a small table stand next to it, supporting a painted lamp. A dark blue scarf was thrown over the top, hazardously perhaps, making all the light a nice shade of blue. Next to the door on the right was a fairly large television set with, yes, more coffee mugs, some from Starbucks, and an old lace seat cover.

The dining room and living room were pretty much connected. The kitchen (which she dreaded to enter) sat to the right, behind a wall and the main area. She had a small table seated under a large window in the dining area, the blinds drawn all the way up. There were only two chairs there, one occupied by a bucket of paintbrushes and charcoal pencils. The table was completely carpeted by small cups of paint and newspapers. The window was halfway painted with a multitude of colors, not yet with any discernable picture. The wooden floor was littered with millions of sketches of people in movement and of flowers, all in charcoal and pencils.

From the dining room was a short hallway that ended with the open door of her bedroom. The only bathroom sat the right in the hall with an open-faced closet containing the washer and dryer. All the walls were unadorned but when she had moved in a few years ago she had traced and painted them all with maps of Europe.

Embarrassed, Wren looked about, attempting to think of an excuse as to why her home was such a wreck. Honestly, there was no excuse. Generally she was cleanly but these last few years had been hard on her lonely mentality. It wasn't as if she really had company any more, to top off the entire mess. Not even her mom visited any longer.

"Um, sorry it's such a mess. I generally don't have people come up here anymore. Um, the bathroom's over there and the kitchen," she said pathetically, vaguely depressed at her lack of a proper home. She kicked aside a pair of high heels that lay next to the recliner, clearing a small portion of floor.

Again to her surprise, Erik didn't seem disgusted or ruffled by her home. In fact he looked bit more comfortable than he would have been otherwise. Carefully prudent to not step on anything, he padded over the window, his bare feet making soft sounds as he kneeled down and picked up a couple of papers.

Temporarily, Wren found herself watching the way his ankles turned as he walked. His feet weren't gnarled or rough looking like so many other men were. In fact they were clean and manicured like his hands, tidy and well cared for.

It saddened her that she knew most men had ugly feet but she excused the feeling. She was no virgin, in fact she hadn't been since she was fourteen. So far she had counted about eleven different temporary boyfriends in her life with whom she had slept with. But it had never been passionate or loving; just desperate, needy. It was always just a moment in which to hide in from the cruel reality.

"Those are just practice. I'm afraid I'm not too good," she admitted dryly, snapping herself from her depressing reverie. Walking over she picked up a couple as well, watching him out of the corner of her eye as he studied her sketches. Most of the pictures were of women, nude and in different postures. He ran a finger along the line of ones back, as if trying to feel the ribs of the young woman there.

"Actually, they are very good. I am not too talented in charcoal," he muttered dazedly, realizing yet another memory which he hadn't had a moment ago. Looking up at her, he smiled softly, glad he could remember something.

Wren's heart went berserk in her chest, beating furiously as her tight lungs contracted. Why did he compliment her? Perhaps it was because she was rarely complimented but she found herself beginning to believe them. Damn it, that was stupid to do.

Clearing her throat, she stood again, plopping the drawings down on the crowded table before looking around. Deliberately not looking at him, she went to the couch and straightened the crumpled pillows, setting them down neatly. Glancing at the clock on the cable box she realized it was about nine o'clock and she was exhausted. She was getting really pathetic.

"You can sleep on the couch. It's pretty big and comfortable. And I'll get you some blankets but I think you should shower first," she instructed tiredly, going into the bathroom and instantly mourning the sight of the room. There were dirty towels on the rack and several bottles of scented lotion on the sink along with a million bottles of vitamins. Turning on the shower she felt the water to see if it was warm at all.

"Come feel this and tell me if it's too-" she called over her shoulder, turning to bring him into the bathroom. He was one step ahead of her, however. Not even two inches from her, he stood behind her, trapping her between him and the tub. When she turned about to find him, she abruptly bumped into the sight of his calculating blue-green eyes.

Startled she stared up at him and his half smile, vividly aware of the steam coming from the now hot water behind her and of his body only a few inches away. Unconsciously, her gaze was drawn down the broad expanse of his exposed chest, dusted with light hair.

Erik smiled slightly, towering above her, before reaching around her to put his broad, artistic hand in the water. He drew it back before leaning forward and down to adjust the water.

Unfortunately, that brought his face far too close to hers then next to her shoulder. A timid, scared breath escaped her as he pulled back. That was a bit too close.

"Um, okay. I'm gonna leave now. When…uh, when you're finished come and find me. I need to check that blood before you go to sleep," she instructed a bit loudly as she dodged around him, trying very hard to not touch him. The porcelain sink was in the way and she ended up having to push her hips out slightly to get around it, brushing them lightly against his thighs.

"As you wish, mademoiselle," Erik responded lowly, his velvety voice slightly mocking her as she closed the door, running from him as fast as she could without tripping which she did anyway.

Waiting until she heard the interruption of the water from his body going into the shower, she went to her room and again sighed a lament at the mess. The wooden floor was carpeted in dirty and clean clothes from God knows how long ago, spotted here and there with piles of books. In the middle of the room stood her large bed with its oak headboard and rumpled white and blue comforters. She wasn't too tall and the bed was a bit too high up for her to just climb in so there were a set of wooden steps up against the side near the window.

Her closet stood ajar, stuffed with clothes and loose hanging blankets and spare pillows. Stepping over laundry and scattered c.d.'s, Wren pulled out several blankets and half squished pillows. Experimentally she sniffed them, unsure of how long they had really been in there. Like everything else, it smelled of Vanilla Fields perfume. Wren had been wearing that perfume since she was nine. Her grandmother gave it to her every year for Christmas and after she died, Wren continued to buy it.

Deciding it wasn't awful, she took it to the living room, laying them out in layers on the couch and situated several pillows at the end. While waiting for him to finish, she went about, collecting as many coffee mugs as possible and taking them to the kitchen sink. She tried her hardest not to look at that room too carefully.

Finally, she finished but he still wasn't done. A little scared that maybe he had hurt himself somehow, she tiptoed to the door and pressed her ear to the door. Nope, still alive and humming, which sounded inhumanly lovely.

After changing into a pair of loose pajama bottoms and a t-shirt she had stolen from her dad years ago, Wren flopped down on her bed, burying her face in one feather pillow, murmuring in contentment. What a weird, weird and amazing day.

It felt like only a few moments later when she felt a nudging on her lower back. Frustrated at being bugged Wren curled into a ball and swatted at whatever it was. She was too goddamn tired to be bothered by anything. A firm hand shook her shoulder, making her grumble sleepily. Finally she felt nothing and she sighed happily.

That is until she felt the hot, deep breath on her ear then the sound of her name coming from some golden throat.

A bit frightened and confused she rolled over, blinking mascara smeared eyes. Suddenly, she found herself staring up at a smiling, wet Erik. His ashy brown hair was nearly black when it was wet as it curled in obnoxious licks and curves on his forehead and corded neck. The color of his hair made the blue of his eyes even brighter if that was even possible. Water beaded and fell down his strong neck and shoulders, trailing down his chest, which she noticed was utterly bare. A flush crept up her cheeks as she studied his toned muscle and the light dusting of hair on his rippling stomach and arms.

Fortunately, for once, he had one of her towels wrapped tightly about his waist, the ends tied at the low curve of his slim hips. But, unfortunately, it didn't hide the contour of his thighs and…

Wren snapped her surprised gaze back up at him. Raising her eyebrows slightly, she backed up in her bed, putting a good foot between them. Erik watched her easily, eyes slightly narrowed like a predator.

"Hi…"

"Bon jour…"

"Feel better?"

"Very much so."

"Oh, good."

A long moment of silence ensued uncomfortably.

"Aren't you going to bed?"

"You told me to find you when I finished. Was I wrong?"

Wren stared at him dazedly for a moment, a bit confused in her sleepy haze. Then it dawned on her. Oh yeah. Sitting up on her knees she leaned forward as much as she dared to, to peer at the slight cuts on his chest and arms. It looked a bit like rock scrapes which would make sense if he was washed up on the beach.

"Stay here. I'm gonna get some band-aids or something," she ordered in a bit of a panicky voice. She really needed to get away and collect herself. His almost nude state gave her thoughts which no one should have for the memory-addled man.

Erik merely watched as she attempted to scramble out of the tangle of comforters she got herself lost in. Feeling a bit desperate to get away, Wren leaped out of bed, hoping that would free her from the blankets snare.

It wasn't meant to be that easy. Her foot hadn't cleared the bed, twisted in the sheets. But she didn't realize this interesting fact until her momentum came to an abrupt stop, dragging her to the floor. She hit with a heavy thud on the ground, an ungraceful 'oof!' escaping her.

"I'm okay! I'm good! I'm up! Alrighty!" she hollered in a somewhat high voice, scrambling to her feet and staggering out of the room. Again, to her great misfortune, her klutzy gene kicked in, throwing her balance off and making her bang her shoulder into the door jamb.

Staggering slightly, she hopped in place, cursing loudly whatever God was listening at that moment before trotting off, feeling foolish. As she fetched the band-aids, peroxide and paper towels she flushed a shade to make a tomato envious. Why did she have to be so damn dumb? She couldn't even get out of bed without damaging herself in some form.

When she was confident that her face was somewhat normal, Wren went back to the room to find Erik perched on the edge of her bed, smiling lightly. Was he making fun of her? Wren glared at him slightly at his too innocent face.

"What?" she demanded as she determinedly sat next to him and tore off a towel and opened the peroxide. Erik shrugged nonchalantly, still smirking slightly.

"I was just remembering in a completely admiring way the way you glided out of the bed," he responded lightly, a low laugh rumbling under his words. Wren pursed her lips in an annoyed pout, dousing a patch of the towel in antiseptic. Making fun of her again, was he? Silently, she dabbed the multitude of abrasions, relishing his low hiss of annoyance at the pain.

Still silent, she applied a patch to one cut on his collarbone. After gently pressing the bandage on, she quickly slapped the covered cut, lightly but enough to hurt.

Erik flinched with a hiss and put a hand over the area, still grinning resignedly.

"I deserved that one."

"Yes. Yes, you did, you mean man," Wren reprimanded playfully, determinedly treating all the cuts in a similar fashion without the slapping. After she finished she used the sleeve of her t-shirt to dab away whatever excess water dripped down from his hair.

"There. All done. Now you can go away and let me sleep," she said, silently cheering herself for not looking down at his lap. Once again she flopped down on top of the covers to sleep, trying to ignore him even though he sat not even a foot away. But, again, sleep was not in the cards for Wren.

"Mademoiselle? I do not have any clothes," Erik whispered, poking her in the ribcage. A low moan escaped her, accompanied by a piteous whimper as she dragged herself out of bed. Whining in her throat she trotted to the closet, accidentally tripping on a pile of clothes on the floor.

"Stupid…damn…man with his problems…" she muttered, not bothering to keep her voice down. Yanking out a pair of loose slacks from one of her ex's and a big white t-shirt she flung them at him, not caring if he really caught them.

What she did care about was what he did next. Without much warning Erik stood and untied his towel. He dropped it without much further ado to begin fiddling with the black slacks. A bit dizzied by the blood rushing to her head, Wren spun about, amazed that he did that. To busy herself she went and collected her old dusty blue robe which clung comfortably and reached her knees. After a few moments, she glanced over her shoulder.

"These pants are too short," Erik commented easily, as if unaware that he had been totally naked in front of her only a moment ago. Wren wondered if he was raised by wolves or something for a moment. It was like he had no real sense of human vanity accept for his face which apparently he had abandoned that one too.

"It's fine, you big whiner," Wren grumbled, coming over to tug at the snug fitting shirt. It clung to all contours of his broad shoulders and chest nicely, lining them instead of hiding them and the shade wasn't bad either. The pants he had pulled up way too high for the style, which made her giggle slightly.

Timidly but surely, she grasped the edges of his slacks, tugging them down slightly so they clung to his hips instead of at his ribcage. With his height, the top of her head reached about chin height, so her hands were about the right area for his hips anyway. It made her maddeningly nervous, with her hands fluttering near his stomach and legs. And to make it worse, she damn well knew that he knew it.

"See, now go out and go to bed like a good boy," she finally said after choking a bout of inane thoughts. She looked up determinedly at him to show she was no longer flustered, hands planted on her hips. He merely smiled that infuriatingly beautiful smile and left with no problems with his legs like she felt she had.

A brain-wracking, heart-stopping noise awoke Wren the next morning, splitting the air and forcing her to attempt running in a half awake state. Unfortunately, when you get only a few hours' sleep, then attempt running away from a noise you can't find, grace is an impossibility. Following a similar falling course as the night before, Wren found herself on the cold wood floor, her brown hair falling in her terrified, confused face.

Swirling up overhead was a mass of thin smoke which explained why the fire alarm was going off. Scrambling to her feet, she skittered down the hall, slipping more than once in her socks to the kitchen.

"Erik! Erik?" she cried in panic, seeing him fighting back a small fire with a kitchen towel. He looked up at her briefly before finally patting down the tiny flame. Confused and distressed, Wren came closer, waving smoke away from her face.

"What the hell happened?"

"I woke up early and came in here to…explore a little more and found this," he explained in soft apology, indicating a scorched toaster. His sad, regretful manner was as if he had accidentally run over a neighbors puppy and Wren had half a heart to just let the incident go before…

"Is that a fucking FORK in the toaster?" she asked slowly, her tired brain registering what had started the fire. A somewhat bent utensil stuck out guiltily from the blackened grate, burned and hot. Erik eyed the once shiny contraption before raising a single dark, expressive eyebrow.

"Toaster? Hmm."

Wren felt her arms fall to her side as her mouth dropped. Slamming the butt of her palm against her aching forehead, she sighed and shook her head. It didn't help her throbbing headache that the smoke alarm was still blaring in the living room and hallway, piercingly.

With a final disbelieving glare, she turned and trotted to the alarm, waving her hands around it in an attempt to flush the smoke away.

"I cannot believe you put a fork in the toaster! That is like one of the number one things of what not to do with a toaster! Do you have any idea of what-?" Wren began ranting heatedly. She had been about to turn about and chew his 1800's ass a new one but she felt a presence behind her.

Carefully she craned her head over her shoulder, finally taking in his disheveled appearance. His light brown hair fell fetchingly about his face, soft and full now that it was clean. The brilliant, green flecked blue of his eyes shone apologetically in the morning light which filtered through the smoke. A light stubble of beard covered his chin and upper neck and from this close she could smell his pure manly smell.

"What you could've done?" Wren finished in a dazed whisper, her anger melting quickly. It unsettled her in the back of her mind that he could do this to her so easily but she quickly ignored the thought.

Slowly, carefully, he reached up and tucked a fussed stray of her hair behind her ear, the blunt ends of his fingertips brushing her cheekbone delicately. A whoosh of air escaped her, even though she didn't know it was there. Erik gave her a small smile, the end of his tempting mouth tapering.

"Mademoiselle, I am sorry. It was a fascinating object and my curiosity became the better of my judgment. Please accept my sincerest apologies," he murmured in a husky, pleading voice. Reaching down he grabbed her hand from under the sleeve of her thick robe and brought it to his lips. Wren shivered as he placed a gentle kiss on the back of her rough, unworthy hands.

Just like an old romance novel, Wren's mind giggled without her permission. Getting a bit light headed she pulled her hand away quickly from his warm ones, bringing it up to fiddle with her messy hair. There was no time for this shit.

She cleared her throat loudly and trotted away to the coffee maker back in the kitchen.

"So, um, do you drink coffee?" she asked politely, although her voice was a bit too high in her nervousness. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as Erik leaned on the doorjamb, his arms crossed across his broad chest. Even with her gaze focused on something else, she could see that he was frustrated and quickly growing upset at her reaction.

"Oui."

"Would you like me to make you some? I've got an old recipe from my dad. It's sort of weird cause you use old egg-"

"Why do you get so nervous when I touch you?" Erik suddenly interrupted, not loudly or rudely but in such a serious tone that it stopped her babbling. Wren looked up for a moment, her mouth still open from speaking only a moment ago. Turning a shade of pink, she turned back to the stupid coffee maker, her hands fumbling to dump all of the grounds out.

"I don't know what you are talking about, Erik. I don't have a problem," she said quickly, trying to sound confident but it sounded like a big lie even to her ears. The trembling in her hands became worse as he approached. She could feel his intense eyes studying her hands and her flushed face.

"Oui, you do. I can see it. Do I frighten you?" he asked darkly, his voice suddenly taking on a deadly tone. Wren frowned in desperation to hide her rampant feelings as he came within her personal space. Fuck, what if he was some psycho killer that tricked her into bringing him home?

"No, no, I'm fine. Really. Just fi-" she stopped abruptly when Erik's hot, somewhat rough hand grabbed one of hers. Startled she jerked away, dropping the coffee canister on the floor. The black grains jumped and splayed across her used-to-be-semi-clean ground.

Without bothering to look or say anything to him, Wren fell to her knees on the floor. She hid her frustrated face in her hair as she scooped up handfuls, dumping them in the sink. Erik kneeled down opposite of her, helping her brush together the mess. But she was well aware that his eyes were fixed upon her and that he was still angry.

Finally it was cleaned up and Wren moved to stand. Before she could even get to her feet, Erik reached out and grabbed both her wrists in his hands, drawing them together in front of her. Reflexively she tried to wrench away but his hold was firm.

"Wren, look at me."

She gazed away, under her hair at the cabinet, attempting to block out his smooth, powerful voice. She would not let him get to her and order her about.

"Wren!" Erik barked sharply. Wren flinched and carefully looked at him, not raising her head or coming closer. He stared at her fixedly, as if trying to read why she acted this way. After a few moments his grip relaxed but he didn't let go.

"Please, mademoiselle, explain to me as to why I cannot touch you or look at you closely without you becoming so afraid?" he asked again, trying his hardest to be gentle with her despite the unexplained anger inside. It rose and bubbled like an old pot of black gunk that suddenly came to life inside. Something about her frightened gaze and her purposeful avoidance raised that wrath. Erik wished he knew where it came from or why he felt it but he could not. The memory was locked away somewhere in his brain and it was fighting to not resurface.

Wren's brown eyes filled with angry, unwanted tears and her mouth tightened in dislike.

"Why should it matter?"

"Why should it not?" Erik shot back, frustrated with her and becoming angrier. It was her stare that was setting him off. He knew that was the source of his anger. Somehow, he understood. As if he had seen the same look, somewhere, at some time in the near past. "Mademoiselle, you mentioned how men you think they think of you and I believe you-"

"How do you know what I am thinking?"

"I see it. I see it when you look away from me, when you flinch when I touch your hands."

"How do you know it's not because of your-" Wren cut herself short, biting her lower lip in self-chastisement. She realized that she was falling to an all-time, lying low by saying what instantly popped into her head in defense of her behavior. But Erik knew and she had a feeling he would never forgive her.

"Because of my face? Is that it? Are you terrified of my face?" he asked lowly, despairingly but with such a tone of furious anger that it frightened her more. His eyes suddenly became hard, glittering at her in a rage that seemed years in the making. This new side of Erik scared her terribly, this hateful fury that sprung up at the mention of his deformed face.

"Erik, let go of me," she whispered fearfully, not at all liking where this was going. The grip on her wrists tightened, almost painfully. God, no, not this…

"No!"

"Let me go right now, you fuck!" Wren attempted wrestling her hands away but it was no good. He was simply too strong for her. Something in him had snapped at her words and his very mind had slid away from their reality. She could almost see it in the glazed, hurt fury in his eyes.

To her utmost terror, Erik took her hands and placed them on his face, one on the rough normal side and the other against the skin of his deformity. His cold blue eyes glared into her terrified brown ones, not really seeing her.

"Does this frighten you? Does this truly scare you so badly that you cannot look at me? Do I disgust you?" he roared angrily, almost taking pleasure in the way she flinched and hide her face against her strained arms. Sudden, terrified tears slid down her cheeks, burning her flushed face more.

"No, no, Erik, it isn't that! I'm sorry for going there! Erik, you're hurting me!" she cried out, her voice faltering to a terrified whimper as his hands bruised her smaller wrists. But he didn't seem to realize his own fingers were forcing her nails into his face.

"Do I scare you so terribly that you cannot even love me, Christine? This monster, this beast, loves you, Christine!" Erik yelled, tears streaming down his own face.

He remembered her face, that little angel whom he had so loved. He could see her, remember her rejection of his love and the deep seated anger inside. But that was all. No reasons, no words that might explain why he remembered this woman. What had happened to her? He couldn't remember and it infuriated him that he couldn't. Closing his eyes shut against the memory of that wretched girl, he dug the hands even deeper into his flesh, trying to alleviate the inner pain he suffered.

Finally, a stifled sobbing managed to pierce the turmoil of his confused brain. The cold hands he held shook terribly and the smell and feel of blood finally shocked him to reality.

Opening his eyes, Erik found Wren kneeling in front of her, her trembling arms outstretched to him. Furious, scared tears fell from her swollen brown eyes and Erik had to bite a cry at the simple resemblance of them to his angel's. Her distressed face pressed into the folds of her robes shoulder to hide her shameful terror.

With a sigh, Erik finally let go of her hands, his own trembling at the memories and at the terrified woman before him. Wren drew her hands in to her chest and he saw the blood under her fingernails, his blood, as she covered her white face with them. Unable to speak he watched as she shuffled away, hiding against the corner, shaking and sniffling at his actions and her weakness.

"Wren?" he called softly, shame flooding him so fully that he felt his heart might break from the pain of it. The woman winced and curled her legs up to her chest, trying to disappear.

"Wren, please, I do not know how to apologize enough for this. I had not mean to do it. It is just that…" he reached out to touch her shoulder and immediately she jerked away, her face finally emerging to stare at him in fright. There were traces of his blood on her flushed face and her tears couldn't seem to wash them away. She looked as though he would kill her there on the spot. He had hurt her, he could see the way her wrists reddened and grew swollen from his grip.

Erik stared at her brokenly, trying to think of a way to apologize to her for his actions. The memory just came too suddenly and it seared him like a whip of white fire to the soul. It was as if he couldn't even recognize her as who she was. He saw Christine, Christine with her tight brown curls and innocent chocolate eyes. Yes, now he remembered the name of that angel and it burned him hatefully.

He opened his mouth to explain all this to her but nothing came out. What words could he say to repent for these heinous actions? Realizing that the best thing to do was to leave for good, Erik sighed miserably and went to stand. He never got the chance.

Without warning, she flung herself into his arms, sobbing quietly. Startled he sat still before gently wrapping his arms about her trembling frame as she cried into his shirt, clenching the fabric between her fists.

Wren wasn't sure what on earth she was doing, hugging and bawling to the very man that had been hurting and scaring her. She just knew and accepted that she wanted to be held and told that he didn't mean it.

Leaning back against the cabinets he pulled her halfway into his lap, murmuring meaningless words of apology into her shell-pink ear. She slowly relaxed in his hold, sniffling and shuddering small sighs.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean what I said. I just can't help how I get," Wren finally murmured with a heavy sigh. When she felt him stiffen around her she looked up frantically, her eyes searching for patience. "It's not just you. It's all men. They all just… scare me, I guess."

Erik's somewhat furious eyes softened slightly although he still seemed terribly disturbed. Gently he rocked her in his arms, gazing at her straight spiced-brown hair and playing with it.

"I'm too ashamed to admit why. Otherwise I would tell you," she confessed gently, trying to take the sting from her statement. Erik nodded slightly. For a few moments neither of them said a thing.

"What happened, Erik?"

"I remembered something. I do not know what triggered it. Perhaps it was your fear, perhaps the way your eyes looked at me, but something set off a memory. A very painful one that hurt me and enraged me more than I can say. I do not know what exactly it was but it…it agonized me," he said slowly, as if trying his hardest to put to words what couldn't be. Wren looked up at him again, her eyes no longer so cloudy or confused. She mouthed the name but was afraid to say it. He forced a smile and nodded.

"So, it really is not my face?" he asked, half-joking but he desperately felt he needed to hear it from her.

"No, it's not. It doesn't bother me. If anything, I find you handsome," she replied in all honesty as she reached up and wiped at the small trickles of blood which dribbled from the crescent bites in his face. A flash of anger ran across his eyes but it was quickly smothered.

"I will believe the first part but I hardly do the second."

"No, really. You are. But you're very intimidating and strong and that is sort of frightening to women."

Erik said nothing in return but continued to rock her gently, hoping she might fall asleep so he could be alone with his thoughts. Eventually she did doze off but so did he, his mind tormented from memories of his angel.