It took me a long time to understand why she had never mentioned her boyfriend or fiance to me up to this point, or why she had never mentioned me to him. I believe she had a hard time releasing her view of me as the 'man' she met on that cruise, so she felt guilty calling me, guilty inviting me, and guilty dating someone else. There wouldn't be anything I could do to convince her otherwise.

Her wedding was simple and elegant, small and intimate, short and sweet. She wore little flowers beneath her veil, and her groom—a large, muscular man—teared up as she walked down the grassy aisle. Her father wasn't there, but her mother and stepfather's side of the family was. The best man and maid of honor made beautiful speeches at the reception, though after a little too much wine, her mother and sisters muttered to each other about how it wouldn't last.

She introduced me to her husband as they greeted the guests who were heading into the reception hall. "This is Noah," she told him. "He's a maton." That was all. He shook hands with me, maintaining unsmiling eye contact, and his grip—held just a tiny bit too long—was firm enough to hurt.

For a long time after the wedding, I didn't hear from her. I called her every month or so at first just to hear her voice, then every year to renew the debt vows, but she never picked up the phone.

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She showed up on my doorstep in the middle of the night.

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It was raining, and she shivered in a soaked sweatshirt. Her hair was matted and her jeans were torn, mascara ran down her face in tracks made by tears and rain, and the rest of her makeup didn't quite conceal the black eye, split lip, and bruised cheek—or, for that matter, the bags under her eyes and wrinkles at the corners of them.

It had been six years since I had heard from her, ten since we had met. We stood a long time, simply staring at each other. When I came to my senses, I opened my arms, and she collapsed into them, sobbing.

I gave her a dry t-shirt and sweatpants to change into while I made her coffee. She grimaced when she tasted it. "Do you have any cream or sugar?"

"Sorry." I sat down on my armchair. "I can't taste, you know."

"It's just as well." She sighed and set down the mug on the coffee table, settling into the couch across from me.

"What can I do to help?"

She shook her head, her eyes watering again. "I'm so sorry to impose. I just need a place to stay for the night so my husband can sober up."

A soft click! in my wrist and the back of my head. "I'm sorry, Alexia, I can't let you go back to him."

She sat up straight. "What?"

"If you go back, he'll hurt you again."

She rolled her eyes. "Is this that stupid debt thing again?"

"You can't release me while you're alive. But it has nothing to do with that. You're—" I paused for a moment, then I shook my head. It wouldn't be helpful to re-explain my programming with regards to my obligations to humans; she knew that already. "You're my friend," I said instead. "I cannot allow you to come to harm."

Her eyes shone, and her tears spilled. I joined her on her couch, taking her into my arms, and she cried into my shoulder until she fell asleep. I remained awake and still until the sunlight streamed in through the curtains and illuminated the neat shelves and clear tabletops of my condo.