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Sure enough, when I pull the curtain back, she is curled up on the floor of the shower, giving into the swings of mood which are the natural result of so much change happening in such a short period.
Electra was not designed to love or be loved, but she craves both those things. I have learned a lot from her, discovered what is truly essentially human, what can never be removed no matter the harshness of the treatment, or the alienation of the soul.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
“I’ve ruined your life,” she sobs into her hands.
I step into the shower and crouch down next to her, drawing her into a warm, wet embrace. It doesn’t matter that my clothes are soaked, or that the floor is going to be sodden. Nothing matters other than the woman in my arms.
“You,” I say firmly. “Have not ruined a thing,”
“You used to have a nice house. Now you live here, with me.”
“I came to this place of my own accord before I met you,” I tell her. “I chose to work with you. I chose to sell my house. I’ve chosen you, Electra. And I always will.”
“Why is this so hard?” She looks up at me, her eyes filled with hope and misery at the same time.
“Love is hard,” I tell her. “Believing in love isn’t easy. But you don’t have to worry. I’m going to be right here, every day, telling you so you don’t have to remember.”
“Promise?”
I pull her into my arms and kiss her so thoroughly neither one of us can breathe before replying in a deep, passionate growl which leaves no room for misinterpretation. “I promise.”
