Chapter 11

Before putting on her morning robe, Christine rolled slowly around her big bed, enjoying the moment, the anticipation, the things that were yet to happen. Today, she was going to see an opera for the first time in her life. With Raoul. She had worried about the ticket price, but Raoul had assured her that he had gotten his tickets free from his friend who worked as a critic for the same paper as Raoul. Of her fear of not being familiar with the opera etiquette she had stayed mute about. But Raoul's sister wouldn't be there to laugh, so perhaps Christine might relax a bit and not bite her nails off if she did something weird in front of Raoul.

Hmm... An opera seemed a bit exaggerative for a first date… Christine frowned. Raoul hadn't exactly said anything about a date. In fact, the only thing obviously romantic last night had been the way he had held her hand. And it just might be that he gave hand massages to everyone. Doubt wasn't a nice feeling, so Christine shrugged it off of her shoulders.

Finally she got herself out of the bed and headed downstairs. Humming, she pushed the kitchen door open, ready for those delicious pan cakes that had sat at the breakfast table every morning during her stay at the mansion.

As usual, the lavish breakfast was served on the table by some invisible person. But unlike before, there was someone sitting at the table. Destler.

Crap. Why of all mornings was he here now? He had never been in the kitchen before. Well, at the same time with her, at least.

It seemed he didn't notice her behind his morning paper, so Christine decided it would be better to hide in the library until he finished his breakfast. But when she took her first retreating step, he lowered his paper.

"You look tired."

Christine stopped in her tracks. "Perhaps. Raoul and I talked rather late."

"Peculiar."

"Sorry?"

"That you are awake then."

"Well. People tend to wake up after they have slept."

"I've seen you sleeping."

"Ok," Christine replied hesitantly. "So I sleep. That is rather normal, right?"

"Before you start thinking something unflattering about me, I must correct your thoughts – I have not spent time lurking in your room. I've seen you sleeping only once. It was the morning after when you arrived here. And based on how you were plastered on my couch, I'd guess it would be a tedious task to wake you up early. It is only 7 a.m. You have slept for, what, like 4 hours?"

"How would you know?"

"I couldn't sleep last night. So I went for a walk. And saw you two still talking at 2 a.m."

"Oh. Well, I just didn't feel like sleeping."

Christine' stomach felt a bit uneasy. Thinking it would be better to eat right away, she chose to stay in the room after all. Just refrain yourself from angering him and things will go smoothly… She moved towards a chair that wasn't her favourite, for Destler sat in her usual place. She took a glass of orange juice, though would have preferred hot chocolate with marshmallows on top. She sipped the juice, careful not to spill and accompanied it with whole grain bread instead of pan cakes.

The table lay bare of anything to use with syrup, anyway. Where had the pancakes gone? she wondered and looked around slowly. Well, no matter, she thought. She was going to see Raoul today. Maybe they would sell something sweet to eat at the opera.

Destler lowered his paper again.

"You look oddly happy too."

Well, excuse me.

"Just thinking about today's plans."

"What are you going to do?"

"Meet Raoul."

"And at what time that would be?" he inquired.

"Well, Lovers have a rehearsal today, and Raoul has to do some research for his next article… We are meeting at six."

Christine rubbed her stomach. Something wasn't right…

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Destler asked.

She raised her eyes to his in confusion. "No..?"

"We have a date tonight."

"A date?"

"Yes?"

"Actually, two dates."

Christine leaned forward on her chair. "No! We agreed that you warn me two days before any event I'm supposed to go with you. "

"You can only blame yourself."

Christine crossed her arms. "Oh really? And why is that?"

"We have a wedding to plan. When Carlotta insisted on asking about our relationship you said yourself suddenly that we vow eternal love for each other on the 25th of April. 'And at least 250 guests will be invited.' So I took the liberty to organize a meeting with a wedding planner."

"But I thought we'd just go into a magistrate…just the two of us," Christine said, feeling rather silly of a sudden. That blasted dinner! Damn that Carlotta and Dumbo. Dumbo for distracting by being the dog of Satan, Carlotta for pestering her with questions. Christine hadn't really paid attention to the things that Giudicelli had said, just blurted out things to get rid of her.

"So did I. But you changed that matter. You kept it together very well, remember? First you declared that the wedding day wasn't decided yet and then... it was."

"Yes…I remember now," she admitted grudgingly.

Christine sighed and patted her stomach again. She made sure that Destler was reading his paper again before slowly moved her hand between her thighs. When she felt the moisture there, she sighed mentally. Perhaps, as a woman, it was a sign of total indifference about everything in life if you didn't write it down when your periods started and ended. Christine had never actually paid attention to the cursed blood shedding, so she couldn't estimate when they would start. Once again, she had been ambushed by her bodily functions.

"You know, now you look ill," Destler remarked suddenly.

"You would too if you leaked blood," Christine muttered and thunked her head on the table.

Silence.

"Did you say you're bleeding?"

"Don't worry, its not infectious," she waved her hand as if no care in the world. "Though I would appreciate it if you could give me an aspirin. You can glide it through the table."

To that he said nothing. She looked up when silence stretched taut between them again.

"I'm having my periods," she finally hissed when he just continued looking at her in a perplexed manner.

Christine groaned. She buried her face in her hands when the word-filter for the day started its engine. God. What was she doing? She had been accustomed to living alone, yes, but had she ever caught herself muttering out loud about her periods? No. Thankfully Destler chose to stay silent.

After Christine's cheeks cooled down she wiped her fingertips in her robe under the table and took another loaf of bread. She applied a very light layer of jam on it. She didn't feel like leaving the table until Destler was out of the way. He would have already thrown her out of the window and burned the chair she sat on had he known that she was there freely bleeding without protection. Her robe was thick, but she wouldn't take any chances. And she didn't want Destler see a bull's eye on her derriere if there was one.

Her boss left the room suddenly, having Christine's eyes observing his silent feet. Did he have felt under his shoes? No one could walk so silently without cheating somehow. The man was of a tough nut to crack.

When he disappeared out of the door, she applied three more layers of jam on the loaf and threw it down her throat and practically gulped it down as a whole. Then she took a napkin and put it between her thighs, wondering would now be the time to run to a bathroom. But he had left his paper open on the table, and his cup of coffee was still full, meaning he would come back, so she stayed where she was.

"You know, you yourself look pretty disorientated today," she said slowly when he returned soon.

"Do I?" he murmured and left a white bottle at her end of the table before taking his seat again.

"Yes."

He glanced out of the window when Christine understood what the bottle was for and took one ibuprofen.

"Do they always affect you like this?"

"What?"

"Your…. periods."

Christine paused to think if she wanted to continue the talk about her "monthly state", before replying:

"Yes. Don't worry, I'm not going to leave blood stains all over your house. They've invented these handy little things that women can stick into their vaginas to prevent such."

"I know what periods are..." His voice came muffled when he hid his face behind the morning paper again.

"Well you're proving otherwise."

"Do you have to be so vulgar," he muttered very quietly, but Christine heard him anyway. A little laugh escaped her throat.

"Vulgar? What, does the word vagina bother you? Forgive me for being a woman and having one."

"No, the word doesn't bother me. But I think it's time for you to realize that a breakfast table isn't the place to speak such... whatever comes into your mind. No doubt you are used to such language, but I'd appreciate it if you kept such to yourself here. You are going to be my wife, you know. That is the reason I'm grimacing here."

"You are unbelievable! You implied yesterday that I like to squeeze things!"

"You did squeeze that mandarin rather tightly."

"I know you meant buttocks! You implied I like to touch ass cheeks!"

"You took that remark as you wanted. What, did I hit a nerve?" he replied coolly.

"No. Because perhaps I like to touch people's behinds and am not ashamed of it?"

"You thought I was De Chagny," he then stated rather seriously.

"Perhaps. But I did tell him I am your fiancé. So you can forget about complaining about our dating because Raoul and I are not going to date. In a romantic manner." She bit her cheek before asking: "What will we discuss with the wedding planner?"

"I don't know. Never been married before."

"I see. And what is the other date about?"

Destler whisked his paper to the table. He smiled, surprisingly in a charming way. So it must be something horrible, Christine thought in fear.

"Opera. We are going to see Aida."

"What," Christine whispered.

He made an amused sound. "Have you ever been to an opera before, Christine?"

"No…"

His eyes glinted. "Thought so."

He started to explain about Aida, having Christine listening only with half an ear. The game aka life with Destler had changed its course again. How would she handle Raoul? The topic of a fake marriage had lain untouched during their talk last night. Naturally. But eventually she would have to tell the truth…Now that she had arranged a public wedding for herself.

"And as my fiancé, I hope you can come up with something else than… a topic that only women can have opinion on. Are you listening to me?"

Christine snapped back to attention. "Yes, yes. Don't worry, I try to remember to not use the v-word. Though one would have thought menstruation would fascinate you," she challenged.

He looked with an interest into her equally smug eyes. "Let me guess… are you now going to imply that I eat menstrual blood?"

Christine snickered. "No. But anatomy must interest you. Or why else is that one room filled with anatomy books, bones - ," she explained but he interrupted harshly.

"Who gave you the permission to go there?"

Christine felt a small rush of adrenaline pump into her veins and she flinched a little. Bella had ventured in to the left swing after all. But she was quick to answer his question.

"I…Dumbo said 'do some evaluating there too'."

It was hard to tell if Destler believed her explanation, but he did seem to consider the possibility of dumb Dumbo doing damage again, looking lost in his thoughts, eyes glazed. No matter what his brains were working on, it would be wise to interrupt anyway.

She cleared her throat a bit, trying to regain her confidence before the evil dragon. "Though I think you're being a hypocrite. The ham on your sandwich used to have blood in it, and the white fluid in your glass came from a being that definitely had a vagina."

Destler's dark eyes came alive again. He smiled a little. "Are you a vegan then, Christine?"

"No. Unfortunately."

"And why is that? Aren't you yourself being a hypocrite?"

"You just think why." She knew he didn't understand what she meant and didn't want to him understand either. Obviously he didn't buy his own food. It was rather expensive to eat healthily.

"We're individuals. We're not the same," she couldn't help mentioning.

"Who?"

"We orphans. You make it sound like every orphan is a wild beast."

"I didn't say anything about orphans in general. But you definitely act like a feral child dragged out of a jungle. And by the way, I don't have parents either."

Destler rose again, but this time slid past Christine and opened the fridge. Christine lived in suspense for a few polite moments, then turned and was surprised to see him making dough.

"You like pan cakes?" she asked incredulously.

"Not that much. It's just that I've had a craving for them for a week now. But my timing has sucked lately. Haven't got the time to eat them. But my chef has a liking for them. There is nothing left when I come back from work. But today I have a free day and intend to have some."

"Oh."

The chef Delighton was for Christine yet to see. Must be a fatty, though, if Destler assumed she was most likely the person who had eaten the pan cakes.

"Do you?" he asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Have a liking for them?"

"Not really. I eat lightly in the mornings."

"I see."

Christine watched his quiet efficiency with the cakes. She was stupefied to understand that what they were doing was an act of normalcy, something that families did. For it was her first breakfast with someone else since foster care. Emotions swallowed her at the spot, and she pressed a napkin against her eye corners. No matter how brightly the sun was shining this morning, and no matter how homely the smell of fresh coffee was, it was disheartening to realize that she was only halfway there, to a life of harmony. At the moment this Goldilocks' house was too big and the man was the opposite of things she needed.

Her physical pain wasn't relenting either. Christine clutched her stomach.

"Oh God… I am not gonna make it through the day," she whimpered and reached for the painkiller bottle, but only to grab air, for Destler had strode the distance and taken the medicine.

"Hey! Give it back! I'm in pain!"

"You can't munch these as if candy. If one doesn't help, another one won't either. Besides, the effect won't be immediate."

"It's easy for you to say. You man!" She stared in disbelief when he stalked off from the room. "What, you want to me to pay for them? I can buy them on my own, you know. I bet you haven't even been to a drug store, having your faithful slaves getting them for you. Not everyone is as lazy as you! Happy now? I didn't know we were sporting a deal in which the unsuspecting wife gets killed! And I know you can hear me. It is just ibuprofen!"

Nothing was replied.

She glanced at the kitchen counter. His pan cakes were left behind, but she didn't have the appetite anymore.


After two hours of pain induced haze Christine gave up and called Meg.

"I can't make it today. My periods are killing me. Among other things!" she said while giving a hateful glare to the upstairs.

"Don't yell."

"Sorry. I just have to make sure that THE GARGOYLE UPSTAIRS KNOWS IT'S NOT A PIG DYING DOWN HERE FOR PIGS NEITHER COWS CAN SPEAK!"

"Christine, my ear..."

"Sorry. The joke of a roommate is keeping the painkillers hostage."

"I'm sure he has a good reason."

"Any idea how stupid you sound? The package had at least 100 tablets in it."

"I can bring you some."

Christine stiffened. Yes, we all know why you want to come here, Meg.

"No thanks. I'll make it."

"You sure? I swear, I'll just pop in -"

"Cheerio," Christine ended the call. She curled into a ball on the floor at the bottom of the stairs that led upstairs and hoped for a dream where she existed as a man and where Destler oinked like the pig he was.

She sighed. She was doing it again. Giving up. Which wasn't acceptable. This was war, after all.


Christine had no idea what she was doing to Erik Destler. He was sitting stiffly in his office chair, pouring himself a fourth glass of ice cool mineral water to cool down his nerves. He didn't really register what he was doing with his hands; his mind was occupied to other things... to Christine Daly. He had hard time believing his ears, what the creature downstairs was yelling. He had never suspected her to be so... loud. And talkative. And insulting.

Funny. A gargoyle was a word that most people didn't use when they wanted to hurt someone's feelings. And most people didn't get hurt by it. What a coincidence, he thought bitterly, that one from each rare category had come together. Had he known this, he would have considered his chef as his wife more carefully. Now he just wanted to go and lock the nuisance called Christine Daly behind soundproof walls and forget he never even saw her.

He felt his blood pressure rise when the hideous sound of simple-minded pop music filled the house again. California girls… Music that aimed for instant satisfaction. Like people who listened to it. No slow developments… no sensual fore-play that music could create. The song suddenly paused and weird clanking sound started. Destler frowned. Was she actually banging pots together? Soon the metallic noise ended too and low human wailing filled the air next.

"I am going to die…. Die, die, die…. A slow, painful death. Aaaaaaaa… I am a walrus…"

I could give you a slow and painful death alright, Destler thought darkly and sampled the lasso inside his jacket. He could show her something to be truly afraid of.

Destler thoroughly enjoyed the power he held over people by his mere presence. It thrilled how they cowered around him when he entered a room. He knew he intimated Christine too, but it seemed his effect on her had diminished a little. Destler was far from stupid. When people managed to act despite facing their fears, it usually meant that they had found something to fight for. Christine's skittering had lessened solely because of Raoul De Chagny.

And of course one couldn't ignore the fact that she was physically suffering. And as Destler well knew, sometimes pain made people… talk. She couldn't help it. Though Erik didn't try to fool himself into thinking that that foul mouth of hers was merely a temporary act of pain. No, it seemed to be a permanent part of her, which, if pushed, would be brought to life.


That day a loud bang reverberated through the Destler mansion at 3 p.m.

"That is it!" a man's voice bellowed.

A hoarse but mean sounding female voice answered the yell.

"Ha ha ha…. So you DID hear me!"

And then the front door opened and banged shut and two people hurried down the road. A man and a woman. The man was dragging the woman.

"I'm not your lap dog," the female said angrily. "I was trying to meditate, out loud. Letting my anger out."

"You talk too much."

"Well, with you one has to babble for two! Have you noticed?"

The man sighed and relented his hold on her. "Just follow me."

"Don't wanna. Too tired."

"No wonder. Maybe you shouldn't have screamed so much."

"I had to. As rude as it sounds, it makes me feel better. I don't have to focus on the pain. Just give me the pills and peace overnight shall be granted."

"I told you, those pills aren't candy."

"I would have never agreed to be your wife had I known that you're going to put me out to sleep like a dog. Can't you just beat me and then let me crawl under soft blankets? It's pretty cold. But that's what you're heading for..."

"YOU INSUFFARABLE CRETIN!What does it look like? It is 3 p.m. I am not putting you out to sleep! But there will be consequences if you do not shut your mouth right NOW!"

Silence.

"Good. Now, follow me."