I'm so glad everyone is being nice to me.

What do you think of Christine?

.........

I awake to far too many noises. Raoul is never this loud in the morning; he is always still sleeping when I arise. Rolling over a little, feeling as if I have not gotten enough sleep, I manage to open one eye to see above me.

Erik is pacing right next to the bed, fully clothed and mask in place. He is saying what sounds a lot like a prayer, mixed in with profanity.

Everything comes back in a flash.

I sit up, clutching the covers to my chest. Erik stops suddenly, fixing his gaze upon me. His stare is a hard combination to absorb in my frantic state, a paradox of fire and ice.

We stare at each other for the longest time. I watch as his mouth slowly releases the angry line, his posture relaxes, and his eyes only reflect dry horror.

"What have I done?" he whispers.

I feel surreal, like last night was some sort of dream that I could hardly remember. I reach my hands towards him, and to my surprise, he comes on the bed to sit next to me. Before I can say anything, he has looked clinically into my eyes, then groped for my wrist.

"Erik?" I say uncertainly.

"Were you drunk?" he asked blackly. "Were you intoxicated? Were you threatened? Tell me!"

"N-no, Erik."

"What happened? Why did you come down here?"

I pause, afraid. "I missed you…"

He releases my wrists.

"What have I done?" he moans again, and drops his head into his hands.

Panic and confusion bursts into my stomach at his words, and I try to wriggle out of the covers to sit up. "What time is it?" I ask breathlessly. "What time is it?"

"It's still night," he tells me, his lovely voice muffled by his own hands. "It's not yet morning."

A little of my panic subsides, and I release the breath I have been holding in.

"Christine," he says, his voice laced with angst and disgust. "What happened?"

"I—" my voice cracks out, but I can manage no further. Memories from last night press into my mind, and I did not stop them from overflowing my sense, causing me guilt for what I had done. My mouth falls open in disbelief and my hand trembles. "My God…"

We sit together, absorbing our sin.

I touch his arm hesitatingly. "Erik, I never meant—"

He rips himself away. "You never meant for what? For this to happen? It was an accident? It wasn't what you wanted? You just got carried away? Or are you going to say that I got carried away? Are you going to run back to your husband and tell him I took advantage of you? Oh God—" he choked. "—your husband—"

I begin to cry, my emotions going haywire. I did not want to be an adulterer one week into my marriage; I did not want to be a whore. I did not come down here with the intention of seducing Erik.

How could I explain it? Suddenly, it had felt right. I couldn't stop. I wanted to share myself with him. I wanted to feel his skin against mine, I wanted his mouth on me, I wanted to make his breath catch.

I clawed at my face in shame. I was a whore!

"Why?" he stammered. "You love Raoul… Why did you do that to me?"

"I can't just explain it!" I cried out, my face burning, my heart racing. "I swear, I came down just to see you, and I felt loved! And I just wanted more… I just felt really loved, for once, Erik! Is that so very wrong to want?"

He looked stonily in the opposite direction while I cried next to him.

Last night had been a whirlwind. Perhaps, if we had only paused, just once… we would have come to our senses.

"Your husband loves you," he said stiffly.

"I know," I murmured. "I love him too… but I was more comfortable with him before we were married. Now I feel…" I swallow convulsively. "It just feels silly…"

"Making love is something you do when you're married!" he snapped. "If you didn't want to do it, you shouldn't have been married!"

"You're right," I say softly.

He doesn't know what to make of that, and seems at a brief loss of words.

"Listen to me," I plead, taking advantage of his silence. "I'm fine with Raoul. I like being married to him." Erik turns farther away from me squeezing his eyes shut. "But everything changes at night. Night isn't supposed to be all light and happy. Nighttime is supposed to be beautiful—you taught me that."

Still quiet, he turns to look at me, like he cannot keep his eyes off me for too long.

"I thought you would understand," I whisper.

He drops his hand. "Oh, Christine," he says softly. "You are so young, you are innocent, you do not understand… This is so wrong…" His eyes fill with an emotion I cannot understand, and he gently uncurls my fingers from the bedcovers. "So wrong." Without moving from the bed, he lays his lips on mine, a simple expression of physical love. There is certain air between us that makes me breathe into him, filling my chest with a warm feeling as I part my lips in contentment.

I can hardly bring myself to speak, but I eventually say in a tiny voice, "I must go back."

He pulls away, clutching my wrist, and for a moment I think he is not going to let me leave.

But then he relaxes and releases me. "Yes, of course," he murmurs. "You must go."

I do not budge.

My heart is breaking. I fell like there is two halves of me I am trying to reconcile into one being. It's painful, and I'm so confused. How can I possibly leave him again like this, so suddenly? We endured oceans of hurt, only for me to come down here, use him, and then leave again…

I am blinded with uncertain tears and the desperate need to make him understand. "Erik, you make it sound like you think I just used you—"

"You did!" he interrupts. "You did! You used me because you knew I would want you, no matter what—if even if you were married! You used me when you lacked the passion you craved with your husband."

"No," I say honestly. "I came back because I care for you."

"I thought I could have everything," he says mournfully, deliberately continuing as if he hadn't heard me. "You could have given everything to me, but instead you left, you left… and now you come back to give me everything, only to take it away again."

"Erik—"

"I will never learn."

"Erik, please—"

He silences me with the misery in his dark, golden eyes.

"As I said last night," he said quietly. "I would take it again. One night of heaven, just to feel loved. Even if it was fake."

"It was not fake!" I burst out, but he is past listening to me, I can tell. Instead, I rise and place my hand under his chin. "I will come back," I promise in a hushed voice.

He laughs. "Yes, by all means, come back here only to fulfill your young sexual appetite! And I, like a fool, will fall for them every time. And I will. Every damn time." He sighs, and his voice grows heavy. "I will fall for you every time. You should go now."

I climb awkwardly out of bed in my underclothes. The black wrinkly dress sits innocently in a pile on the floor, and I snatch it up and pull it on, watching him nervously out of the corner of my eye. I grow flustered, unable to pull the dress on properly, and I struggle with it for a moment before he sighs again and comes to help me. His hands linger on my skin, his breath tickling my neck. I shiver as he stares longingly at me.

"I love you," he says hoarsely. "Nothing can change that."

It is impossible to look away from those eyes.

"I will come back," I repeat.

Nearly a half hour later, the sun is just beginning to rise. I carefully open the door to the summer house, being as quiet as possible as I go to my closet and pull down a soft green dressing gown. I take off the black dress and throw it into the corner—I never want to see it again.

The dressing gown safely on, I gently pad upstairs. Raoul is sleeping, but his eyes flutter open as I try to close the door.

"Christine," he says groggily, sitting up. His chestnut hair is tousled and I smile at the image. "I called for you, but you never answered last night. You could have come up here… Did you get sleep?"

"I slept downstairs. I didn't want to disturb you," I say, lightly patting his shoulders and kissing his forehead. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes, I'll come down for breakfast." He sits up. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what happened. Perhaps it was something I ate?"

"It is still early," I say. "You can stay in bed for a while longer, and then I'd be happy to bring you something up."

"No, no," he protests. "I want to come down to be with you. Let me dress."

"I'll go down and start some porridge," I offer, turning to leave.

He grabs my sleeve as I turn. "Christine," he says. "You are such a good wife." He smiles. "You are lovely when you are taking care of me. I love you so much."

I glance up at the sun sparkling weakly through the window. It is a new day. A new, bright day to be loved by my husband.

I smile warmly at him. "I do too, Raoul." I say sweetly. "Always."