Jesse Webster

The lake shimmered behind the man who had come to be my bliss and my torture. He spoke with power he'd never had and promised me prizes that didn't exist.
"Kiss me," he whispered, "and I'll show you the stars." I saw in his eyes his mad belief and felt my heart's deepest wound re-open.
"Love me, and I will give them to you." He told me that, piece by piece, I would come to own the universe, if only I'd give him my heart in return. I cried. He didn't know the joke he was speaking. My mind, my body, and my soul had been Jesse Webster's since we were barely sixteen.
"Why won't you love me?" he screamed. I told him with my eyes that I did. He didn't understand my words. I hoped he'd understand my soul.
"All I ever wanted was to be your slave, Marguerite, and you deny me that pittance?"
"My name is Sylvie," I said.
"Where are our daughters?" he asked.
"We never raised any children," I responded.
"You stole them and hid them on the stars, didn't you?" He laughed and called me a genius.
I reached for his hand. He gave it to me and watched with his crystal gray eyes as I pressed his palm to my lips. I kissed it twice, then pulled him in to me and kissed his lips. I waited for a hint of recognition.
"Did you see the stars?" he asked. I kissed him again and felt his lips move against mine, reacting even if he didn't know me for me.
"I love you," I said. He let go of my hand, then, to grasp my cheeks between his hands. He'd always been rough, but his touch hurt. He kissed my nose.
"Let's go home, Jesse," I pleaded. He turned and looked out at the lake with a longing I could identify. He wanted to understand it. But it was getting cold and dark. I took him home.