Blemishes
Chapter 22: Swear

The gardens.

They were impeccable.

The grounds were lined by a lattice fence of an attractive subdued cyan hue, this adorned with both white clematis and purple morning glory vines. The length was perhaps 30 yards, with a running fountain in the middle where four paths came together. There was one lavish arched gate that led to the front of the home it was billowing with the climbing flowers, and these she had noticed first when they had come upon the house yesterday. Manicured shrubs, lavender, and flower beds were all made central ornamentation inside the garden; the planting beds were geometric in their tranquil shape.

One trail from the junction led to a small stone green-house. Vegetables and tomatoes grew inside, as well as herbs and flora that were too unfamiliar to name. At the far side of the fence there was an incorporated tall bench with a decorative marble accent table—Christine could not help but imagine having tea there with Erik on sunny mornings. Still deeper into the gardens, there were silver birch trees with twinflowers and moon daisies growing beneath them. There was also a larger oak which had a quaint grey swing tied from the heaviest branch.

This is where Christine found herself, swaying, surrounded by the flowers she knew were chosen for her; she had seen them countless of times in that place her father raised her. Her soul swooned with the thoughtfulness which had borne this precious place. Her mind raced with memories-to-be, how beautiful and quaint they were.

Yet still, as Erik had told her, part of her felt…

She couldn't describe it. There was no sense of utter fury like her husband said she might have. She was… she just was. Her feet brushed over the gravel, a little frustrated in her inability to pinpoint the issue.

He had lied to her the entire time about what he had done and the promises he had kept. Though it did not make up all her love, it was still an element of… disappointment. She was so disappointed. Even embarrassed to a degree; embarrassed for them both. That moment had been the catalyst to the start of something new after the descent into his madness, after he'd proposed to her and revealed himself the first time. After he'd planned to destroy innumerable lives just for her hand, after the fantasy of her angel was tainted and corrupted by a poor and troubled human person. But in all those moments, the moment he had let Raoul and M. Khan go gave her a semblance of comfort. She decided that even if she lived as a corpse's bride at least he was not completely devoid of honor.

She was too naïve, and too kind—if she was twenty, her heart had been no older than fifteen at the time. Her life had been so sheltered, and while she had traveled far with her father and experienced much—even immense loss and pain, she hadn't known the sort of manipulation Erik exposed her to. He made her grow up in this way, and crookedly so. But maybe she had to be. Out of all the people in the world, fate had chosen her to be the one to love and be loved by Erik. No one normal could take such a position. If she couldn't do it, then likely no one would or could.

To be plucked out of the masses for such a role, to be filled with feelings of reciprocation, compassion, and longing—it had to be some sort of destiny if not pure folly. Her father was gone, her dear adoptive mother was weakening day by day, she had little else but her friends from the opera house and even they had likely begun to move on and forget her. Raoul had been tortured, his own story tarnished by the mad tale neither of them could have ever imagined. His brother was dead. He would be scarred for life! But at least he still had his sisters and aunt, his sailor friends. He had never been without friends, he was too charming. Though his looks were not extraordinary, he was sweet and made so much more handsome by his manner of nobility. He wasn't that different from Erik in this way.

She mused they were both quite childish and inclined to exaggeration. Erik was king at the sport, but Raoul wasn't that far behind. Perhaps being drawn to Raoul were hints to her final place with Erik. This chivalrous and unknowing boy, running into the freezing waters to catch her scarf and bring it back. His demands to know of her business when they'd grown up, his implorations to whisk her away, his determination to slay the dragon. He saw himself her knight-in-shining armor while Erik… obviously he was the dragon: ancient, ageless, a smoldering, powerful anti-hero with an agenda and a treasure to obsess with and protect. Yet both irrefutably saw themselves as some sort of fairy tale trope.

And Christine loved fairy tales.

Indeed, she had never imagined herself to go on and elope with the dragon of her own story however, but here she was—dismayed with him for being… well, just that. And this was her greatest frustration: because she had convinced herself that he was no longer and would never be that again and largely on the basis that he had kept his word so many times about so many humane things. With this supposed truth, Christine was armored! She had become a poised Valkyrie for Erik's salvation! She had boldly cast aside any condemnation of Erik's character—even from Nadir, but here was her husband! Proving his friend's repulsive point all by his idiot self! What the devil was he thinking!

"I hardly expected to hear such ill-mannered blasphemes in my wife's mouth, but alas, mine ears are set afire."

She smacked her mouth shut, not even daring a glance at him.

"I'm afraid that was aloud," he confirmed. Now, if such a place as the underworld existed, Erik was inarguably doomed to roast in it for eternity so dabbling in the arts of the profane were of no consequence to him—but for his Christine? Well, she'd come from heaven itself! This would not do, and yet… he found himself almost absurdly amused. Her face was abashed, her cheeks inflamed with mortification! It was adorable.

"Where do you think you're going, little wife?"

"I," she breathed, still unwilling to make eye contact anytime soon, "am going to find where the shovels are kept."

"For what purpose?"

"Isn't it obvious? To bury myself."

That was it, the proverbial straw which shattered the camel's back. He broke an uncontainable laugh!

"Taking lessons from your teacher in more than just music now, I see?" He could see her little arms folded, clearly not as entertained as her husband.

"My silly little wife," he followed behind her, trying not to keel over once she began literally looking for different possible places the shovels could reside. There was a part of him steadily beginning to worry she could possibly be serious, "You can't miss your final meal before entombment, now can you?"

And she swerved, her face blazing.

"This is your fault!" She pointed.

His eyes widened, and he couldn't keep himself from taking a step or two back.

"If you had just kept your promises, this wouldn't be happening! I wouldn't be upset, I wouldn't be doubting you, I wouldn't be so confused! I wouldn't have said that—nevermind that I said that! Maybe I needed to say it! And you ought to answer it! What the devil were you thinking! Devil, devil, devil! You!" She poked his chest with a small accusatory finger, "You big dummy!"

This was not the first time he'd heard 'Devil!' hollered at him in righteous fury. The word struck a maddening chord. He himself had told her to express without precaution… but that didn't keep it from feeling like she was burning him at the stake! He had to do something to keep himself from completely falling apart. What could he do that wasn't groveling at her feet or raging back tenfold? What wouldn't aggravate the situation or completely disregard her feelings? This whole spousal deal was something he increasingly felt uncut for!

Complete neutrality, he realized, in that moment, was the only way. As the venerable Master Sun decreed: the supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.

"I am sorry, Christine."

"That's not an answer."

"You know the answer."

"I wish it had been me—that's what I thought I had done; taken his place. Everyone's place! All the time you and I had ever spent together, I was terrified of you! For everything you had done. For God's sake, you threatened to blow up the entire opera house!"

He flinched when she grabbed both of his arms, but he would not buckle—he forced himself to focus on her touch, to register how gentle she was being… he gained the insight that despite her anger she was still being careful.

"Yes," his voice was warm and soft, "my desperation begat desperate measures."

"Any amount of desperation doesn't justify the murder of hundreds of innocent lives, Erik."

He didn't answer (and he didn't entirely agree either but didn't think it apt to share the moment) and let her continue.

"And do you realize what is the worst in all of this? Not that Raoul and I deserved better. Not that you broke a child for the sake of your insecurities—one whose living ghost will surely haunt me the rest of my life as it was love for me which caused his suffering! But that you deserved better. That I know my husband has only added yet another weight to his sins: this brings me more anguish than you can imagine. You are better than that," She dropped her head against his chest, "Erik… I have fought for you, stood up for you. I am for you and only you… and you have made me doubt you."

"I know," he whispered, "there are no excuses."

"If you really knew so much, we wouldn't be in this situation!"

He stayed silent, waiting for her breathing to slow—for the prime moment. And when it came he was tentative and soft-spoken.

"It is… possible that the circumstances would be better if I only knew as much as I like to claim. Yet, there is something to be said about the power of emotions, my dear. They are always far more formidable than can be expected. Even yours; even now. Exasperated and swearing, for what reason? —Emotion. Your disappointment, your frustration, even… your love. Every atom in your body wills itself to act on the vain premise. It's difficult to resist—at least you had loving family and friends to teach you to know better… your husband wasn't blessed with the same opportunities. But I am listening, Christine, even if it feels otherwise, and I am learning. What happened was something only a monster would do, and all this time that is all I have been—there is only your lovingkindness to thank if I show the potential to be anything else… thank you."

Erik could hear her soft sigh as her arms wrapped around his waist. He couldn't believe it had worked—he honestly couldn't believe he hadn't wept (there was still time).

"I'm sorry I yelled at you, Erik. For yesterday too, and for crying this morning! I'm sorry I'm so angry. I feel so confused. I never wanted this."

"I can imagine that confusion and anger are the only normal responses to this sort of situation," short of leaving me and giving me up to the authorities to be imprisoned for the rest of my miserable life as I rightfully deserve. You are too good to me, you love me too much. He felt his eyes well up just a little.

"I'm sorry I swore at you, too."

Had he a nose, it probably would have flown off with the force of his snort.

"What's so funny? I was just apologizing to you!"

"Sometimes, Christine, I do forget you aren't a native Frenchwoman."

"Oh? What's that got to do with anything?"

"Nothing at all, my dear! Only, believe me when I say I have been called far worse things in too many a tongue—though 'dummy' is certainly a new one."

"Well, fine, M. Frenchman, maybe my swearing isn't quite as refined as you've heard! But it's not swearing from me."

"I shan't argue with that, beloved. Hearing such expressions from you was anything but easy to bear."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Erik! I know I was being too harsh!" She hugged him a little tighter.

"But I daresay," he started, "I never imagined you would be so offended over your expertise in expletives."

She moved from him to cross her arms, "I am not! It's just—well, what's the point in comparing me when I have no experience, it really isn't fair."

"You sound far too concerned regarding your skill in blasphemy; I can't imagine what your dear Mamma Valerius would say?"

"You might be surprised, M."

"Oh, I would?"

"She'd probably tell you off herself and not hold anything back!"

"I'm afraid I can't imagine it."

"She's braver than you think. I had to learn from somewhere, didn't I?"

"Yes, I have to assume so."

"Weren't you coming out here to tell me something about a meal anyway?"

"Ah, I'd almost forgotten—I'll escort you, if I may."

"I'm still upset."

"Of course."

"But yes, you may escort me." She took his offered arm and followed his lead into their home.

Christine was thankful… even proud that he had listened to her like that. She felt guilty for overstepping bounds when she put her hands on him, recalling how he had crouched before her in terror yesterday. But he had been unwavering this time. A part of her was a little nervous, wondering if he was more affected than he chose to show and if it wouldn't come back later in the form of something worse. But another part of her was relieved and reassured by his determination to be more understanding of her.

She could not forget the betrayal, and the memory of that once honorable deed would be tainted and sour in her mind for the rest of her life—but being allowed to express this (more than she would've let herself otherwise) helped beyond what she could express. If Erik hadn't said anything, she would've kept it inside: ashamed of her anger in light of his suffering. Christine pitied him too much. And for the first time, it was suggested between them that perhaps this was to a toxic degree. She saw it in herself, but to have him say so gave her strength to love him better… and love herself better.

He knew her. And was willing to face whatever consequences to not just be with her—but to truly love her. How many times had he offered her freedom? How many times had he wept over her kindness? And now? He was bearing her disappointment. She wasn't an angel. She was clumsy and awkward with both of their feelings. What was she supposed to do when the man she loved seemed as dark and formidable as Hades? She bordered on enabling rather than helping simply out of residual fear and overwhelming sympathy.

But from what he had said in the morning, it sounded like he knew that! And he wanted to discourage it. He hinted towards something healthier, newer—something Christine wanted so badly she didn't want to imagine it fully. She felt astounded, hopeful… and closer to him.

Erik always made himself out to be the luckiest between them (and by society's standards he was without a doubt), but for Christine, it didn't feel so disproportionate. After everything he had endured in his horrible life, he still strove to be available to her emotionally, physically, and spiritually. It showed, more than anything, the very strength and humanity and goodness in him. Any other man would've crumbled under the weight—but not her Erik. Not only did he will himself to survive unimaginable tragedy, but he made himself open to learn for the sake of achieving that dream for a life of love, happiness, and normalcy. He made himself vulnerable to her, he accepted her, and wanted to make her and himself better despite all of it. If that wasn't a good man, if that wasn't at the very least a good husband—she could not be convinced such a thing existed.

Author's Note:

I just felt like Christine needed to get this out, since when I originally left the story, I had made myself too upset with my own angst-plot (hahhhhh-I hate angst) to actually fully address how bad the situation was. This is ultimately fluff, so you can pretty much assume most things will be resolved like an episode of Little House on the Prairie.

At any rate, thank you to everyone for your support and encouragement! I can't tell you how glad I am that you all enjoy this so much! It's honestly a pleasure to write and get back into. I just hope I continue to do the story justice (though it was never meant to take itself TOO seriously). It still has no end in sight, so you can probably rest assured that there will be heaps more to come.

THANK YOU ALL AGAIN! Next up-what's this 'second surprise' Erik has up his sleeve, hm?