: Because love just isn't interesting unless it's irrational and obsessive.
I know there's probably a lot of flaws in this, but I'm happy with it. The emotion feels right, and that was my main aim here.
And just to put this in context, I wrote the following, which is probably about an entire chapter or two worth crammed into a few paragraphs. I'm not really thrilled over it, but it will do for now. Yay, Cliff's Notes.
At first, I merely thought that he was acting on a fresh upsurge of undue anxiety, as I had been prepared for. I waited patiently for him to regain his composure and allow me to leave the chamber, confident that it was simply a well-intended, yet poorly-executed plan to ensure my own safety. He would visit me often in the beginning, but with a certain urgency in his affection that I found somewhat unusual. He remained so devoted to me until, on what must have been the fourteenth or fifteenth day of my forced reclusion, I asked him how much longer I would have to remain in the chamber.
At this, his demeanor changed in an instant. His passionate adoration was quickly withdrawn, leaving a coldness in its place which left me wondering if I had inadvertantly said something hurtful. He did not answer me outright, but took to drifting closer to the window, pretending to study something in the distance. I assured him that I had not meant that I was unhappy, as I suspected may have been the cause of upset, but it failed to bring about any change in him. His face was set, and although his eyes were directed out the window, they were noticeably glazed over. There was a silence between us for what felt like a long while, until he finally cast me an apprehensive look and hastily fled the room, locking the great door behind him.
He did not return for several days. I spent many anxious hours wondering what I had done and when, or if, he would ever return to me. I spent more time crying than not, waiting with my ear against the door to detect anyone who might be approaching. After several more days, I began to hear noises from his chamber above me which turned my worry to fear. As usual, I could hear the sound of music from his old record player, but he had begun playing the same record repeatedly, continuing with the same song constantly for days. Over the delicate piano, I heard the most anguished screams, along with the same bangs and crashes that I had heard many times before during his spells of seclusion. I had never before heard him cry out in such a way, though, and it chilled my blood, as I could not imagine what pain he must have been in.
My situation continued in that way for more days than I could count. He would return periodically, but only for a very brief time. He was so aloof, though, and his appearance so haggard, that I began to fear that he may have completely lost his mind. He barely spoke a word to me, even when I pleaded with him to release me. I began to lose hope as I listened to his fits directly above me and stared out the window at the clouds, a reminder of the immense altitude at which I was imprisoned.
I must have been there for two months, possibly more, when he finally responded to the question that I had asked him many weeks before. His answer came in the form of a note which he had slipped under the door. When I saw it arrive, I leapt up to retreive it, my heart fluttering. The strangeness of his avoidance of speaking to me in person did not occur to me, until I read his short and dreadfully vague letter.
"Please do not hate me. I simply cannot lose you, and it is only in this way that I can ensure that I never will. As I am perhaps a more pathetic creature now than I have ever been, I cannot help but feel that my love for you is my sole means of absolution.
I am sorry."