In the day since Monsieur Khan arrived, Cecile had made considerable progress cleaning the master suite. She had replaced books to their shelves; and spent tedious hours replacing pages that were torn from the spines, to their proper place. Broken glass was cleaned from the floor, scratched furniture polished as best as she could manage, torn upholstery was masterfully stitched.
The work kept her busy, keeping her mind from wandering down too dark a path, when she thought of the terrible days she spent in front of his door. The things he had said still filled her mind… she felt used, dirty no matter how hot she drew her bath or how viciously she scrubbed her flesh. Durand had coerced her into sex before, but never so beautifully and manipulatively as Erik had. She had been so lonely, so desperate for affection that she had wandered willingly into Erik's trap and reveled in it with him.
At least, that was what she told herself to keep from collapsing under the weight of her heart as it lay splintered and broken in her chest.
Finished with the repairing of one of the curtains Erik had torn in his rage, Cecile turned and started at the sight of Erik sitting up in bed, watching her silently. She suddenly became very self conscious and moved quickly to the door.
Before she could open her mouth to call for the Persian, Erik spoke in a commanding tone with less than its usual luster. "Wait."
Cecile hesitated in the doorway and turned to face him. "Monsieur Khan is here. He'll want to know you're awake," she explained, unable to meet his eyes.
"He can wait," Erik said before gesturing her to approach him.
Wringing her hands anxiously, Cecile stepped forward to Erik's beside. Still unable to meet his gaze and feeling tears pooling in her lashes, she turned her head when Erik reached forward to cup her chin.
Erik frowned deeply at her response. "I hurt you," he said so simply, Cecile laughed shakily and wiped at her eyes before nodding and holding herself. "What did I do?"
Now Cecile met his eyes, her own narrowed skeptically. "You don't remember?"
Erik's silence was enough of an answer, and Cecile looked away. There was a long moment of silence before she spoke. "You called me ugly. You said… you said I was a whore, that I had cheated on Durand before. That I deserved the way he treated me, and it was my fault you were dying."
By then the tears were flowing freely down her face. Again Erik reached forward, this time to gather her into his arms. Cecile allowed him to, too torn to resist. "I didn't mean it, Cecile. Not a word of it," he promised, closing his own eyes tightly.
"But you did," the woman insisted sorrowfully. "I kept trying to tell myself that you didn't but you were so persistent-"
"Every last word of it was a lie," Erik vowed, holding her tightly in his arms. "I deserve to live out my days alone and miserable, but I would give anything to spend my life with you instead. All I can remember from the past few days is wanting so desperately for the pain to end so I could hold you again, Cecile."
"You are my world, Erik," Cecile sobbed against his chest. "I swore after Durand that nobody would ever hurt me like that again, but to have someone I love so dearly say such things –"
"Love?"
Erik's interruption immediately caused both hands to cover Cecile's mouth in embarrassment, as though silencing herself could take her words back. The man released her and moved back. "You love me?"
Cecile could say nothing. Something she had dared not admit even to herself had flowed so freely from her lips to the last person who should have heard. After a painfully long moment of horrified silence, the woman finally composed herself enough to lower her hands and step away. "I should let Monsieur Khan know you're awake."
"Where on earth do you think you're going?"
Erik glared back at the Daroga with disdain. "To the music room, if that is all right with His Highness."
The older Persian man pointed to the bed with authority. "You've hardly eaten anything for nearly a week, stay in bed."
"I didn't ask you here to order me around in my own home," Erik scowled as he moved back to the bed obediently. "Did you at least bring what I asked for?"
"One thing, yes."
Nadir moved to a bag he had left in the corner to withdraw a neatly wrapped fabric parcel. He sat in one of the chair's by Erik's bedside and handed the bundle over, watching as Erik delicately pulled back the fabric to reveal the delicate white mask within. "I had two porcelain ones made based off the leather mask I found in your house. The leather one and the spare porcelain one are in the bag."
"They're more than I expected, thank you," Erik admitted, slipping the mask onto his face and leaning his head back. Normally he felt naked when his face was barren, so why did he suddenly feel suffocated under the mask?
A cool glass was pressed into his hand, and Erik opened his eyes and raised the glass some to his friend in thanks before drinking deeply. "What is troubling you?" The Daroga asked.
"Nothing," Erik dismissed, but the Persian was not convinced.
"Erik, I have known you a great many years. I can tell when something is troubling you, now out with it."
Closing his eyes and resting his head back again, Erik decided on honesty. "I hurt Cecile."
Nadir's eyes widened in alarm. "What did you do to the poor girl, Erik?"
"I said terrible things to her in my madness," Erik explained, knowing the Persian would never believe she'd slept with him of her own will before any of his foul words.
There was a moment of silence. "Do you expect me to believe that after all the terrible things you've done in your life, the murders you've committed and the wars you've fought, that the thing you're guilty about is a spat you had with your maid?"
"She is more than just my maid, Daorga," Erik sighed.
"Is she aware of that?"
Erik rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't think so. That's part of the problem."
Nadir's questioning look prompted the masked man to continue. "She said she loves me. If I hadn't seen the look on her face when she said it I would not have believed it myself," Erik added when the Daroga raised a brow. "And God help me… I love her too."
"Erik… You have always had fine taste. Even in your darkest moments you have found and created exceptional beauty. But my friend, remember your history. Remember the things you told me about Mademoiselle Daae, about how she loved you and would be your pretty little wife. Love and beauty are not the same."
The masked man leaned forward and ran a hand over the back of his head in frustration before speaking with cynical amusement. "I knew you would play that card, Daroga. What else are you going to drag out of the past – the harem girl who denied me? The hall of mirrors?"
"I don't mean to open old wounds, I simply wish to remind you-"
"Do you think I'm mad?" Erik asked suddenly, looking up at the aging Persian sitting beside him.
The Daroga clasped his hands thoughtfully for a moment before speaking. "No, I don't. You are without a doubt the most brilliant man I've ever met, and it is a great shame that life has treated you the way it has. But I also think life has made you too eager to find companionship in places it doesn't exist. Christine thought of you as a father figure, a teacher. Madame Lallier sees you as an employer, maybe even a guardian after all she's gone through with her husband. She was asleep in front of your door when I arrived and was very clearly concerned for your safety, but…"
When the man trailed off, the room fell quiet for several long minutes. Finally the Daroga stood and clasped his friend on the shoulder before making his way to the door.
"You don't think it's possible for someone to love me."
It was not a question, but a statement that caused the Persian to hang his head in the doorway. "Get some rest, Erik."
Cecile sat at her vanity, composing a letter in neat, fluid script. This was her third draft, and her frustration was beginning to show in the small ink splotches on the parchment. There were too many lies to keep track of, too many things she so desperately wanted to say but couldn't bring herself to.
The floor creaked from behind her, and Cecile immediately folded the parchment to protect its contents before turning around. She looked up at the figure with surprise. "You should be in bed."
Erik leaned in the doorway and folded his arms over his chest. "You're not the first person to tell me that," he mused humorlessly. "Who are you writing to?"
"That's not any of your business," she said quietly, slipping the letter into the narrow center drawer.
"Ah, that explains it then. When can we expect your loving husband?" Erik drawled, and Cecile stood up indignantly.
"How dare you," she hissed, hurt. "State your business or leave me be."
"Your letters are my business. Are you or are you not writing your husband?" The masked man commanded, unfolding his arms to confront her.
"Of course I'm not you monster, but even if I were it would be no concern of yours. Now if you would be so kind as to show yourself out," Cecile said, holding herself with one arm and gesturing behind him with the other.
"If not your husband, than who?"
"I'm writing my mother," Cecile snapped, turning to pull the letter out of its drawer to hand to him before crossing her arms tightly. "I plan to visit her in the spring and wanted her to know upfront."
Erik's haunting tawny eyes were made even stranger in the shadows cast by the mask. He studied the letter for a moment before handing it back, satisfied with its contents. Cecile took the letter and placed it aside. "Happy?"
"No," Erik admitted. "Why are you going?"
"It's been ages since I visited," the woman dismissed, sitting in front of the vanity again.
"It seemed by your letter as though you wanted to tell her something," the man remarked.
Cecile fell quiet for a moment. "I'm going to tell her about Durand. I am tired of the heartache and the lies, it's time she knew."
"I think that's a fine idea," Erik said gently. "It's one less way he can control your life."
The woman nodded her agreement, but said nothing. After a long minute, Erik stepped forward and stood behind Cecile. He looked at their reflection in the mirror, wondering at how beautiful she looked even in her upset. Remarkably enough he even found the image of his gaunt masked frame behind her to be fitting. Natural.
Cecile looked up at his reflection and studied it, noting the way he was watching her and the thoughtful way his jaw was set under the mask. "Why are you wearing the mask?" She asked suddenly, surprising even herself.
Erik tensed involuntarily behind her and gripped the back of the chair. "You know very well why."
"No, I don't," Cecile responded, turning some to face him. "You've been fine without it for weeks. Surely Monsieur Khan doesn't mind your face after all this time, and goodness knows I don't."
The man diverted his eyes, and Cecile rested a hand on top of his comfortingly. "If it makes you more comfortable, leave it on. But know that it's not for our sake, but for yours."
Again Erik met her eyes, large and soothing. When he leaned in to catch her lips, Cecile's mind wanted her to fight. She was tired of being used, tired of the hurt… but his kiss was so affectionate her heart would not let her resist. When Erik's hand stroked her face she leaned into the touch, and before long she was clinging to his shirt to keep from falling from the chair. When he pulled her to her feet she obeyed, allowing herself to be guided to the bed.
Soon flesh writhed against flesh, and in a wave of passion Cecile laced her fingers in her lover's hair. Her fingers caught on the ribbon keeping the mask in place, and Erik tense noticeably. He stared down at her, his chest heaving from exertion. She was striking, her face flushed and her hair spilling out onto the bed, as her large blue eyes bore into his, imploring him for permission. Without a word he nodded, and Cecile carefully slipped the ribbon over his head and pulled the mask away.
She did not flinch. She did not recoil or scream. The hand behind Erik's head pulled his lips down to hers, and Cecile kissed her lover tenderly. The only gasp she gave was when Erik began to move again, there was no more doubt.
"I love you," Erik murmured in her ear, before kissing her again.
"I love you too," Cecile vowed just as the door opened and the Persian man stormed in in a rage.
The blow came so quickly the pair had no time to prepare. Nadir struck Erik across the back with his walking stick, and Erik rolled off his lover in pain and fury. "Get away from her, Rapist!" The Daroga spat, in his native tongue.
"What are you doing?" Cecile yelped, covering herself with a sheet modestly before wrapping her arms around Erik where he sat arching his back in pain.
"This isn't rape, Daroga!" Erik growled in French.
Cecile's eyes widened and looked to their houseguest. "Rape? You think he was raping me?"
Nadir glanced between the pair, utterly shocked by their reaction. "You mean to tell me you sleep with him willingly?"
"Yes of course," Cecile insisted, holding Erik tightly as if to emphasize her point.
"Get dressed. I would like to speak to you both. Now."