The Replacement Wife

I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone.

-- Rainer Marie Rilke

They were married in the cemetery on a musky spring night. She was unprepared when her fiancé stood beside her stoically through the ceremony, sparing few glances in her direction. She was still unprepared when her heart palpitated as he lifted her hand to slide the ring on her finger, but she was most certainly unprepared for the sudden physical contact when it came time to kiss the bride. His hands had reached towards her waist and pulled her close to him with an immediacy that caused her to cry out. He held her like that for a moment, and she smiled bravely as his cool green eyes settled on her and waited patiently for her to make a move. Precariously, her small fingers plucked around of edge of his mask and exposed in all the horror of their moonlit glory, those twisted, ravaged, ugly lips. She kissed them gently unsure whether she touched the upper or lower lip (it was hard to tell), and he'd sighed. He let her go.

He wasn't expecting fireworks. She was not she-who's-name-shall-not-be-spoken, after all. But she was rather beautiful. Glossy raven-colored hair fell lusciously from her head, stopping right above her bosom (and a quite lovely one, he noted). Her lashes were unusually long and framed her eyes like that of a doll's. And he was quite partial to her mouth. It was small and red like a cherry, and he consistently had the urge to pluck it. He enjoyed it very much when she kissed him.

In the carriage on the way home, he slipped his hands upon her legs and pulled her to him, patting passionate kisses upon her chin and neck. She made sounds of pleasure, and wrapped her arms around him as they counted the seconds until they would be home. And when home came…well, let's just say they were lady and gentleman no more.

He had barely begun to untie her corset when there was a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" It seemed to him to be an appropriate question at the time, though he could not imagine actually being there. He was answered by another knock. Muttering a curse, he helped his wife into her dress and went to open the door, prepared to be displeased with whoever was behind it.

And he was right. Christine stared at them in horror. Her blonde hair was neatly pulled back into a bun and it appeared she'd injured herself on the way down and had been crying. Now, it appeared, she was about to cry some more.

"What are you doing?" She whispered hoarsely.

He lifted a very angry eyebrow. "That is none of your business."

"Have you forgotten me so quickly?"

"Hardly as quick as you, my dear," he said with reason, "From the moment you decided to run away with the lad, you moved on. I am a man with one terrible vice and it was you—I needed a replacement for my addiction, and I found her. It is hard to believe, but you are not the only woman in the world who will love me."

"No!" She exclaimed in absolute horror, her eyes darting quickly over his bride to him and back to his bride again. "How can you do this?"

"You have some bloody gall coming into my house, uninvited, demanding an explanation, Christine. I don't owe you anything, and as I said before—go home."

She shook her head, crying, gasping, her head clasped between her palms. She made a motion to come into the room, and he moved his body to block her every time she advanced. He apologized to his wife right then for the intruder and seized Christine by the wrists, pulling her to the door.

"My dear, in case you did not notice, I have company. Very special company. And I need you to get out of my house, and I will physically remove you myself."

"How are you being so cruel?" She asked, "Don't you love me? I thought I was the love of your life!"

"Well, perhaps I made a mistake." He shook his head. "But I cannot deal with this anymore, Christine. I want you out of my life."

She was hurt. She was shaking like she'd be hit and was about to go into a seizure. Yet she did not make any motion to leave. She could not. She felt so betrayed, disposable, disrespected, and beaten. She couldn't even look at the girl who stood behind him, the lovely, no doubt, disgusting tramp. Oh, she was bitter and vengeful indeed. She would have to show him that sweet little Christine was not afraid anymore. She had nothing to lose.

"I'm not ready to be out of your life."

This seemed to amuse him. "Well that is too bad, Christine. And it doesn't matter now. I will not be reciprocating any of your affections anymore. I am not going to be your lapdog so that you can kick me when I am down. I'm not going to wait for you to love me when you are weak, and throw me away when you run to your Raoul. I can gather you're here because the boy has made you unhappy and you wish to find solace and guidance to take your mind off him."

"That is not true," she said. "I came all the way here to—"

"Well if you think you're going to get a reward for that, then you're a fool. How many times have I gone to see you to give you lessons? I carried you the distance when you were asleep and I never touched you. I had to grow accustomed to the fact that I loved you and I could not hold your gloved hand. But it's not your fault that you don't love me. You cannot help that I'm ugly, and I don't hold that against you. I don't want anything from you anymore but for you to get out."

"I'm not leaving," she said between firm lips. "You don't know the sacrifice I've made to be here."

"Please, Christine." He sighed, his eyes finally tracing her tears. He always couldn't stand the sight of her crying. It made him physically ill. It felt like someone had taken a knife to his gut and begun to pull out his insides, one organ at a time. "Let's not make this any more unpleasant. You've interrupted me on my wedding night and I should have killed you if you'd been anyone else. Perhaps you can rest with the knowledge that I've bestowed you one last act of mercy."

"I haven't married Raoul."

He bit the inside of his lip, and made a dismissive motion with his hand. "I don't care, Christine. Can't you see that I'm not waiting for you to change your mind again? I don't want to waste the last years of my life worrying whether Christine is a little happy or tremendously sad. Whatever you do from now on is your business, and that includes marrying Raoul. He's a nice young man and I am sure he will take good care of you."

"Stop that, Erik. I can't go back."

"Do whatever you like. I really cannot to look at you anymore, Christine. You're making me very ill, and I must be getting back to my wife."

She had no intention to move.

"I'm not leaving." She said softly. She was awfully afraid he was going to drag her to the boat, but he did something worse. He simply stepped back and closed the door in her face.

She stood there, shocked and aghast, her blood pressure sinking and her knees getting weak and wobbly. She was sure she was about to have a heart attack, but she was strangely calm, like the eye of a hurricane—steady, aware, safe, while chaos swirled around her. She wanted to cry some more, but she could not. As soon as he was out of her sight, her tears dried at their own accord. His presence was that powerful.

She considered throwing herself in the lake, wondering if it would make him sorry to find her lifeless body in the water, but reconsidered. She realized she wouldn't be able to enjoy watching him cry—and that the whole ordeal would be worthless. Perhaps if she slit her wrists like the heroines in novels—but she was afraid to be too melodramatic. She was also afraid of the sight of blood, and if she fainted and lost too much of it, she was be unsuccessful again. She considered stealing his Don Juan to ensure his coming to find her—but that could very well make him even angrier. He did say his letting her go again was his last act of mercy. For a long time thoughts of every way to death came to her, but she realized she could not commit to any of them.

Finally, having given up on the possibility of suicide, she returned to the boat. But before she got in, she sank to her knees and prayed. She begged God to make Erik see that he'd made a mistake. She prayed that he'd realize that she was the one, and the only one who would ever truly make him happy. She prayed that he will regret all of this later. She prayed that he will find her again, and this time, they can start anew. She prayed for his happiness, and when it was all over and done with, she felt a strange sensation of peace.

Christine stepped into the boat, looking one last time at the second home that she'd loathed and grew to somehow miss. Her feet and hands were numb, and her face was very hot. She began to row, and for the first time, did not dread the darkness. It was the last time she was taking this ride, and she was going to enjoy it. The sound of the water rippled in her ear. The cold air gave her arms goose pimples, and she closed her eyes. For the first time in her life, she would be truly alone. She sucked in the unpleasant air as the words I've made a terrible mistake repeated themselves in her head.

She shouldn't have killed Raoul for this.