The day went by too quickly, with me sitting on the couch, staring at the picture of me and Frank in the city, one sunny day centuries ago. We smiled and were standing with our arms around eachother. We were happy. I kept looking at it, and couldn't focus on the problem I had to solve. Once in a while I got up and glanced at our car on the curb, where Frank was lying under a pile of blankets. Nothing moved, and like a zombie, I slowly moved back to the couch.

I had been feeling so confident, so strong, in my role as Warrior Princess. I'd thought that was the answer, to let myself be that dark person. But now Frank had seen the gun, and maybe he'd remember. He'd tell the police or a psychiatrist, and then, Warrior Princess would spend the rest of her life behind bars, between other warrior princesses and dark kings. Or else, everytime he would wake up, I'd kill him again, but then he would always be resting and healing, and that was no life for both of us.

There was no solution, and my mind was circling and rolling over itself in an endless and tiring dance. Late in the afternoon I got op, tired and irritated with myself, and poured myself a cup of tea. Then I got a piece of paper and sat at the diningtable.

Dear Frank, I wrote. I write this letter to tell you something about me, that you may know, or maybe not, but you don't understand it completely. If we'd talk about it, you'd get mad at me, before I could explain it, so that's why I write it down. Please read the whole letter before you send Jack Bauer after me like I was some kind of terrorist.

Lately I found out some terrible thing about myself. I can be very violent, and I can't stop myself from hurting you. You know I can get angry, but sometimes I can do nothing else but hurt you so bad, that I kill you. You've died many times these last weeks. Maybe you feel like you've slept a lot, but that was a healing sleep after you've died. So, that means, I killed you, and you died, but you came back to life everytime! That's a miracle, don't you think?

This sounded so dumb. How could he read this, and not think I was a maniac? I sat back, and thought to myself: What would I do if someone told me a story like this? I'd be scared to death! I wouldn't want to keep living with that person. Of course not, but would that matter? Frank couldn't go tell the police, for they wouldn't believe him!
“She killed me, mister cop.”
“Well, how could that be, sir. You're still standing before me?”
I laid my head in my hands, and felt my hot forehead with my fingers. If Frank couldn't tell anyone, then he would just have to accept my presence in the house. I'd just stay and be very kind, and allthough he might be scared of me, we'd live together, untill we'd get used to this situation. I'd kill him once in a while, and he would hardly notice it, because he couldn't die. A faint smile made my face relax a little, and I crumbled the piece of paper, untill it was a ball. Suddenly, I heard the front door open.