There was no mistaking the pride in his eyes when I asked him about the new opera he had written. I wondered if any part of our story factored into it. I couldn't wait to read it, but that would make it even better. As he left to go get it, I reached for more grapes and noticed a stack of drawings on the floor. The one on top was of the two of us; he really was a talented artist. I reached for it, realizing at once that something wasn't quite right. It looked so strange because he wasn't wearing a mask; he had drawn the right side of his face to match the left. I could understand why he thought about it, but I didn't like this picture very much. I had seen the scars and I wouldn't wish him any different. Without them we wouldn't be here now, he wouldn't be in my life at all. It was a selfish thought, but he is my destiny and I am his. He didn't see that, the years of torment and solitude and whatever else he had lived through had taken more of a toll on his sanity than three months of separation from me. He was so full of self loathing and doubt that it would be difficult to overcome. But I would try. I would more than try. He would never have to doubt either me or my intentions again.
He noticed right away that I didn't like it, and I told him why. I moved closer to him and his breathing quickened. I love that I have this effect on him. To be fair, he had quite an effect on me too, I couldn't stop with the scar on his lip, I wasn't able to leave it alone. It drove me crazy and I couldn't stay away from it, luckily he didn't mind. I told him he didn't need to hide from me, and maybe one day he wouldn't. I would wait patiently. I told him I wouldn't betray him like that again, and I longed for him to trust me. Maybe he was starting to, the last few times I had touched his mask he hadn't flinched or pulled away, that was a start at least.
Without warning he pulled me onto his lap. I loved to feel his arms around me. But then, my jaw actually dropped, he was giving me permission to remove the mask. I wanted to, but should I? Was this some kind of test? What if I took it off and he reacted the same way as last time? I wouldn't be afraid of his anger again, but we would be back at the beginning then, and I would rather not start over. What if he did want me to and I didn't? Would he think the sight of him without it repulsed me? This powerful man, this beautiful creature was afraid of that. This was something he couldn't change, and it had come between us for years. I could tell that his heart was pounding, he was very nervous, but was it because he thought I would, or wouldn't?
I didn't know what to do, so I did the safe thing, I kissed the scar. He inhaled softly and his lips parted, giving me the sign I had been hoping for. I removed it as gently as I could, not wanting it to be a shock. The skin beneath it was red and distended. I wasn't sure if it was sensitive, but I wanted to kiss him there, to show him I wasn't offended by it. This would never come between us again. When my lips reached his eyelid, tears rolled down his face, but it was obvious I wasn't hurting him. It was our most tender moment to date, and he couldn't hide the fact that he thought so too.
It was wonderful to sit here with him like this. The last time he was unmasked in front of me he held his hand over his face. This is what I should have done then, but what had happened could not be changed and now he wasn't trying to hide and it was perfect, until he asked if I was sure. How could he still doubt that? I took a steadying breath, it wasn't me, it was his nature to doubt. It was habit for him to question everything, and I certainly couldn't blame him for that. A lot of these feelings were new to me as well, but I had always expected to have them someday. I had never lived through thinking I wasn't worthy of them. My initial reaction to his query had been anger, but that was the easy road. My earlier conviction of wanting to leave him doubtless returned with force. I would tell him and show him that I loved him, that nothing could keep me away from him. I kissed him everywhere that I could see skin. His shirt had loosened at some point, and unashamedly I trailed kisses to his chest, telling him all the while how sure I was of him, of us, of everything. He was my life; he had been for more than ten years, why couldn't he see that? His was the voice in every one of my dreams, and after this night it wouldn't be only his voice.
In my zeal to prove how sure I was of a life with him, I may have overstepped a boundary or two. The wonderful scent of him, the firmness of his body, the incredible softness of the hair on his chest combined with the fact that he was completely oblivious to how beautiful he really was led me to behave in a most unrefined way. I didn't care about propriety anymore, I wanted him. I wanted to spend the remainder of this night and every night in his arms. I could feel how red my face was and I didn't care. What I did care about was that he wanted that too, and he did. I could feel the struggle he was having with himself, and I was fully aware that I wasn't playing fair when I ran my tongue over his lip.
"Christine…" the way he said it made everything melt inside. But instead of moving closer he pulled away. I know he wants this, there is no mistaking it. He loosened the embrace and guided my head to lie on his chest. His heart was beating wildly and his breathing was erratic. For several minutes he was silent, trying to get his heartbeat and everything else under control, I guessed. My feelings were a bit wounded, but I knew if I implied this in any way he would begin to doubt again. I waited for him to speak for fear I wouldn't be able to hide the disappointment I felt.
At long last he spoke. "Forgive me, my love." His voice wasn't fully recovered, and I was happy to hear that the rich, seductive quality was still there. "It seems my passion for you overrules every other sense." He was apologizing? The only thing he had done wrong was to stop. I was torn, if I continued to lie here, without looking at him he might think either I no longer wanted to see his face, or that I was unsure of him in some way. If I did lift my head and meet his gaze he might see what I was really thinking. But I decided on the latter.
Unbelievably, he was mad at himself. Actually, I was a little mad at him too, but I worked very hard on my expression to not let that show. "We should wait," the trace of huskiness was back in his voice, "until after…" Something in my face must have changed because he had that anguished look again. "Please, Christine…" His stormy eyes softened suddenly. "Let me do one thing right by you." It sounded as if he had been about to say after we are married. Was he thinking of an actual wedding then? He was anything but conventional, but maybe in this he was. How could I argue with that?
The mannequin had been wearing a wedding dress. Maybe that had been his intent all along. The thought brought with it a surge of joy. I would have stayed here with him, as his bride, whether it was legal in the eyes of the law, or God; I belonged to him, and I always had. But if he wanted us to be bound in the customary way then we would have to go to a church. I couldn't imagine being with him outside of the opera house, not that I was in any way ashamed, but I didn't think he ever left here. Maybe it would have to be at night. His song to me then had been about nighttime and darkness, purge your thoughts of the life you knew before…let your darker side give in, in this darkness you know you cannot fight... it really didn't matter, night or day. His lip twitched the tiniest bit, and the urge to touch it was painful in its intensity, but I didn't.
I smiled weakly, and very innocently kissed one of the raised, malformed patches on his cheek. I could wait, it was important to him. It was a small price to pay, and I would do anything for him. "It doesn't disgust you, kissing such skin?" He asked shyly, but he didn't have that downcast, doubtful tone. Could it be that he finally just accepted it, and understood that I accepted it as well?
"No, it doesn't. I could happily kiss all of your scars." Whatever he expected me to say, it was not this. He was surprised, but why?
He lowered his gaze, and looked ashamed. "I have so many more scars than just those on my face." The downcast tone was back. Were the rest of his scars remainders of the torture he had alluded to earlier?
"Then I'm looking forward to it." The second it slipped out I covered my mouth with both hands. I was too astonished to feel embarrassed for an instant, but very quickly my face felt as hot as the fire, and it was certainly just as red. Oh my Lord! How could I have just said that? He was possibly more shocked than I was, but it was close.
A moment later he laughed. Not a chuckle, but real, rich laughter. It was the first time I heard it from him, and it was infectious. I couldn't help laughing a little myself. "Whatever it is that filters my thoughts and keeps them from becoming unladylike behavior does not seem to work when I'm with you." I said meekly, that had certainly been true enough all night. But that wasn't quite what I had meant when I decided I would leave him in no doubt of my feelings. It seemed my passion for him overruled my other senses as well, but to hear him laugh was wonderful.
"You are ever the temptress, my lovely angel." He smiled, still chuckling, as he sat upright. He was right about that, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the beauty of his shape. But now was not the time for that, we would wait, as he wished.
"I believe the term you used was Delilah." It was risky, bringing something up he had said then, but I kept my tone as light and playful as I could.
"A very dangerous temptress indeed, but also a betrayer, treacherous and cunning," He smiled, which really was a breathtaking sight. "You are many, many things, Christine, but not those things," he said, still smiling. There was no anguish, no doubt, no angst. "Forgive me for the things I said, I know you would not betray me." He leaned in to kiss me. It was so nice to see this easy side of him. Little did I know how that would change when I reached for the folder on the chair.
Why did it make him uneasy that I wanted to read this? He wasn't opposed to the thought entirely, he had gone to get it. And he was proud of it, I had seen that. Maybe some of our story did factor into it, but what part? He had written it during a time he had described as nothing short of torture, a time when he was convinced I would be better off without him. I was very curious, but since that night curiosity was always accompanied by caution.