Harold has the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen but they're dead. He never shared what happened to him but something did. He strays away from relationships. The only people he talks to gently are his mother and I. But our communication is limited.
I set boundaries in this relationship and he respected them. But then I wanted them to change. I created distance before he did all the nice things for me. I don't even care for the car, the custom clothes and the jewellery. 
But he stood up for me. He has taken my side more than my own family. He has chosen me over everyone else on more occasions than I could count. 
When his great aunt came to visit because she missed our wedding and looked down her nose at me, he stood close by to step in when needed. When she condescendingly forwarded her hand for me to kiss the back of and I simply stared because I refused to touch her, he told her that I'm not a peasant she expects at her feet. 
He told everyone who questioned my background that I'm now his wife and the duchess so they should shut their mouths and find a better hobby. 
When his extremely racist grandmother said he could find a British woman to marry instead, he told her to get a life. She passed away two months after that but that wasn't on him. 
We've been married for a little over nine months and he has fought everyone he knows for me. Except his mother because she is an angel. He has done so much for me and all I've had to do in return is stand next to him at the alter. 
He doesn't even realise what he has done. He saved me, he gave me hope, he gave me a life. So what if I saw his bloodstained hands the day I met him? I never saw them again. We left that island, that country to come back to Manchester and he left his bloodlust behind. 
At least that's what I believe.
He has been nothing but supportive of me. He is a good man. The duke who takes care of the estate. The man who is the head of the house, much to his father's chagrin. He is a good son to his mother. He is a good businessman who invests in the right things and gives money to charities. And above all, he is a good husband to me. 
He is all I could've ever wanted but I know my damaged soul and broken heart are too much to bear for a man as good as him. I bring the blade closer to my thigh, but before I could follow with my routine, a knock comes through the door. 
The blade slices my finger instead and falls to the floor. I yelp. Not because it hurts, truly, nothing hurts anymore. I yelp because I'm caught off guard.
Another knock comes through the bathroom door. "Sweetheart, are you hurt? I heard a shriek, I believe." I sigh at my mother in law's voice and pick the blade up to hide it again. 
She knocks again, and tries to turn the knob. Her worried voice makes my chest ache. My mother sometimes used to worry the same way. She always believed I wasn't well and needed constant monitoring. If I spent more than half an hour in the shower, she would pick the house up on her head.
I don't blame her. I was mostly washing off blood in that shower. Some of it was my fault, some of it was caused by a monster. The only monster. I know there are more in this world but I've only had the chance of meeting one. I wish I hadn't met him either. Life would have been easier.
I put on a robe and unlock the door to step out and ease her worries. Mum stands a couple steps away, mindful of my need for distance. 
Harold is closer. Too close. I take a step back out of habit and he lowers his arm. "Were you trying to break the door?" I ask. His stance was violent. His shoulders ease at my voice.
"You were not responding and you've been in there for two hours. We were worried, darling." Another thing he does. He worries about me. Sometimes when he notices me zoning out, he brings me out of my head to the real world.