Julia25

"Just once," he whispered. His eyes closed and he inhaled sharply. "And then never again."

After all these years together he still had no idea how deep my affection for him ran. My love for him was lifeblood, a bond that existed far deeper than sexually.

He left me confused and unable to answer. If I agreed, he would have what he wanted, which I wasn't sure complemented what I wanted from him. One kiss may very well have been the last. I'd grown accustomed to him acquiring what he needed and then withdrawing, heedless to the needs of the people around him. One kiss would feed him, sustain him for another day and kill me in the process.

I couldn't do it. Not yet.

"Oh, Erik," I whispered.

He winced and drew his shoulders up as though I'd physically hurt him. Lips quivering, he turned away from me and I worried I'd lost him in a different way by taking everything away from him.

I considered reaching out to him, allowing what he selfishly demanded. Yet, I tired of his narcissistic ways. Erik always came first. Despite not knowing his life history, I had the impression that he was in love with himself because no one else had ever cared for him. It was his only defense, and as I sat beside him, I knew I would take that away from him. It was the only way.

"You've exhausted yourself," I said quietly.

He didn't answer me and I didn't expect him to say a word.

"There's a doctor who lives a few streets away," I said, keeping my voice low. All I wanted was to ease his pain, even if I was the sole contributor. "His name is Dr. Cordell and he has seen Charles a few times, I believe. We worked together during the war when I volunteered, and I believe that if I ask him, he will allow me a small amount of morphine for your pain. You'll sleep, you'll get your rest at last, and then in the morning, you won't be in such terrible pain."

"That will not stop my pain!" he shouted. He glared at me, his chest heaving, nostrils flared. I feared he'd work himself into such a frenzy that his nose would start to bleed again or his stitches would burst. "I don't need for you to sedate me! I didn't ask for you to drug me! Did you even hear my question? I asked you to kiss me. Just tell me yes or no and nothing more."

I would not yell at him the way he had yelled at me. Feigning composure, I folded my hands and looked him in the eye. "Erik, please."

I do love you, I do care for you, I do want to kiss you—after all these years of running my hands down the length of your back, of tracing circles on your chest and touching you intimately.

We'd been together, covered only in each other's embrace. My thighs had cradled him, my body had accepted his, but he had never touched his lips to mine. I needed to kiss him, to know the flavor of his lips as well as I knew the taste of his shoulders.

He shuddered at my words and nodded slowly as though he'd lost all hope. His right hand rose swiftly to his face and he slapped himself. The action produced little emotion—barely a grimace or sound of pain despite his hand pressing into his stitches and the deep, swollen bruises. He hurt too badly to realize he put himself in further pain…or perhaps he no longer cared if he was in pain.

I leaned forward and wanted to wrap my arms around him but I feared the look in his eyes.

"Erik," I whispered.

"Don't look at me," he demanded through his teeth.

"That has nothing to do with my answer."

A slew of curses left his mouth and he pounded his fists on the mattress. "Tell me you can't stand to look at me!" he yelled. "Tell me the thought of pressing your lips to mine is the worst thought ever to invade your mind! Tell me!"

"No, Erik."

"You're a coward," he said under his breath. "A damned coward, Julia."

My blood boiled though I refused to give in to his anger and snap at him. He would not force me to push him away, no matter what he said. If he wished to be stubborn I'd give him hell for it.

"You think after all these years I'd deny you because you don't have your mask on?" He didn't answer. "Don't call me petty, Erik. It has nothing to do with your mask still drying."

He'd fully expected me to say "your face" but I wouldn't even give him that. It irritated him to no end. I doubt he ever suspected his placee, the one who made him desserts and listened to him complain about modern day composers, had a tenacious side.

"Then what does?" he asked bitterly. He traced along his flesh as though suddenly I'd see his injuries in a different light and find myself repulsed by his face. "This does not play a part in your decision, Madame? Don't lie to me! Tell me why you refuse!"

"I didn't refuse," I said softly.

He shook, whether with rage or melancholy, I didn't know. His gaze darted around, his lips still quivering. A tear slipped down his cheek, which he ignored. I could barely look at him, to see what I had done to him, and what he did to himself.

"Erik, look at me."

He hesitated but finally looked me in the eye. His gaze was vacant, his hopes diminished to meager needs. It reminded me of my own reflection in the mirror when Louis returned home early and wanted to fight.

"I will not kiss you," I told him once more.

He wept silently, the reaction from my painful words starting in his shoulders and trembling down his body. I wanted to cry as well but I tired of crying over him. He was a grown man perfectly capable of discerning right from wrong. He had a softer, gentler side when it came to Bessie and Alex, and even me. But what he'd shown as of late was dark and treacherous. He'd brought all of this upon himself and now he had to pay the price. I needed to be firm but not vindictive.

"I will not kiss you. Not until you give me a reason to kiss you," I said.

"A reason?" he stammered.

He finally looked ready to listen. Sitting back, I inhaled and considered my words, wondering if I could hold his attention long enough to finish speaking before he accused me of invading Paris.

"This last year, the last three days in particular, you have been impossible. You have gone out on your own accord, stirred up trouble, and suffered the consequences of your thoughtless behavior."

His eyes widened and he studied me carefully.

"You are far too accustomed to getting your way. Madame Giry, Madame Lowry, even I have been guilty of keeping you content—or as content as you will allow. You do as you wish without earning a damned thing, taking what you want without giving back. Those days, it seems, have caught up with you at last. If you wish to be shown affection, you must earn the privilege."

"How?" he asked before I had finished my sentence.

"You are not so helpless as that, Erik. You already know the answer. Once you decide to admit it to yourself, perhaps then you will have what you want."

Once again he seethed. "You do this out of pity."

I rose from his bedside and looked him over. Head tilted to the side, I decided to be catty for once, to show him I would no longer lie down and watch him stamp about like a spoiled child. If we were to be equals, I would assert myself—for his sake.

"For you, I do nothing out of pity. I am not Christine."

I left him slack-jawed and completely stupefied. Once I closed his bedroom door I sighed and grinned to myself, hoping that little wretch would remain far from my life and my family.