Blemishes
Chapter 8, Part 2: Told You

He knelt down beside the couch, putting a hand on her back.

"Christine," he sang in his most captivating voice, "look at me."

"Nuh-uh." Came her stifled reply.

"Look at your husband, Christine. You know that he loves you, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then why won't you trust me? Come now, look at me..."

"Did you see?"

"See what?"

"You did." She groaned, moving her head away from the cushions, but keeping her hands to her face.

"I did what?"

"You saw it."

"Saw what?"

Christine gave another groan, stretching her legs over the couch and peeking at him from between her fingertips.

"The thing on my face."

"Which thing? You have several things on your face. More things than I have… I am quite jealous of it sometimes. I do wonder what it would be like to have a nose."

"You know which thing."

"I am sorry, my dear, I have no idea."

"Why are you teasing me?"

"I am not. Move your hands, Christine."

She shook her head, pressing them harder against her face.

"If you do not move your hands, I will make you."

"Please don't."

"You need to trust me, Christine."

"I don't want to."

"You don't want to trust me?"

"No! Of course I want to trust you, I just… I don't want to move my hands. I don't… I don't want you to see it."

"Why not?"

"Because it's a flaw. Because I'm not perfect. Because I'm not beautiful. And if I'm none of those things then… then why am I here?"

And then she let out a screech, her hands flying into the air, and her knee jerking to the side. Erik had tickled her.

"I told you," he said, grabbing her wrists and pressing them into the back of the couch to keep her from bringing them back to her face. He tried not to laugh at the furious expression on her face but was, unfortunately, unsuccessful.

"How could you!"

"Is a husband not allowed to look at his wife's face?"

"When she says he can't!"

He sighed, moving closer to peer at the miniscule red mark with a critical eye. Christine wondered if this was how he felt when she gazed at him. She then realized that this was a horrible thing to compare to her husband's affliction.

"Do not cover your face again," he warned her, releasing one of her wrists, "it is necessary I examine it."

"Why?"

He ignored her, pulling at the skin beneath and above the offending blemish.

"You have been agitating it. That will only make it worse."

"But…"

"Do not speak; you have lost the privilege for now."

He couldn't stop her from talking! And yet when she looked at the very determined and stern expression on his face she realized that yes, yes he could.

"I have a cream that will get rid of it in two days' time, pending that you follow additional instructions."

She was about to say something but she stopped herself, biting her bottom lip and nodding. There was no need for him to say 'you should've told me,' it was written in every golden fleck of his eyes and on every twisted feature of his face.

His gaze were suddenly drawn to the sight of her lips and embarrassment prompted them to follow back to her eyes in quick succession – oh, he wanted to kiss her… and yet he could not bear to be rejected by her, especially not now, after being so caught off guard by her sudden distance all due to an easily remediable bit of acne. Yet it softened his heart a little… at the thought that she had been worried of him not finding her beautiful. She truly must be mad.

"I – " Christine started, and he glared at her for talking, she swallowed, nodding again… tears gathering up in her bright blue eyes. That did it… he broke, he could not stay angry with her, not after seeing those eyes glittering with tears.

"Oh, Christine," he said, caressing her face with his free hand… and suddenly realizing that he was still holding onto her other wrist, and rather too tightly for the both of their comforts. He loosened his grip and brought her wrist to him, gazing down at it.

"Did... did I hurt you?"

She shrugged, which he took to mean that, yes, he had.

He moaned, "Oh, Christine... I did not mean to, please believe me. Can you ever forgive Erik, the foul beast?"

She nodded and watched as he petted and caressed her wrist and then sheepishly placed a kiss upon it. It was a worshipful, reverent kiss, and he watched for her reaction, afraid that she would pull away from him at any moment. But she did not, and he closed his eyes, sighing into her hand and kissing there as well. And then he kissed each of her little fingers. And then he kissed the top of her hand, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb and then kissing those, too. He cautiously looked up at her again, gauging for her response – she smiled.

"Is this alright?" He asked kissing her palm again for measure and she nodded, "Oh, my dear wife, do not deny me your voice any longer. I am dreadfully sorry I told you not to speak, it was very wrong of Erik. He was upset; he should have been more patient with you, you who have been so good and gracious to him."

"I forgive you." She answered as he moved to sit beside her, taking her hand with him – pressing it to his cheek and placing even more pure, sweet kisses upon it.

"You are so beautiful to me, Christine. Nothing will ever change that. You are perfection… you are magnificent… you are divine." At every word he tentatively pressed light kisses over the inside of her wrist – then, to the surprise of them both, he kissed her cheek.

And he did not stop, trailing featherlike kisses up her temple, across her eyelids, down her nose, to her blemished cheek – he even kissed the terrible thing itself. She felt goosebumps rise on her arms, legs, and the nape of her neck, she wasn't entirely sure if it was from the excitement or the iciness of his lips, but it made her shiver. She knew what he was doing, comforting her as she comforted him, when she let him know she loved him spite of imperfection...

He loved her in spite of imperfection. He looked at her with questioning eyes as he came to her lips, his fingers twitching and his heart threatening to drum right out of his chest. He had never... ever... never even dreamed. Well, perhaps once. Alright, maybe... maybe twice. But his dead, twisted lips? His seeking hers out? Rejection hung menacingly over his head. And what if... oh God forbid, what if she died? What if he kissed his wife and she died? He was still fretting over having just trekked her precious, angelic face. And was she angry with him, he wondered? She did not look angry. Oh, no, but what if she was frightened? What if he had pushed for too much? What had he done? He couldn't do anything right it seemed! Anger and regret threatened to overtake him now.

"Erik..." His angel suddenly said. And then she was leaning forward... like he had sworn she'd done that day. Bringing her face closer to his with an encouraging shadow of a smile hanging on her lips. Just one, only one. He wrung his hands, moving as timidly as a child and then daring to brush his lips against the bottom left of her mouth. His eyes immediately searched her face, making sure she continued to flush that lively pink and breathe – and she did! No more, he told himself, that is all. But she was still inclining to him! Did she expect another? One more then, if only because she wants another, but be it on her head if she dies! No! No, don't die. Please, whatever you do: scream, run, smack me, but do not die.

He brought a shaking hand to her cheek, and softly, unbelievably tenderly, as if the both of them may break and shatter into a million pieces at any moment (and he was fairly certain they would), he placed a kiss upon her upper lip. He sighed, as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders... or more accurately, as if he was finally putting down the weight of the world. That soft smile became a grin for a moment and she placed a hand on his forearm, coaxing him to try again. And then he did it – how? He was without a clue! But he did. His lips covered hers. Once, twice, three times, brief but heartfelt, just to make sure he was not dreaming. Something wet began to fall upon her face, Christine realized he must be crying. Her fingers began to explore his features, little soft touches at his temples and the outline of his jaw. His body became rigid at the sudden movement, her caresses were loving and yet the feeling alone of her hands on him made him fear they would be used to push him away.

And then he gasped in awe as she began returning kisses. Gentle, healing kisses: they were not hungry, they did not beg, they were not demanding, they did not crush. Yes, they were uncertain and clumsy, they were inexperienced and trembling, but they were filled with a love he had never known, a love that expected no more and no less than him, a love that addressed his very soul. These kisses longed to cradle the babe that a frightened mother did not dare look upon, they longed to clothe the poor child shivering in the cage at night in the camp of cruel gypsies, they longed to shield the terrified man as he grew to know power and consequence and madness, they longed to piece together the fragmented pieces of this human being's heart. These kisses were denied hugs and dressed wounds and forgiveness. And her eyes were open, unwilling to turn away from him – for these were not the sort of kisses you closed your eyes for. His breath was torn and shaky as more tears rolled down his deformed cheek, he murmured powerlessly, "Help me, please, help me, hold me."

He had never asked her so earnestly before. She could not deny him, and thus she put a hand on the back of his head and her other arm around the shoulders that had begun to tremble so violently with all-too-familiar sobs. She held onto him tighter and told him she loved him a million times until at last he calmed.

Author's Note: I'm debating on how I feel about this chapter... and I have more to the story, but I don't know if I want to go through with it or just refine this in such a way that it becomes the final chapter (it was such a beautiful scene for me to write). We'll just have to see! Tell me what you think, your opinions and reviews are always appreciated (I can never thank you enough when you lend me the honour).