The next day I got up feeling rather numb. I got ready as usual, but when I went to open the door, I found that it was still locked. Frowning that Erik would forget to unlock it, I knocked a few times.
"Hello?" I shouted. "Hello! You forgot to unlock the door!"
No one answered. I frowned deeper with confusion and sat down on the bed uncertainly. This wasn't like Erik at all. My door had always been unlocked when I woke up in the morning. How was I to eat and practice? I sat there for about five minutes and then heard the click of the lock. I sighed with relief and stood. Erik came in. He had a tray of food in his hands and set it on my nightstand.
"You forgot to unlock the door," I reprimanded him, expecting him to apologize. He didn't say anything, and when I made my way towards the door he cut me off, went out before me, and shut it in my face. I knocked a few times again, angry at him for playing with me again.
"Let me out."
I heard his footsteps die away.
"Hey!"
It was silent. I shrugged. He must have decided to keep me in my room for the day to 'punish me,' as he had said. No problem. I could handle it better than a child could, and I ate the food that was sitting on the tray. He came back at lunch and dinner, replacing the tray. I smiled sweetly at him each time, although inside I was boiling with anger. He would not meet my eyes, and he never said a word. So the first day passed. And the second. And the third. But after a few more days I began to get tired of it. One day when he came in I stood quickly.
"Are you going to let me out today?" I asked, hurrying to his side. Once again he didn't answer and left quickly. I shoveled down the food and took to pacing. With a sigh I watched him replace my breakfast and lunch tray during the course of the rest of the day. Once I actually tried to get out when he was exiting, worming my body through the opening. But he simply put a hand on my shoulder and firmly pushed me back inside. I kicked the door again and gave a loud, "mmph!" I refused to eat that day, and eventually (I don't know if I had been in there for weeks or months, really) I didn't even get out of bed. I laid there and watched him blearily. I began to cry the next day, pleading with him to let me out. Neither tears nor anger worked. He still remained cold and mute. Even when I stopped eating he didn't care. It was horrible! Even if I had been held against my will I was allowed out of the room and permitted to explore most of the house. This was the real imprisonment. Erik taught me a lesson while punishing me.
One day he quite coming. I waited in bed, sullen, but he didn't show. I finally forced myself shakily out of bed and found that the door was unlocked! I jumped, quickly bathed and dressed, and raced out of my room, smiling giddily. I went into the library and hugged myself. You have no idea how relieved I was to be out. I raced around the house, feeling like a child for a few minutes, and then realized that Erik was probably expecting me downstairs if the my door was unlocked, so I went down there, half-angry and half-ecstatic. He was playing his organ, his head bent in concentration. He didn't notice me come in at all. Or if he did he gave no inclination. I sat on the couch, glaring and yet unable to stop smiling.
And suddenly he flicked the music off his stand and began to play a new piece. It was from memory, and it was terrible and wonderful at the same time. I straightened upright and listened intently. I never knew music could have such passion and fervor in it. It was like he was playing his soul! I had never even dreamed about music like this. It is indescribable. I felt tears sting my eyes and felt ashamed later, but at that time it seemed like the only thing to do. Erik was playing with a passion that involved his whole body. I felt my skin prickling on my neck and my hips suddenly felt a disgusting sort of longing. Absolutely terrified and disturbed that music could make me feel that way, I burned with shame and embarrassment. Suddenly he stopped and my eyes snapped open. He was staring at me, his eyes wide with disbelief and anger. The feeling disappeared as quickly as it had come.
"What are you doing here?" he hissed, his hands clenching.
"I thought...you wanted me -" I stuttered, now terrified.
"You were not wanted today!" he suddenly screamed at me. I shrank back into the couch, my eyes wide. "That music was never meant for human ears! How dare you! Invade my privacy, will you, you little harlot?!" He was in such a rage that I began to sob like a child who was being severely scolded by her mother. He shouted at me for another minute or so, and all the while I was curled on the couch, crying breathlessly. When he finished the only sound that was heard was my weeping and his ragged, harsh breathing. With a fluid, swift movement he was down on his knees in front of me and pulling out a very white handkerchief. He took my chin in his hand and began to wipe away my tears.
"Forgive me," he muttered. "I forgot that I unlocked your door this morning and that I had left my door so carelessly open."
He was still dabbing my face dry, and I remembered his confession of love and quickly pulled away. His eyes dampened a little, but he quickly hid this by standing rapidly. I was struck again by how tall he is. He offered his hand to me. I refused and stood by myself.
"To make up I will allow you to sing a song...any song of your choice." He went over to the piano, shoved some paper off the bench, and sat down with a flourish. I went over to him hesitantly, expecting him to start screaming at me for not standing in the right spot or something just as trivial, but he simply looked at me, his eyes shining. I blushed.
"What would you like to sing?" he asked.
"Any song?"
"Any song."
I hesitated, but then took a deep breath and rushed out, "On My Own."
"From Les Misérables?" he questioned, looking a bit disappointed, and, without waiting for an answer, began to play a perfect introduction. My voice was still not yet shaped like he wanted it to be, and I saw him wince slightly as I began.
"On my own...pretending he's beside me. All alone I walk with him 'til morning."
Of course I was thinking of Raoul. I began to lose myself in the words, imagining Raoul and I together on those carefree days of love and happiness.
"Without him...I feel his arms around me..."
It was one of those moments when you don't remember things until after the moment has passed. I remember now Erik faltering slightly on the music.
"And I know it's only in my mind that I'm talking to myself and not to him!"
When I finished that line he stopped playing completely. But I was by now completely absorbed in the memories and was singing with such feeling and emotion that it still surprises me today.
"...Still I say there's a way for us!"
"Stop..." Erik whispered. I only heard him vaguely and continued my song, rather flinging the fact into Erik's face.
"I love him!"
"Stop!" Erik suddenly yelped. He jumped up and put a hand around my mouth. I was snapped back into the reality and my eyes widened in surprise.
"Stop, stop, stop!" he hissed, shaking me roughly. He the threw me away from him in disgust and stalked back to his organ, his back hunched and his breathing once again heavy. I was kneeling on the floor, shocked that he had treated me so violently.
"Leave," he said harshly.
I quickly did exactly what he said and pushed my lunch around my plate, waiting for him to appear for our lessons.
"Christine."
He had somehow appeared right behind me, and I jumped, turning around to look at him. There was a pregnant pause, and he suddenly rushed out:
"I...apologize for my actions earlier. I have no explanation."
No, I did not forgive him. But I nodded and followed him to the library, where he picked up the book that I had been studying from the day before.
"Now, Christine, yesterday I told you about coterminal angles. I am astounded that you haven't heard the term before, as it is really quite basic. Remind me what a coterminal angle is."
After heaving a sigh, I stared glumly at the table. "Something about them...when they go together...or something."
I was rewarded with a burning glare. "Thank you for being so precise. A coterminal angle, in short, are angles that share a terminal side. That is, of course, if they are drawn in standard position."
Nothing of this entered my head. Instead I responded, "How do you know all of this stuff?"
"I am a grown man, Christine; therefore, I am expected to know 'this stuff.' "
Sitting up straighter, I argued. "But you know about everything! Math and science and english and grammar and history...I wouldn't be able to store all that I took a lifetime to learn it."
"Perhaps," he argued quietly with an underlying tone of frustration, "if you paid attention, you would not have to use a lifetime."
I gave an angry sigh and returned to the horrendous math.
