God, he made you sick. Sick with love, sick with every single emotion. You didn't understand him, not really. He was divorced. His ex-wife wasn't very kind to him. He was desperate, desperate for something. Affection, attention, anything. Anything you'd give him. He needed touch. He needed you.

You didn't get it. No, it didn't make any sense. That was, until a song came on the radio in the kitchen of his mansion while you prepared dinner. Not a lot, Just forever.

You got it. You got everything. It still made you sick, you couldn't even look at the food you were making. Physically nauseous at your understanding. You couldn't put a name to it, it was some unconscious idea planted in your brain.

You hear him, coming down the stairs. He was carrying the green juice his coach always made him drink. He hated it, but he put up with it, "Baby..." He leans against the doorframe in the kitchen.

I could be a good mother...and I wanna be your wife...

"...Baby..." He says again. You just wanted to hug him until the world fell down around the two of you.