I refused to let him teach me at first. I didn't want to learn how to sing like this. But eventually his cold anger and the sudden thought of his murdering habit made me submit meekly. He then informed me of my schedule, which I was to follow strictly unless he said otherwise. I would wake, eat, spend three hours training my voice (I remember swaying at that), and then eat lunch. The afternoon would then be devoted to lessons, and I could not help but laugh at this.
"Lessons?"
"You do not want your mind to go to waste, now, do you?"
"I suppose not," I muttered quietly. After dinner I was to spend another hour with him in his music room. I was barely listening; my body was shaking in protest for the food I had kept from it.
"Christine!" He spoke my name sharply, and I snapped back into reality. I could see his eyes narrow slightly. "Were you listening?" I gave a sluggish nod and my knees shook. Putting a shaky hand on my sweaty forehead, I muttered:
"I need to eat something."
He nodded quickly and grabbed my arms. I feebly tried to wave him off, disliking the contact immensely. His fingers are so long and I don't believe he's aware that he hurts me when he leads me like that. However, I didn't protest because I was trying to save my strength for climbing the stairs. When he offered to carry me again I drew up a large amount of breath and shouted, "No!" in his face. I didn't see his eyes because he was busy unlocking the door to the dining room. As if by magic a plate and glass was laid out for me when we entered he pulled out the chair for me and then placed himself in the corner, watching me silently. The first time he watched me eat was torture. I could feel my face growing red, yet he didn't seem to have any intention of leaving soon. I didn't want to talk, so I didn't ask him to leave. I think it might have been a little heartless, too. When I had finally finished he unlocked the door and I followed him down to his music room.
"We must begin right away," he told me; he actually sounded happy. My eyebrows raised and I nodded.
"Stand there," he instructed, motioning to a spot he had cleared right beside the organ bench. When I complied he pulled out some paper and handed it to me. My hands were shaking out of embarrassment. I had never sung solo and never thought I would. He removed his gloves and I saw that his fingers are long, white, and skeletal-looking. He glanced at me and then played a note. I hit it rather shakily, but he didn't stop and went slowly up the keyboard. On the D my voice cracked. He sighed.
"We have much to work on," he muttered.
I didn't think the three hours would ever end that day. It seemed like it dragged on forever and I thought I was getting worse. He spent the whole time correcting my posture and breathing. When he finally said we could quit both of us were angry and frustrated. Giving me an annoyed sigh he glanced at me, glaring, and went over to the baby grand piano, where he began to dig through the papers that littered the top of it. I stood, seething, and then noticed the paper – blank paper. Not really thinking about it, I took a piece, folded it up, and stuffed it in my back pocket. He didn't notice; the noise he was making muffled the noise I made. I glanced around, unsure of what to do with myself, and then saw a small box of old-looking fountain pens. Surely he wouldn't notice if one was missing….So I grabbed one of those, too, and hastily concealed it in the folds of my shirt. After waiting another minute I made a small noise in my throat. He stood up straight as if coming out of a trance and looked at me. I immediately thought he knew that I had stolen his paper and pen and averted my eyes, blushing.
"Can I go back to my room now…please?" I whispered. He nodded and only when I was safely locked away in my room did I breathe freely. I knelt down on the ground in front of my nightstands and feverishly began to write. It was to Raoul, and even though I knew that it would never reach him, it still felt extremely satisfying to vent out my anger and frustration. When I had finally signed it and covered the paper with kisses I folded it into a tiny square and shoved it in the far corner of the drawer that contained my unmentionables. I sighed and pulled out a nightgown; Erik does not buy me any clothes except gowns. When I had put it on hastily I slowly crawled into the large bed. It was a surreal feeling. I cried myself to sleep.
----
The days went by…or so I thought. I didn't know if I ate dinner at four in the morning or ten at night. There is no sunlight or clocks in the house. No windows, either. I asked Erik about that, too. He said that bright sunlight hurt his eyes, and then I complained about how cold it was on my floor, which was true; it is always chilly everywhere in that house.
"I will warm it for you," he told me. I was in his music room after dinner. I would sit on the old couch in the corner and Erik would write. I didn't know why he needed me to be there; his love was still false during that time. He would glance at me occasionally, making me squirm under his gaze. But I took that time to daydream about Raoul. I wondered if the police were searching for me. I had no way of knowing; there aren't any telephones or televisions in this house. I took pleasure in closing my eyes and remembering the kiss we shared. It made me feel much better each time. But sometimes I would carry my dreams on into the music lesson. Erik grew angry if I dozed off when he was trying to tell me something. When I think on it, I can't really blame him, but I didn't think he had the right to demand anything from me, since he had already stolen what was my most prized possession; my freedom. I had taken it for granted, of course, like so many people. If I was released right now I swear I would live life as if each day were my last! But continuing my short attention span period; it would usually lead to an argument, which was something like this:
"Christine?"
"…"
"Christine! Pay attention!"
"I don't have to pay you anything! You can just steal what you want! Now let me go home!"
"I've told you many times...I can't..."
"If you really 'loved' me, you'd let me go."
And he would remain silent for several minutes. The first time I said this he leaned over his organ. I was hopeful and stood with baited breath. He looked at me slowly.
"All right, Christine," he said, sounding defeated. "I will let you go."
I gasped and gave a small squeal, my face breaking into a real smile. Erik turned back to his organ. He tapped the desk, obviously thinking of some tune.
"Do you know what I'm doing, Christine?" he asked me suddenly.
"Giving me back my freedom!" I answered happily, wanting for a split-second to hug him.
"I'm lying, Christine."
I stopped breathing and my face fell. "What?" I said hoarsely. It was like being kidnapped all over again, and it was cruel of Erik to do that to me.
"I am lying. Do you like it when I lie?"
"No!" I spat, glaring. I hated him with every fiber of my being at the moment.
"Good. I hope you learned a lesson from that. You do not enjoy me lying, and I do not enjoy it when you lie. So I expect you to always be truthful."
After that I refused to come out of my room the next day, but eventually did because of hunger. He acted as if nothing had happened, but one day he had a pleasant surprise for me.
"Christine, I would like to take you out one night," he said quickly, watching as I picked at the loose thread on the couch cushion.
"Out…?" I repeated slowly, thinking of a fancy restaurant. I would say no if he asked me. It was rude, yes, but I hated him then.
"Out. On a walk or something of the sort. I know you do not like being holed up in this house. So if it suits you, I will take you out tomorrow night."
"Oh, yes! Thank you so much!" I cried, jumping up. He nodded and then took me back to my room.