apologia
She told me that she loved me again today. It was not a completely endearing disclosure. This time it was irritating because I felt that she no longer hibernated in her blissful ignorance. Justine has gone away to visit her mother in the city and Isabella has taken much of this time to be with me although her youthful indescretion need always be hidden away from the prying eyes of my servants who's mouth's are only kept closed by the lash of the whip. We were having a nice dinner the day before Justine was to return home and she opened her mouth and let the words spill out. I stood to hide my embarassment, to keep from giving her a look that was filled as much with anger as affection, that might provoke more outbursts of the sort and was startled to see Missy, my twenty-two year old cook running from the room her face aghaust.
"God dammit," I yelled and Isabella broke into a soft weeping.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to..." she began to frantically apologize to me and I held up a hand that silenced more apologies from the child. Why do people apologize when they are not at fault? Why do people recant and run with their tale between their legs when they have done nothing to deserve to be chidden? This is how she feels, she should never be embarassed by it, she should live in it, however wrong it may be.
"Don't worry," I tell her, "I'll take care of it all..." I soothe with my words as I slip into darkness, I kiss her smooth lips and feel the prying eyes of paranoia watch me.