I hate to admit it, but Cameron’s memories are very useful.

Although not found at the forefront of his consciousness, I’ve managed to dig out lots of details about Eloise.

How she likes to be held. Her favourite foods. Which takeaways she likes to order from and which are best to surprise her with. Which songs she will happily dance to. How she feels in his my arms. What she look like without clothes on. Focus. Her favourite shows. The exact setting she likes her seat to be adjusted to when in the car. Her work address. Her hobbies and how she likes to unwind.

Some details are crucial. They must be picked out early or I could slip up. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Other important dates. The names of family and friends and pets. Neighbours’ faces and names. The names of coworkers. Bank details and other important accounts.

It’s been two days. The weekend is over and now …

... now, I have to go to work.

Human society can be so … taxing.

Everything requires money. Food. Water. Shelter.

And money requires sacrifice. Effort. Time. Attention.

I must maintain Cameron’s working life to prove myself a provider.

I must maintain Cameron’s social life to avoid raising suspicion and stay hidden from the authorities.

But I don’t want to go. Going to work means leaving Eloise behind, all alone, unsupervised.

I cannot do that. I will not make the same mistake as before …

The moon peeks over the horizon. The last vestiges of warmth seeping from the stones below do little to combat the cool night breeze.

Work dragged on tonight, one of the older tourists on the museum tour had a heart attack. The resulting panic, administering emergency CPR, and waiting for η αστυνομία (the police) delayed my return home to my love.

Today was the first day I haven’t been able to pick them up from work and there’s a knot in my stomach.

I’ve been so careful with this one. Always the last to leave the nest house, dropping them off at work before going to my own. Always making sure to finish work first and pick them up. I’ve been diligently staying by their side and there hasn’t been a single moment where my Domna has been alone or unoccupied.

They called to let me know they were going home with a coworker. I bought some loukoumades to make up for being late, they’re Domna’s favourite.

The bag bumps against my thigh as I skip up the steps to our home. I can’t wait to eat.

Wait! There’s a sound.

I pause, my hand on the front door.

The wood vibrates gently. It’s the sound of raised voices.

Why is Domna yelling?

I slip inside fast, not bothering with the door, jumping through the space between is faster.

“Σου λέω, δεν είναι άντρας μου! Αυτό το πράγμα είναι απατεώνας. (I'm telling you, he is not my husband! That thing is an imposter.)” What?

“Πώς μπορείτε να είστε σίγουροι; (How can you be sure?)” That’s our neighbour, Myrto.

“Δεν ξέρω αλλά ... η αστυνομία θα τον κάνει να μου πει πού είναι ο άντρας μου. Θα πρέπει να είναι εδώ σύντομα.  (I don't know but ... the police will make him tell me where my husband is. They should be here soon.)”

No. No! This can’t be. It can’t. Why? Bitte, nicht schon wieder! (Please, not again!)

They both fall silent when I turn the corner.

Please don’t look at me like that. Please don’t look at me like that!

“Κάλεσες την αστυνομία; Γιατί; (You called the police? Why?)”

Domna’s heart skips and races. I can almost hear the blood draining from her face as her skin turns ashen.

Oh no, my voice. I can fix this. Calm down. Be normal. “Σε παρακαλώ, αγάπη... (Please, love ...)”

THERE’S A KNIFE! Where did she get a knife?

“Οχι! ΟΧΙ πια. Θα μου δώσεις πίσω τον άντρα μου! (No! No more. You will give me back my husband!)”

Everything’s going fuzzy. Her mouth is moving, but I can’t hear what she’s saying.

Why? Why is this happening? How can this be happening? Why does she want that neglecting idiot back?

Everything feels too hot. Too tight. My hands are itching. Bone tears the soft of my gums.

I gave her everything!

The blade hurts. It HURTS!

I did everything right this time …  right? RIGHT!?

WHY!?

Everything goes black ...

… then red.

Hot. Too hot. Hot red blood all over my claws.

What have I done?

How did it go so wrong?

… I have to stay close.

I have to … I have to … I can do both.

I focus. Pushing and pulling at my form, tearing at my insides until a spark separates from the whole. Ligaments split, muscle rends from bone that cracks and shatters in two.

The pull is insistent, pushing outwards against my skin until a mound forms. I stretch it out, filling the skin with fluid and bone until I feel ready. Just as the ballooning mound begins to droop, I take a deep breath and lift one claw. My skin flicks apart easily, the dermis peels back from the membranes below and the bundle of nerves drops away.

Pain vibrates through me as I hit the floor.

I look down at my fragment. The pulsing mass of flesh and bone shakes and stretches; four haphazard limbs wiggle outwards. A single gleaming eye socket forms and a boiling mass of fluid fills the space, a solidifying ring in the centre floats to the top just as it solidifies into a ball that rolls in the socket twice before settling.

Wobbling on unsteady claws, I look up at my source. The weeping gash in my side closes slowly, skin layers over congealing blood over skin. A grin spreads over my source’s face.

I can go to work …

… and I can stay and watch over Eloise.

*                          *                   *

For the past week, I’ve been attending work in Cameron’s place and providing for Mein Liebling (my darling).

Everything is going smoothly. Well, as smoothly as passing myself of as an expert in computer programming when I only have three memories of coding experiences can be.

I’ll need to be pickier the next time I eat from Cameron. I can’t call myself a good mate boyfriend if I can’t hold down a job.

This meeting is dragging on.

Eloise is cooking a late breakfast. Deftly flipping rashers of bacon and black pudding in the sizzling pan. Two pieces of toast are slowly warming in the toaster on the side.

I’m glad she’s eating now. I’ve noticed she hasn’t been hungry in the mornings lately.

I suspect the damage left by Cameron’s treatment runs more than skin deep. Humans can be so fragile.

I will fix it. No matter how long it takes.

The screen on their phone lights up. It silently buzzes on the coffee table.

I remember now. She had a phone meeting scheduled for this morning.

Eloise look. My love. My light. She can’t hear it over the radio and her own happy humming. I could watch her sway so hypnotically all day, but then she would miss her call.

I flex and shift, ligaments stretch and buzz, forming vocal cords from unused muscle. “Check your phone.”

They turn so fast, they fail to let go of the pan fast enough and it flops off the cooker. The contents spray over the floor as some of the hot oil splashes up onto their bare legs.

“Shit. Shit!”

They curse and hop away from the pan. Grabbing a flannel and quickly dumping it in the sink and soaking it in cold water. Cursing under their breath the entire time. The wet flannel is applied to the patches of raised angry skin on their legs.

They look up, searching.

Oh no!

I hide.

She’s hurt! It’s my fault. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to help.

 I’ll make it right, I swear.