Many thanks to all of those wonderful people who reviewed, favorited, or subscribed. Without you writing wouldn't be the same.
Small drops of vapor beaded on the outside edge of the small pot and Christine breathed in the almost savory scent of milk.
Just a couple of moments now and it would be warm enough, then she would have breakfast as usual – hopefully.
With one hand still braced on the countertop she opened the cupboard and took out two plates and two mugs, then dragged herself to the table and set them on top of it. The two steps back to the counter seemed a pitifully tiring distance and she propped herself up by the counter upon returning to her previous place. With a bit of luck the worst of it would be over by the time he got downstairs. As for now, her husband was still asleep or at least she supposed so – she didn't actually make sure of it when she got up from bed for fear that it would only raise his suspicion in case he was up already. At least he wasn't there to witness her being less then graceful as she climbed downstairs, nor did he see her desperate scramble for the powder and some water to dissolve it in, all the while trying to breathe through the worst of the pain. It was not as if he didn't know about it, just…
He would be panicked if he saw her struggle, that was for sure. And then of course there would be no way out of telling him the why and… well, she didn't want to let him know. For the last two weeks she'd been basking in his courtesy and affection, making her feel like the woman she had always dreamt of becoming but the current state of events dragged her back to reality and she couldn't have been farther from that exquisite being right now.
One hand braced on the countertop she unwrapped the bread, then slowly turned around when she heard the sounds of shuffling steps: Erik stood in the doorway, leaning against it.
"Would you let me keep the ring?" He asked her without greeting.
The next intake of breath stuck in her throat at his words and she tried to inhale again before she managed to choke out a shocked, "What?"
"When you leave, would you give it back to me? So that I can take it back with me."
Huh?
All at once the kitchen seemed to swim a little in front of her eyes and she reached back to lean against the counter for support, shivering in spite of the warmth that was radiating from the stove, and when the dizziness continued she gave up on all hope of following the sudden turn in his thoughts. A breath of time later a jumbled series of memories rushed back from the previous days but there was nothing in them that might have implied that she was about to disappear – not to her at least.
Because I got up first?
Somewhere behind her she heard a faint hissing sound as if it came from a faraway distance and it took her a long minute to realize that it must have been the milk, boiling over the pot.
He was still standing in the doorway, his knuckles turning white as his fingers curled around the frame for support and her mind could come up with nothing but the simplest of solutions. "I'm not leaving," she rasped, the words scraping her throat as she spoke.
His eyes swept across her then, and her tired senses noted that his sight lingered a moment too long on her left hand. "You're not?" He asked in a whisper at last.
"No. I'm not going anywhere."
In the subsequent silence the spinning sensation in her head was soon accompanied by the frantic thumping of her heart. Almost as disturbing was the fact that his face was pale, paler than usual and his features were drawn, too, as if he had not slept at all. Which was probably the case.
After a moment his eyes left hers to roam around the kitchen and slowly the veil of whatever spell or disbelief he was under left his face – only to be replaced by a flinch as he saw something behind her; the two sets, perhaps? It seemed that his arm that was braced against the doorframe wavered, too.
Momentarily, even pain was forgotten at the sight of his discomposure. Had this been his reaction after waking from a dream his perplexity would have been understandable – but clearly sleep had eluded him tonight. Her stomach gave a nervous flutter that had nothing to do with pain anymore.
Looking behind herself a quick glance confirmed that indeed, the milk had spilled all over the stove, so she hastily turned down the heat before pushing away from the counter to walk towards him.
"You didn't change your mind," he said when she reached him, probably more to himself than to her.
"No, of course not," she bit out as pain slowly crept back into her consciousness. Dread seemingly didn't sit well with it for too long.
Despite her intention to assure him, in his eyes she saw a new worry appearing. "Christine, you're pale."
"I'm fine," she told him, caring less and less to keep the pain hidden from him. "Just need to sit down."
Before she could take a step though he was beside her, scooping her up into his arms with a swift movement. "I can walk," she protested through gritted teeth, her chest tightening with helpless humiliation. She was in desperate need of a bath, not to mention a fresh set of clothes; and she was mortified to admit even to herself that it was a very likely possibility that he caught a trace of the unpleasant scent of the powder that still clung to the roof of her mouth. Her eyes were riveted to the top button of his shirt, just so she didn't have to look into his eyes.
If he, indeed, noticed, he gave no sign of it, and he headed to the stairs and carried her upstairs, his arms holding her seemingly with no effort. A long minute passed until she calmed enough to perceive that even though his posture was tense and unwavering, his lips twitched ever so slightly. Only a few strides later they reached the bedroom and he deposited her on the rumpled sheets. Immediately she scooted to her place and curled up on her side, then pulled the blanket up to her chin, all the while wishing that he would stop looking at her and just leave her to her misery.
"You're not fine," he told her, rather stating the obvious than scolding her.
"I would have been by the time you had woken up. I thought you'd be asleep a little longer."
His arm at his side twitched ever so slightly. "I've been up ever since you woke sometime around midnight," he told her softly, his tone trailing off in the end, obviously waiting for her explanation.
"You were not supposed to see this," she said reluctantly, shivering as the next cramp sent a cold wave down on her spine.
"That you're obviously unwell yet denying it?!"
"I'm bleeding," she snapped, now beyond caring that minutes earlier she deemed this information to be left unsaid. "I'll be fine once the medicine takes effect."
A moment of stunned silence followed her outburst.
Then the soft sound of his foot, shuffling on the floor.
A heartbeat later his head lifted but he couldn't quite meet her eyes and her stomach dropped with disappointment – until suddenly the memory returned from the morning after their wedding night: she stood at the foot of the bed with the bedsheets clutched tightly in her hands as he lingered there with a wordless hesitation. He ended up awkwardly offering his help in something that up until then she regarded her concern alone.
Obviously, his thoughts came to the same conclusion now as well. "Is there anything I can do…?" He began but then his voice tapered off uncertainly and he shifted again.
"No. I'll be fine," she assured him, eager to release him from this most unwanted quandary on both of their parts. "You don't have to stay here."
He said nothing but he didn't move, either, and even through the haze of pain she could feel the restless energy swirling around him. Why don't you leave, then? Yet in the end, instead of walking away he only asked, "But may I?"
She stared at him at voicing such an unexpected request. "Well, I… I don't know." But, upon second thought… "I don't want you to see it," she concluded carefully.
His answer was a solemn nod then he lifted his hand, and after the shortest of indecision he drew a delicate caress down on her cheek. Her own hand had time to cover it only for the briefest of seconds before he pulled back hastily and left the room.
Relief flooded her as soon as the door clicked shut behind him and on its wake, remorse, upon feeling better on her own. She didn't mean to…
She inhaled a shaky breath when a piercing sensation started in her stomach and was immeasurably grateful that he wasn't there to witness the wince that, she was sure, was now present on her face.
Indeed, it was for the better that he was away now.
Sadly enough, the same freedom that being alone granted her made the pain decidedly worse as there was now nothing else to focus on but the contractions in her stomach. She turned to her back, simply because her side now hurt from the strain she had put there with her stiff position, and hoped against her better judgment that it wouldn't serve as a catalyst for a new cramp. It did, though, and she curled into a ball on her other side, breathing with calculated, deep inhales and exhales until the worst of it passed.
There was no nausea this time, at least. That would have been quite the performance and she wasn't sure he wouldn't have flipped out from that completely. It was bad enough already.
When the next wave came she pulled up her legs even closer to her chest in the hope it would ease the tension somewhat. It did indeed, and muscles all over her body unfurled with a pleasant shudder.
Then only a moment later everything started anew and she curled into the sheets deeper.
Not as if he took this 'toned down' version quite well: she felt the slight shivers that ran through his body even through the thick layer of embarrassment and pain while he carried her upstairs. As much as she tried to convince herself that they were merely the result of lack of sleep, in the end she didn't actually believe that to be true. He even made a feeble attempt at staying with her despite his obvious uneasiness – but then he left nonetheless. Her request against his…
The next wave of coiling pressure in her stomach never reached that numbing peak that the previous ones did and the fog on her thoughts cleared a bit more; and she let out a somewhat relieved sigh. Finally the medicine was taking effect.
She only wanted to spare him from worrying over her; over something that he could do nothing about and what wasn't even his concern. She would take care of that as she had done so many times before. Only that… he had already been upset before he gained knowledge of her condition, she realized. And she asked him to leave. She didn't even know what was that caused his doubts to flare in the first place.
He was now left alone with all of that, only his thoughts accompanying him.
Oh, my…
She should go after him. She shouldn't have let him step out of that door in the first place. She was his wife, supposedly his companion, but at the moment it seemed that she had done the most inadequate job at that. As frightening as it was to admit even to herself, she had no idea how to actually be a wife. She'd never really seen a marriage 'being operated' – and the same could be said of him, but she had hoped that their love would be enough of a guidance to work with. For two weeks, it was.
Hopefully it would be enough now, as well.
Some rustling sound came from the direction of the door and she rose to her elbow, turning towards it.
"You're still here, aren't you?" She called out aloud when realization dawned on her.
No answer came.
Then quietly, "No."
Despite the still present pain and numbing worries, her lips pulled into a smile. "I don't want you to keep vigil sitting against the door."
"The wall," he corrected softly.
"You may as well come in, then," she answered, and promptly the door cracked open – albeit only slightly; then he slid in through the narrow opening and shut it again.
He stayed at the now closed door, one hand still gripping the handle.
"Are you feeling any better?" he asked her.
"Yes. Thank you," she added, but immediately felt some strange trepidation, as if she was talking to a stranger.
His thoughts might have taken a similar turn because he made a tentative step towards her before halting in his tracks, then shifted slightly and took a slight turn toward the chest of drawers beside the door – on which lay the mask, ever since they returned from their short trip to the city last evening, buying food and other necessities. She drew an anxious breath but before any possible outcome could unfurl before her eyes he had already turned back to her, approaching her with a new-found determination.
His eyes found hers and his lips opened as if he wanted to say something but then closed without uttering any word and carefully lowered himself on the bed, perching himself on the very edge of the mattress. Whether his apprehension was the result of fear of her reaction or repulsion at her condition she didn't know – and wished she wouldn't have to figure out.
The soft rustle of sheets brought her attention back from her reverie – he had turned a bit more to face her, the same guarded expression on his face still present.
"I really am fine," she assured him.
However, he gave no sign of hearing her at all. "May I hold you now?" Was only what he asked.
"Of course," she replied, sliding a bit closer so that he could have his requested embrace.
She needn't have worried that his reserve was caused by disgust: his arms now folded around her with such surprising vigor that air was almost knocked out of her, but almost immediately his hold was eased to a comfortable degree – probably he had noticed the blunder, too. Her arms wrapped around his stiff frame in the same moment.
For a long while, nothing happened. Neither of them moved or spoke, and his calculated, even breaths echoed in her ears.
And then, as if he had changed his mind, he pulled back altogether.
"I'll leave you to your rest now," he told her, making his move to stand.
It was… quite unexpected, but most of all, confusing.
Considering the power with which he held her she assumed that he would want to stay; not to mention that she still waited for an explanation for his sudden worries in the morning – which, it appeared, were still present, although he seemed to have accepted that her departure was not imminent.
"Erik." He stopped beside the bed, closing his eyes briefly at her call. It might have been her imagination, but it looked like as if a shiver had run through him. "Won't you tell me what it is?" She asked, her own distress rising.
"Nothing you should be concerned about," he answered evenly, and cast another short glance at the mask. No doubt he meant the words to be comforting but they only made her even more anxious, and now she was restless, too.
"I cannot stay calm when you're clearly upset," she told him maybe with a bit more agitation than she intended. Then fell silent when the disturbing conclusion struck her, one that in her morning haste to hide from him never even occurred to her. "Was it something that I did?"
And that was when his resolve crumbled. "No," he wheezed and his shoulders slumped with that short word.
He said no more, though, and for one horrendous moment she wondered whether he would tell her if indeed, that was the case – or just would take it upon himself in a twisted form of 'compensation' for she had agreed to a life with him. Her stomach gave a nervous flutter at the mere thought of it.
"Of course not," he rasped, returning to her side with a few steps. But instead of sitting back down on the bed he sunk to his knees beside it into a strangely angled position, and her heart skipped a beat at seeing it. "You did nothing wrong and I didn't mean to make it sound like you were at fault in any way."
"You didn't." His shoulders lifted with a sigh but he said nothing, his eyes still not lifting from her blanketed midriff. "But I couldn't find any other reason that might have caused it." She swallowed, gaining courage. "And I want to know, so that the next time I can prevent it."
His head bowed with what she thought to be surrender and his forehead came to rest briefly on the back of her hand, then finally his eyes met hers.
"Forgive me." The words were rather choked than spoken; but even before that she was well aware of his inner struggle as he visibly fought to keep his eyes on hers. He lost. "I shouldn't have noted it. I certainly didn't mean to."
Try as she might, she couldn't find what he was referring to. "What are you talking about?"
His answer didn't come immediately, instead he straightened his posture as much as it was possible in his contorted position, resulting in that he pulled back even further from her. Then he continued to talk to the carpet. "Last night… you didn't want to be intimate. It never happened before and…" It was nothing more than a fleeting glance but shame was still unmistakable in his eyes. "I didn't want to be one of those who consider its lack as punishment."
"You're not," she answered immediately, reaching forward carefully to take his hand. He let her, but twitched slightly when her fingers curled around his chilled ones.
Could it be possible that he had forgotten his own words from only two weeks before? Mere hours prior the wedding he offered her a way out from her supposedly unpleasant wifely duties – right after they had spent the night in the same bed at her proposal. It was a kind and considerate gesture – but there was so much more to that small offer than simple generosity.
Thinking of it, though… It wouldn't have been the first time that he twisted facts just in the right way so that he was cast in a more insidious light because it fit so well with his condemning opinion on himself. Oh, he wasn't faultless, she knew that… but after two weeks of blissful marriage it was difficult to picture this huddled figure beside her as the livid, avenging ghost of the theater. It didn't make it any less true what happened weeks ago… but he was certainly not that monster that he depicted himself.
But her words were not meant as simple comfort, either: ever since they had married – ever since she had returned to him, in fact – there had always been some elusive gratitude in his demeanor; never really expressed with words but definitely present even during the most mundane of tasks. He wouldn't notice the absence of intimacy when he was so clearly absorbed in their newfound happiness – unless something else had happened before.
"You had already had the doubt by then, hadn't you?" She asked with a lump in her throat.
Most probably its effect left an unmistakable sign in her voice because his eyes lifted to hers. "Please don't say a word," he wheezed. "I already hate myself because of it, I assure you."
She swallowed against the quickly welling tears. "Won't you sit back on the bed?"
For along moment, he didn't move.
She slid closer to him.
At last, bracing himself on the edge of the mattress he did rise, then lowered himself to sit beside her. It was her arms then that finally initiated the embrace but his arms wrapped around her soon enough. Several heartbeats later the lightest weight of his palms appeared on her back and she felt some of the tension leaving him with a heavy sigh.
So it was the reason for his constant running from her this morning, the explanation behind his seemingly irrational effort to keep his distance from her – and possibly even for his reserve from her affections, too. Just after she had returned to him weeks ago she had had the faint suspicion that his attempts at trying to escape her were rooted in just as much of self-punishment as in a genuine wish for her happiness but she wrote it off as an overdramatic concept, conjured up by her sleep-deprived mind. There was no need to think about it ever since then – but now it turned out that she had been right in her initial opinion. And if there was anything that could worsen the pain from that, it was to hear him scorning himself.
"I love you," she gasped into his shoulder and his arms slid all the way around her body in return.
Then came the lightest tremor, starting from his shoulders then running through his arms, before finally it disappeared in the stiff posture of his torso.
"I know," he rasped a moment later, his breath sweeping a warm wave across her nape. "And I also know that you promised to stay." Cautious fingers crept upward on her back, then she felt the lightest tug as they tangled in the end of her curls. "I've never been so happy in my whole life as in the last two weeks. If it ends…"
"It won't," she assured him, tightening her hold on him.
"It never lasted before. I know you won't leave – but I cannot believe that you'll stay, either." The small movements stilled in her hair, his tremulous intakes of breaths brushing her skin with short waves. Long moments passed until his frail voice spoke again. "Do you understand?"
Do I?
"Yes. I think I do."
And she did.
Even though she had to rely upon only scattered pieces of information and fractions of stories of his life, it was enough for her to imagine what his life had been… from the very beginning. Sometimes she wondered if there ever had been anyone whom he trusted but deep down she had already known the answer, and this most recent confession only confirmed her earlier notion. No wonder he couldn't find it in himself to believe that this never-before seen happiness would be permanent…but admitting this even to herself made it hurt all the more. She was trying so hard to make him forget and knowing that it didn't work made her throat tighten with helpless tears. She could only imagine the extent of his hatred and disdain aimed at himself for not being able to lay aside old fears.
Against her, his chest moved with a deep sigh and she pressed a kiss to his shoulder beneath her lips. When a moment later he pulled back he returned the gesture with a reverent brush of his lips across hers.
"I love you so much," he breathed against her skin.
"I know." She stroked her thumb across his face and let out a secret sigh of relief when he didn't flinch as her finger came in contact with his loathed deformity. "So what was that started it?"
"The shadows," he replied simply. "Yesterday, you had to hide in the shadows. With me." Because of me, she finished his train of thoughts in her head. "No one would want to endure that for a lifetime."
"I do," she said quietly.
"Why?"
Finally this was something that she did know the answer to and some of the weight lifted from her stomach. "Because it won't last forever. In a few weeks people will get tired of the story of the Phantom and his protégé and find something else to prattle about."
"I may have provided quite enough predicaments for them to never forget about it," he said not without a trace of uneasiness.
"I suppose so. That's why I'll announce my marriage to a businessman once they start asking questions about you."
"You're willing to pretend?"
"I would have had to anyway."
At her words, some resigned sorrow appeared in his eyes. "You knew this already when you came back," he concluded.
"Yes. But it is just something that needs to be done."
He nodded hesitantly a couple of times at that but said nothing – it wasn't exactly difficult to figure out the path his thoughts had taken. "You know that I wouldn't have been happy with that life," she told him gently.
When he spoke again his voice was so soft she could barely make out his words. "Are you now?"
"More than anything," she breathed, and this time when his eyes met hers he summoned enough courage to lean closer and captured her lips in a lingering kiss.
"I think I'll go back to sleep for a short while," she told him after they had pulled apart.
"Do you need anything?"
"No, thank you."
"I can bring you breakfast, if you'd like," he offered and she had the distant feeling that he was stalling.
"Later. I just want to rest now."
"I…" He trailed off, clearing his throat before starting again. "Do you mind if I stay here?"
Her earlier words of dismissal returned to her with a small pang of guilt. "Of course not," she said, and shifted aside to give him some space. "You haven't really slept, have you?"
His only answer was a brief look into her eyes, but then again, it wasn't really a question, after all.
He drew up his knees to the bed and folded his legs in front of him, his bare toes disappearing when he pulled the blanket up to his waist. No matter how many times she had seen him without any garments in the last two weeks, the novelty of the lack of clothing on him still had not worn off completely. Most of the time, it was exciting. Other times, such as now, it was just… strangely comforting, knowing that he let her see after years of hiding behind walls, then later, behind the mask and his dignified persona.
Now he was just Erik.
He came to lie down on his back while she mused, his accompanying sigh sounding just as tired as she imagined him to be. She wanted to give him the relief of her proximity, but mirroring his movement and lying down on her back quickly proved to be an unwise decision: her stomach immediately gave a warning twist. Curling up on her side and into their usual sleeping position sounded reasonable enough – except that in that case he would be folded against her body from head to toe, and… well. She wasn't sure she wanted that now, everything considered. She told him that much in a terribly inadequate sentence, feeling extremely ridiculous for worrying about such a thing – and at the same time, wondering if she needed to worry about it at all.
"I certainly don't mind touching you, if that was what you meant," was his tentative reply.
"I just…" The more she thought about it the more unreasonable she sounded even to herself, yet she was unable to stop now. "You can tell me if you'd rather not. I know it might be… repugnant. I won't be upset."
He rose to his elbow. "Christine, I love you. And this…" He made a vague gesture with his free arm. "It's still you."
"It's just…" She shrugged her shoulders feebly. "You made me feel so cherished and sublime… and I've never felt like that before. I didn't want to ruin that with reality."
He jolted beside her and her eyes locked with his: she didn't need to ask him to know that they shared the same thought in that moment.
A strange, fluttering sensation started somewhere around her heart, and seeing how a long shiver travelled down his body and limbs made her throat tighten with an emotion she didn't wish to name.
A long silence passed.
A deep intake of breath – let out in an uneven exhale.
Then at an unspoken accord the two of them scrambled closer to the other, meeting in a tight, shuddering embrace; fingers curling and pulling the other closer even though there was barely enough room for a full breath. The same need to keep near to each other remained there even after they settled into their usual sleeping arrangement, and though he was now wrapped around her whole body she was more than relieved to curl her fingers around his unsure, prying hand. Tension built up throughout the morning left her in a sigh, and his body seemed to melt against hers with his echoing exhale. Not long later his breathing evened out completely, and she brushed her thumb across the back of his hand with the hope that he would feel it even in his sleep.
Another sigh and she sank just a bit more against him.
If there was, indeed, any mystery to be a good wife, she was certainly less inclined to discover it now. And as for the secrets of a marriage, she liked to imagine that they were already living those very same secrets.
That indefinite warmth that had appeared in her chest sometime during the morning grew since then definitely more radiant, flooding her with a strange peace and contentment that she could only describe as something very close to floating. Does he ever feel the same? Well, if he did, he never told her so far. But… what she knew was that it only took him a few minutes to fell asleep beside her, and that he was now more relaxed than at any point in the past few hours. Seemingly it was at odds with his earlier admission of doubts – yet she understood it perfectly, even if she couldn't find the words to explain it, even to herself.
Probably that was the biggest secret of them all.