Summary: After a few days after wedding with Erik, Christine started to ask some questions about her husband's physical abilities. And Erik started to be more and more nervous about it.
Christine stood by the stove and cooked. Erik always said that she didn't have to do that, but she wanted to. She at least had the feeling that she was useful in something.
She was often aware that she had a tendency to cook food after her Scandinavian origin and that she was distinctly different in taste from any other Parisian, but Erik always said he didn't mind.
He was so kind to her.
She heard the door shut somewhere. Erik had returned from his traditional errands around Opera. The awareness that she was near her beloved gave her a smile on her lips.
Erik came into the kitchen and sat exhausted in a chair. He frustratedly sighed and leaned his head back.
Christine looked at her husband and frowned. He wore his mask again. She hated when he wore a covered face around her because she couldn't know how he emote. She was so bothered when she didn't know what her dear thought about.
And what she hated most was the one he was wearing right now. It was the mask he was wearing when she first saw him. A black papier-mâché mask that ended a little above the nose, then a fabric that covered the rest of his face. Because of this mask, she could only see his golden eyes.
Certainly Erik had several masks she could bear. For example, he had a mask that covered only the biggest disfigurements, but uncovered his mouth and chin so Erik could comfortably eat, drink and sing without anything what could bothering him. Also thanks to it, she could see his gentle smile which he occasionally gave her.
However, this mask covered many of his facial expressions. Perhaps the only thing she was able to bear without the big hurdles was when Erik would put on a fake nose made of papier-mâché.
However, she didn't want Erik to have a mask in front of her. After all she chose him. She gave her love only to him and she wanted to see only him every day and every night for the rest of her life. She didn't want to look at the mask.
Erik sat in front of her, eyes closed.
Then he coughed suddenly. Christine sighed.
"You shouldn't switch that way, darling," she said as she turned to the kettle to make tea.
"Sometimes it's important that your dear Erik switch a little. The directors could make terrible decisions in his opera."
Christine sighed again and set the tea in front of him. She hoped that if Erik wanted to drink, he would take off that stupid mask.
Erik finally opened his eyes and gratefully looked at Christine. She hoped she saw gratitude in his eyes. It was so hard to tell when she didn't see his face.
He took the tea cup, but didn't remove the mask. Instead he just lifted up the cloth and drank.
Christine had to turn back to her cooking. There was no sense in arguing with him about his masks.
On the one hand, she understood that he was wearing it mainly for his own sake, yet she did not avoid to asking herself if she had ever unconsciously given him the reason to wear the mask.
Erik coughed again. Christine looked at him. Erik coughed quite commonly, especially on tense days when he forgot, besides eating, to even drink and then after a tiring few hours his throat simply announced that was not the way to work properly.
But the catacombs were really cold in those days, what if he got a cold?
She had never seen Erik sick or with a cold before.
She wished he'd removed his mask so she could see if he was pale or feverish.
She stirred the soup and sighed. Why did she cause such a drama around it? She could just ask him.
Find some calm and nice tone, she said to herself and turned to Erik with a smile.
"Darling, you wouldn't mind if you ..." she didn't finish the sentence, just pointed at her face. She knew that the original plan to say "... if you took off the damn mask I hate so much," wouldn't sound as sweet as she had expected.
Without a hint of emotion, Erik raised his hands and untied the ribbon that held the mask. He sat motionless for a moment before putting the mask on the table.
"Thank you, honey," Christine smiled, and came to him to hug him.
"Why do you insist that I should be without a mask?" Erik asked suddenly.
"Because then I see your emotions. Erik, I'm in love with you, not with your mask," Christine replied, walking back to pot. The soup began to smell pleasant. She closed her eyes and let herself be smothered with the scent. Something suddenly occurred to her.
Erik didn't have a nose. Could he smell? Could he feel the taste? How did he actually blow his nose when he was sick?
Again, she began to wonder how best to express the rush of questions.
"Is there something wrong, ma chérie?" Erik asked suddenly. Christine turned carefully.
"Well, you know ... I have some questions for you ..." she confessed quietly. Erik raised an eyebrow.
"Do some of your questions concern my face?" He asked without a hint of emotion. Christine hated that Erik exactly know on what she think about.
"Basically, they all relate to a specific part of your face," Christine confessed carefully.
"Let me guess, is it my nose?"
Christine nodded.
Erik sighed. He knew his beautiful and good wife would have questions sooner or later. She knew almost nothing about his past, about Persia, about what was causing his violent behavior. He was absolutely not expecting her to ask him about his face a few days after their wedding.
The face that denied him all human rights.
Until now.
"Ask me," he said, without a hint of emotion, but on the one hand he was glad she didn't ask him anything worse. Like murdering, or the death of Comte Phillipe… or the death of really any of the people he killed.
Christine bit her lip.
"But you don't have to answer me if it's uncomfortable."
Erik looked at her.
"Christine, petite, you became my wife and I want to give you everything this twisted world can offer. If you want your Erik to answer a few substantive questions, then ask."
"But if any of my questions will be uncomfortable, you don't have to answer it."
Erik frustratedly closed his eyes. His Christine was just too pure.
"Just ask," he said with a sigh.
Christine took a breath.
"Well ... I thought, if you don't have a nose, can you smell? What about taste? Mostly, when someone doesn't smell, then they don't even feel the taste. Is that why you don't want to eat in front of me? Because you can't taste it? Is it the reason why do you forget to eat?"
Erik got up and gently grabbed Christine's shoulders.
"Love, calm down," he said in surprise. "That's a lot of questions."
Christine blushed.
"Sorry," she whispered, covering her face with her hands. Erik smiled at this sign of innocence. How he loved his wife. She could be so cute when she was nervous.
"I will answer all your questions, but I don't feel comfortable with the thought that you will be looking at the details of my face. I'll take the mask and then I'll answer you as good as I can," he said, stepping back. Christine grabbed his hand.
"I want to see how you emote. Then I'll know if you're not comfortable with the questions," she said innocently. Erik looked at her and sighed again. Then he picked up the mask from the table and left the room without a word. He came back in a moment. He had only a fake nose made from papier-mâché on the face.
He sat down in his chair again and looked at his wife.
"Let's start from the beginning," Erik began when Christine said nothing for a long time. "First of all, yes, I can smell. Basically what I miss and what everyone calls as a nose is just cartilage. Actually, it doesn't have much of a function beside of protecting the nose from dust. There is no reason why I would not smell. To answer your next question. Yes, I feel the taste. I know this is offered, because usually when people have a cold, the taste of food is very limited. So, when I say you cook well, I'm telling the truth," Erik said, forcing himself to smile.
Christine bit her lip.
"So you can have a cold?" She asked suddenly. Erik raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Yes," he replied carefully. "Like any other person, I can catch a cold and have a rhinitis."
Christine stepped nervously.
"And how are you blowing your nose?"
Erik sighed and looked into his tea mug to avoid any eye contact with his wife.
"I don't," he admitted softly. "Given how my face looks, it's not even possible," Erik said, refusing to look up from his mug. "When I have a cold I sneeze... and some other disgusting things that I don't want to discuss," he continued quietly, before Christine could ask another question.
"I hope you never have to see it," he said, and finished his tea. Christine laughed. It was only for a moment, and she almost immediately stopped, but there was no doubt that Erik noticed.
"Is there anything to laugh about?" He asked. His voice was again without a hint of emotion. Christine suspected he had to take her laugh in person.
"I apologise, I just imagined a situation... If you were sneezing when you were wearing that fake nose — it would just fly away..." she confessed frankly and blushed. Erik raised an eyebrow.
"I admit that the idea is funny, but I just can't laugh at it," he admitted after a moment and rose. Christine returned to her soup.
"Would you like something to eat with me?" She asked innocently. Erik stopped in the middle of his departure.
"Maybe in a moment, chérie," he replied, reaching for the handle.
"Why don't you want to eat with me?" Christine asked before he could leave. Erik stopped.
"I'm not hungry," he said in his typical excuse. Christine crossed her hands.
"Erik, I know you haven't eaten anything since yesterday. You must be starving," she protested. Erik clenched his jaw. He had to control himself a lot. Then he took a deep breath.
"Amour, you don't really have to worry about me. I'm an artist, sometimes I just forgot to eat," he said as pleasantly as he could at the moment.
"Just tell me why you don't want to eat in front of me and I'll leave you alone," said Christine, lowering her head. Erik closed his eyes. He loved Christine and on their wedding day he promised her that he would change. That he would be like any normal man, and there would be nothing in the world he wouldn't do for her. Now she came to him and asked him the most unpleasant questions he could imagine.
He sighed and gripped the handle until his knuckles turned white.
"I can't…" he began, but the rest of the sentence was lost in silent murmur. Christine smiled and came to her husband, hugged him and rested her face between his shoulder blades.
They stood there for a moment, and Christine felt how every tensed muscle in Erik's body slowly began to relax. After a moment he released the door handle.
"Even in this your Erik is tainted by his mother's hate," he said quietly, without turning. "She wanted to spend the least amount of time with me. She hated when I was writing with my left hand and often tied it to my body. It only led to the fact that I used it more and more, although I am not distinctly left-handed. She hated when she taught me to eat because it often meant I had to be without a mask. She always stood looking at me for a moment before she began to yell at me that I was clumsy, full of evil and then angrily drove me out of the room... Because of her, I have never had a positive relationship with food, and to this day, even after several decades, whenever I take cutlery in my hands, I recall her yell and then the appetite just goes over me," he said quietly, turning to his wife. "To this day, I have not learned to eat with cutlery, so I do not want to eat before you, because..." he didn't finished sentence, but Christine understood. The way how he said that. Quietly with his head bowed, as if he had just admitted multiple murders.
Christine stared at him for a moment, not knowing what to say. Erik always seemed so perfect in everything. He had a relentless hearing, perfect gentleman behavior, since he had married her, he acted like a perfect groom. He fulfilled everything he had ever promised. Yes, there were many mistakes, but neither of them could in any way disrupt the fragile aura of perfection. The fact that he could not eat properly with cutlery was so dissimilar to him. So different from his ghost look.
Then she hugged him.
"Amour, I was so afraid it was because you can't taste. This isn't your fault. I will not condemn you for it, scream at you or anything else. I love you with everything I am," she said, clinging to his chest. She realized that by telling her he was willing to take off all his masks in front of her. Not only the physical ones, but also the ones he had to wear in front of himself.
He was no longer a ghost or a phantom.
He was Erik.
Only her Erik.
She looked at him and noticed his tears.
"I was afraid you didn't want to eat in front of me because of a mask," she admitted. "I was afraid I somehow unconsciously gave you an excuse that I wished you wore the mask. I don't want you to. I'd like to burn them all if I could," she admitted softly.
"You never gave me this excuse, Christine," he said gently and kissed his wife in her hair. The sound of her spoken name sounded quietly through the room until it died in silence.
Author's note: In my free time I like to study anatomy with everything what it brings. This story started as an innocent thinking about Erik's nose and his ability to taste or smell.
Also I want thank Not A Ghost3 for corrections and suggestions.