A.N. I've finally got myself a beta reader and have a feeling that I asked the right person. She has been very supportive and helpful. Thank you, dark-hearted rose.
Thank you also to everyone who has reviewed. I will try to make future chapters longer for you guys. But it was rather difficult to increase the length of this chapter.
Chapter Seven
After successfully sendingher back to sleep, Erik elected to spend his morning idly, next to Oscar. Brushing her short, dark brown hair tentatively with his long fingers, he inhaled her scent, a smell of musk rose with a hint of cinnamon, slightly mingled with his own sweat. He wanted to wake up to that smell each and every morning. He wanted to wake up to her firm and well-toned body, with the small breasts that had never been given a chance to develop fully. Erik tried to remember the scent of his past lovers, but could not. Neither could he remember their sensual shapes. He had never stayed long enough to find out. He had always left their beds as soon as he could collect himself. He had been desperate to go back to his own place. That he could not bring them where he felt truly comfortable, even though it was due to his reluctance to reveal anything of him, always remained an obstacle to emotional proximity after physical intimacy.
The fact that Oscar smelled something of himself gave him an impression that she was his; an illusion only strengthened by the sight of the purple bruises he had been solely responsible for. The thought made him smile, which quickly faded as a part of him, the sensible part, scorned and mocked his tender feelings towards Oscar. Falling in love was a risk that he did not particularly welcome. He could only suppress his murderous urge towards the human race through distancing himself from them, regarding his own species so beneath him that they did not even deserve his wrath. When Nadir made him promise that he would never kill except in self-defence, he knew that keeping a distance from his own species was the only way he could keep the promise. The whole idea of living underground was truly an ingenious one; except that it didn't prevent him from yearning after a girl. He understood that his madness and despair had been brought on by his fixation over Christine. His love and craving for her had made him care about how she viewed him and hate everything about himself with exasperating passion. He would be better off despising Oscar, treating her with a contempt that any willing prisoner deserved.
No matter how hard he wished, he could not despise Oscar, who succumbed to his desire without a struggle. There was no hostility, shame or apprehension in her eyes after their sensual encounter. Nor was there the off-putting expression of sudden familiarity in her manners. It seemed that nothing had changed in her regard for him, except that she now seemed to long for his touch. Somehow, she didn't seem to belong to the world above, and this made Erik feel more at ease with her presence. If she didn't belong there, she would not drag him into wanting to be a part of it, which he never could. He nuzzled her neck softly, relishing the sigh of contentment from her sleeping form. She shifted her position slightly under his arms and murmured something incomprehensible. Once again it was that female voice she so effectively hid. Erik wondered whether she would talk in her sleep. It was worth a try. She would talk in her natural voice, if he could make her talk while she was dreaming.
"Oscar," he called to her, using his hypnotising voice to the full effect.
"Yes?" she answered, still in her sleep.
"Since when have you been wearing that bandage around your chest?"
"Since I was a child… I can't remember exactly when."
"Why did you start to wear it?"
"To hide my shame… My father said I ought not to show my weakness."
Shame. No one knew about it better than he did. He was the very source of shame to his own mother. No wonder she despised him. He must have been like a piece of bad sculpture that the artist would rather forget. Only his mother could not have been so easily free from what she had given birth to. How she must have hated him. How he hated his mother for being the cause of his existence. That mutual loathing was what had compelled him to withdraw himself from the warmth of his lovers at the last minute, which was often met by silent gratitude and relief. Even in Persia, where he had been given his own harem, he had not allowed himself the luxury of releasing himself inside his women. He would never allow anyone to carry his child. It was rather ironic that Oscar was the first lover he could experience that forbidden pleasure with, precisely because she demanded that he should not treat her as a woman.
"Who else knew your secret?"
"My nanny and the family doctor… I think… my mother knew. My sisters never knew about it."
So, it was her father who orchestrated the whole scenario of Oscar's life. Erik reasoned in slight bemusement. It's almost as ingenious as my life as an Opera Ghost.
"And André? How did he find out about your secret?"
"He didn't know."
What is she saying? Is she telling me that their love was purely platonic? Erik thought in confusion. That the poor bastard laid down his life for her, without even knowing her real sex? At that moment, he genuinely wished he wasn't the first to take Oscar. He did not need her always wondering what it could have been. He did not like the idea of André's sacrifice appearing more impressive than it already was.
"What kept you from telling him the truth?"
"I was afraid."
"What of?"
"He might not have desired me if he had known my secret."
Erik knew then what made him so attracted to Oscar. It was the depth of her loneliness that drew him to her. It was true that she could have not possibly known what he had gone through. She would never comprehend how humiliating it was to be displayed as a freak, beaten without mercy and laughed at. She could not imagine the depth of his anger against the human race; the anger that kept him in Persia for many years, playing the dark angel of death. Still, she knew what it was like having to hide her secret from the whole world. She understood how something that could not be her fault would turn into her own bitter shame.
It was frustrating to know that he could never be entirely free from his sensitivity. What did it matter that they were both completely alone? Their respective reasons that drove them to this particular path would not be affected by that realisation. It did not comfort him, for he remained just as alone next to the loneliness of another. Yet, there was a desire, strangely selfless by his standard, to reach out and touch the other; to make that void just a bit more endurable. It's all he could manage to give. If anyone cared about him, provided that his pride would not intervene, it was all that he hoped to receive.
