Christine was almost too embarrassed to come out of her room the next day, but her fears were unnecessary, for Erik was nowhere to be found. He didn't return until mid-afternoon, bearing fish and flowers. She took a moment to ponder where he shopped in broad daylight; surely he wouldn't go out in public until dusk or later. However, she said nothing and remained silent on her couch. Erik wordlessly handed her a daisy, which she accepted with good graces.
The daisy was, to her, a mark of the changing seasons. It was now quite hot and stuffy under the Opera House, and more than once she had rolled up her sleeves in order to attempt to cool down. Her longing to go outside and see the bright blue sky became almost unbearable; Erik had not taken her up since her attempted escape, and she lived in a quiet fear that he would never again show her the green grass. Her husband's innate and keen senses told him of her unrest, however, and one day he said:
"You have not asked for a walk in weeks, Christine."
She looked up from her book (the fairy tale book had not been returned, and she had not asked for it since). "No, I haven't. I should very much like one, though."
Erik acquiesced accordingly, and that night she found herself emerging from the Rue Scribe with a happy smile on her lips. It was lovely outside; the buds were now in bloom and the trees were becoming heavy with their green and open leaves. When she remarked on the beauty of it all, Erik only blinked at her, and she fell quiet.
They walked for quite a while. Christine was surprised that he kept strolling next to her, allowing her to wander wherever she pleased. The edges of the sun were peering at them from the tops of the buildings, and soon it disappeared altogether.
Erik was very aware of his almost violent mood swings, yet at times like this, he was not sorry at all. While furious at her only this morning, he was now so deeply in love that he could only stare at her as she walked by his side. Christine was so breathtakingly beautiful, and he considered himself quite a lucky man as he looked at the ring on her left hand. Of course, it hadn't been a customary marriage, yet she had agreed, and here she stood, his living wife, not objecting to take a walk with her husband. The two stopped near a bed of flowers in order for Christine to examine the pretty petals more closely. Erik, completely losing his senses, ran a hand fondly down her back, feeling her shoulder blades through the fabric as her skin gave way to her corset and narrowed at the waist. She pulled away sharply as his hand neared her hips and refused to look at him.
"I'm tired," she said loudly. "I wish to return."
Feeling his hands twitch with anxiety and sheer want, Erik decided that it was best for her to be locked up safely in her room at the moment, and he hurried her home, grabbing her arm and pulling her through the tunnels. It would be best if she was put out of sight instantly...yes, that was it...if only the girl would keep up! She tripped over her hem as a result of his haste and fell to her knees. Erik merely scooped her into his arms.
"Put me down at once!" she said, pushing on his chest. "Erik! I can walk; put me down!"
By the time they returned to his house, Christine had driven herself into hysteria, sobbing and screaming at him. Erik stopped in the middle of the grand main room, his breathing ragged and his mind quite blank. When Christine struck his chest once again, he immediately deposited her on the floor, his brain beginning to register once more. He knelt next to her, hesitantly touching her skirt as it rested about her feet.
"Don't cry, sweet Christine," he begged. "There is nothing to cry about."
"You frightened me!" she sobbed into her hands. "You wouldn't listen!"
He licked his lips to pass a second and then scooted closer to her, pulling her hands away from her face gently. "Erik does not know where his mind goes sometimes," he said sadly, placing three fingers in her palm and stroking the skin. "You must fear nothing down here, Christine, for it would shatter poor Erik's heart."
After Christine quickly regained possession of her hand, she clasped them in her lap quietly. When Erik wouldn't respect her wishes and slow down during his flight through the tunnels, she began to think that he had something horrible in mind, and she couldn't bear the thought, especially as he began to quicken his pace when they were closer to the lake. She still did not know why he had acted so strangely, and the thought of his large, ugly hands touching her in places that he had no right made her shiver with disgust. He had overstepped his boundaries when he touched her back, and Christine sniffled quietly at the thought. Erik took out his handkerchief and lovingly wiped away the sticky tears, his other hand once again prying; it slid down her cheek and onto her neck, where the fingers curled ever so slightly.
"Stop touching me!" she shrieked suddenly, jumping to her feet and fleeing to the bedroom, where she collapsed onto the bed and cried into her pillow. She heard Erik moan pitifully and refused to acknowledge the slight twinge of guilt that plucked her heart. How dare he continue to touch her like that! The insufferable man was like a dog that hadn't the faintest idea of knowing when to quit. Didn't he know that she wished for nothing of the sort; he had no right, the scoundrel!
As she hugged the pillow closer, she caught sight of the wedding ring. Her anger was mounting with her shame; she attempted to pull it off, yet the heat from outside and her fit had made her hands clammy and swollen, so she tried unsuccessfully for a few minutes before burying her face into the soft sheets, trying to convince herself that the marriage was in no way binding. She had every right to refuse Erik's touch...Well, that's what she told God that night, although in her heart she knew otherwise.
He was quite calm in his anger the next morning. She knew that her actions had infuriated him, yet neither of them said anything that would trigger a conversation about the night before. He would not come close to her now; her meals were set before she went to the table. Usually Erik liked to place them before her as a chance to be near, but now the plates were already there. If she arrived before he set them down, he would put the dish on the opposite end and leave immediately. Whenever she would draw closer, he would instantly walk somewhere else, even if he was in the middle of a song.
Some nights into this, the heat was so insufferable that Christine had flopped onto the couch in a very unladylike way, her hair pinned up messily and her shoes off. She attempted to cool herself with a makeshift fan from a piece of writing paper and watched as Erik read. He looked in no way uncomfortable.
"Erik?" She knew she had his attention, even though his eyes did not leave the book. "It's unbearably hot down here; couldn't we go for a walk tonight?"
He turned a page and said coldly, "Why must you always complain? Nothing of Erik's is good enough for you. And no, I do not feel like a walk tonight."
"But it's hot," she whined, pretending as if his comment hadn't stung.
"Go jump in the lake," he replied evenly, his eyes still fixated on his book. "Perhaps the siren would like some company."
Christine sat still for a moment, her eyes wide and her lower lip trembling. She then promptly burst into tears. When he let her cry uninterrupted for some time, the sobs merely doubled, and she started having difficulty drawing breath.
With a heavy sigh, Erik set the book aside, his pride in its pages, and cautiously approached his wife.
"Why are you so cruel?" she cried into her hands.
"Please," he muttered confusedly. "Please, Christine – Christine must stop crying." He touched her wrist hesitantly, and when she did not react, he enclosed it with his hand and pulled her fists away from her eyes; the latter were red and brimming with tears. Once more, Christine tore herself away from his touch angrily.
"Whatever cruelty Erik has, he learned it from his dear Christine," Erik said sadly, staring at his hands.
There was a minute of shocked silence; Christine choked on her sob and held her breath for many seconds. Then, to his complete and utter surprise, Christine suddenly threw herself at him. She sobbed into his shoulder, her arms tight around his neck. Erik sat stiffly, unsure of how exactly to respond. Her body was so soft against his, and he could feel his hands creeping to enclose her waist. Trying not to make it too apparent, he gently leaned his head to the side to come to a rest on the top of hers. Her hair smelled intoxicating, and it was kissing his neck in a most unbearable manner. Oxygen seemed hard to obtain; he tried to swallow.
She sniffled against his shoulder for quite some time, every so often pulling Erik closer in order to convince herself that someone was there to hold her. The pressure of her body against his was enough to make him begin to tremble, though not from pain or sorrow. Christine, mistaking the tremors for tears, began to lightly stroke him, and Erik's throat went quite dry.
"Don't cry," she whispered sadly. "I'm sorry, Erik. Please, don't cry..."
As her fingers ran through his thin hair, Erik was busily trying to control himself. His accursed mask was pressing into his cheek, refusing his face the touch of her soft hair, so he tangled his hand in it, feeling the strands caress him softly. In turn, they both released a shuddering sigh, and Christine pulled away from him, wiping away the remaining tears with her wrists. Erik tried in vain to forget the sensation of her body.
"I..." she said softly. "You're right, Erik. I've been so cruel and selfish." Here she hiccoughed on her quiet sob. "I'm sorry," she finally finished in a whisper.
He was sure that he would never master the art of consolation, so he merely said, "Shall I play for you?"
When his wife nodded quietly, he placed a hand on her wrist before taking his place on the piano. The song was soft and gentle, much like their wedding mass and yet so different in its mood; she felt calm and soothed and almost happy when Erik came to kneel at her feet. It was almost like her first night under his roof; tears and anger, followed by his open display of utter devotion. Christine allowed him to run his fingers over her wedding band once or twice.
"Christine is my living bride," he breathed, almost to himself. "There she sits, looking so beautiful and kind, and she has his ring on her finger. A living wife..."
"Yes, Erik," she sighed wearily. "I am your wife."
They were silent for a moment, and his fingers paused. "Are you a happy wife? For you must be happy to be a living wife."
With unusual grace and self-control, she said, "I – I think I shall retire now."
Erik watched her with his golden eyes as she shut her door softly, and he spent the remainder of the night trying to convince himself of what he had just told her.
