Chapter 37: "It Holds No Horror for Me"
My thoughtless words ended the fragile friendship we'd developed. In frustration, I wondered if we would forever alternate between timid trust and avoiding each other at all costs. I knew I would spend the rest of my life with only him for company. I'd even accepted it, so I preferred for us not to be at odds. Smaller offenses blew over easily enough, but Erik must have been feeling deeply insulted and hurt this time. I'd broken an unspoken but well-understood rule: never mention his face. I could tell him all day that it was unintentional and he still wouldn't hear me. Could I honestly blame him?
Regardless, I knew what must be done. I had to tell him that his face didn't bother me.
Unfortunately, it proved to be a daunting task. I entered the music room firmly telling myself that I would tell him the truth. But, when I saw him stiffly sitting at the piano and refusing to meet my eyes, I lost my resolve. Perhaps if I give him time, he'll thaw a bit, I hoped.
That hope didn't last long. When his coldness continued for a whole week, I grew annoyed with his pouting. Seeing as he refused to make the first move, I knew it would be up to me to break the ice. One night, I approached him in the library after dinner. He didn't acknowledge my entrance; instead, he continued reading silently. Sitting on the couch, I stared at the flames within the fireplace, feeling a strange kind of loneliness. Just a few nights ago, we had finished reading The Iliad. Among his other talents, Erik is a master storyteller. His perfect voice made me visualize the battles, the wonderful heroes, and the heartache of those whose loved ones died. I would spend half the time just watching him, mesmerized. That seemed like an age ago as I sat across from this stony figure, gathering my courage as the only sound in the room was the fire crackling in the fireplace. With a tiny sigh, I at last spoke. "Erik?" I began softly. He made no noise or movement, his eyes remaining on the pages of his book. "Erik!" I repeated more loudly and insistently. When he ignored me still, the threads binding my waning patience snapped. I rose, marched over to his chair, and snatched his book from him. Finally, he met my eyes. "You would be wise to return my book," he advised calmly. Yet, I could hear the ripples of anger beneath his barely-controlled words. My first reaction would have been to meekly adhere to his demand, but I refused to back down. For once, I was going to make a stand. You can't survive living with Erik without developing a backbone, even if it's late in coming. "I know why you're angry with me," I said instead. "I need to explain –"
"There is nothing to explain," he injected and reached for his book. I swiftly hid it behind my back before he took it. His eyes narrowed dangerously, and mine quickly followed his example. His bad temper was beginning to rub off on me. "You have a rude habit of interrupting," I observed. "Now, will you let me finish?" He continued to glare but remained silent, his way of signaling for me to continue. "I didn't mean to hurt you," I told him. "I wasn't thinking. Well, I was thinking, but I didn't mean to say it aloud... I just..." I stopped, heat creeping into my face. "I mean... I mean..."
"It's fine, Christine," he interrupted yet again. "I don't want your pity."
"That's just it!" I snapped angrily. "I don't pity you! You are the most brilliant man I've ever known! You have the voice of an angel! You have my complete respect, but you do not have my pity!"
"My face –" he started.
"What about your face?" I demanded heatedly. "Don't you see what I'm trying to tell you? Your face doesn't matter anymore! It holds no horror for me now!"
To my dismay, he laughed coldly. "Oh, it doesn't?" he taunted. "I suppose the memory of it is not so terrible while it is hiding behind the mask. Or, perhaps you have forgotten. Tell me, Christine." He hissed my name like a snake and took a step closer. It took all of my willpower not to move. "Am I a handsome man?" His eyes were burning dangerously, and I swallowed. "No," I said quietly.
"No," he affirmed. "And, tell me: do you like Erik's face?"
I bit lip. I couldn't lie to him, for he would know, and his wrath would be terrible. I tried to look away, but he swiftly grabbed my chin with his hand. "Answer me!" he ordered harshly.
"No," I whispered, defeated.
Just as suddenly as he grabbed me, he released me as though my skin burned him. "No," he repeated, eerily calm. Still, I could see sadness in his golden eyes. "So, please do not tell me that you do not mind Erik's face. It is better left unseen, hidden away." My lips parted as though to protest, but I remained silent. My own affirmations had condemned me.
As I stood distracted, he easily stole his book from my loose grip. "Go to bed, Christine," he ordered quietly. "Leave and dream pleasant things without being haunted by a corpse." ''
My shoulders slumped. I was defeated. Resignedly, I turned to obey. I made it to the doorway, but I couldn't make myself step past it. A battle was being fought between us, one so significant that it would completely alter our lives. I'd found the fault in his wall, but surrendering would reinforce it so strongly that I would never break through. I was being presented with an opportunity that might never come again. Dare I take it? Dare I walk away?
On legs that trembled, I turned back to face him. "I can't," I said quietly.
This time, he froze. "What?" he asked, for once not hiding his shock.
I moved towards him. "I can't," I repeated. "I see your face whenever I try to sleep at night. It has haunted me ever since I first stole your mask. Even with your mask on, it's what I see when I look at you."
"What are you trying to say?" he demanded in a testy voice. Everything within me wanted to retreat at the tone of his voice, but I pressed onward, forcing my feet to continue walking towards his chair.
"Your face isn't handsome. I won't lie to you. But, believe me when I say it doesn't bother me anymore. I'm not afraid, and I want to show you that I speak the truth." I was directly in front of him. Carefully, slowly, I placed my hands on either side of his face. The porcelain was cool and smooth, and I marveled at its texture. I traced the sides of the mask carefully. Strangely enough, I'd never actually examined his mask. It was my perception of his face until I ripped it away so cruelly, but the mask itself was a marvel. The little details in it were fascinating, and it was very well-crafted.
Unnerved by my curiosity, Erik's hands moved over mine and held them still. "Christine, please do not ask this of me," he pleaded. "You do not need to do this."
"I think we both know that I do." My hands moved to the ties of the mask. His hands remained over mine and his grip tightened before I could pull the mask away. His eyes entreated me to relent, but I couldn't now. "I'm not afraid," I repeated.
"I am," he whispered. Those two words made my heart ache for him. For the past two years, the man before me had been invincible. He was the brave one, the comforter, whereas I was the coward. After all of this time, it was my turn to teach him a lesson. I squeezed his hands. "I know. Close your eyes," I instructed gently. Slowly, his eyes slid shut. His hands relaxed, though they trembled, and with great tenderness, I pulled his mask away from his face.
I stood for several long moments, really seeing his face for the first time. It was as I remembered it, but at the same time, it was different with him being tranquil. His face was still ugly, certainly... but once you recovered from the initial shock, it was hardly frightening.
Poor Erik. I didn't think of how anxious he must have been while I just looked at him silently. He wasn't used to people looking at him. "Christine, please," he whispered, his beautiful voice filled with fear.
"It's okay," I reassured him. Then, I began to trace his features lightly with my fingertips. His skin was rough and dry. A few raw spots were on the edges of his face from where his masked had rubbed the skin. He must never take it off, I realized, not even to sleep. "Does this hurt?" I asked him, worried his skin was too tender.
"No. It just feels... odd," he said simply, his voice slightly more steady. My hands moved to the sides of his face and held it. "Open your eyes," I said. He obeyed, and his golden eyes met mine, those eyes that had led to the cause of this whole scenario. He looked amazed. "You are... you are still here," he uttered. "Why are you still here?"
"Because I was telling the truth," I answered. "I meant what I said earlier: your face holds no horror for me now." I again traced the sores on his face. "Do you never take it off?" I questioned sadly.
He shook his head. "I used to remove it when I slept, but I did not want to risk accidentally frightening you again." He didn't say it accusingly; the only feeling in his voice was resignation. I couldn't believe it. I'd ripped his comfort and security away from him and shattered his trust in me. Yet, he still did his best to protect me. I was filled with shame. Those marks upon his face were my fault. "I'm so sorry," I said quietly. "I'm sorry my childish behavior hurt you. I can't take it back, but I can make sure it will never happen again." I stepped away from him, holding his mask. The fire was still glowing brightly in the fireplace, and as I moved towards it, the fire's intense heat warmed my face.
As I held the mask above the fire, he lunged for me. "No!" he protested, panicking. He grabbed my other arm and pulled me back. Somehow, I managed to shake free. "This mask is a prison, Erik," I insisted. "You want so much for us. I'm... I'm trying. I'm trying to be brave. But, nothing will ever change as long as this thing sits between us. You have analyzed me for over two years, known everything about me, and I'm just starting to know you. Don't hide yourself from me anymore."
He grabbed my hand as I moved towards the fire again. "I know," he said resignedly. "Just... do not destroy it."
"Why ever not?" I demanded, irritation beginning to rise within me.
"Because I need it," he answered. Seeing the hurt flicker across my face, he quickly added, "I promise not to wear it within the house anymore – at least, I will try – but I need it if I am to venture outside. Also," he continued, his voice growing so soft it was nearly inaudible, "I would go crazy if the option were unavailable."
We stood for several long moments. I was torn. On one hand, I wanted to burn the item that served as a brutal reminder of his disfigurement, but I could understand his reasoning and fear. He had lived with it for so long that he would be lost without it. Perhaps one day, he would allow me to burn it, but I had already brought him so close to his breaking point. Finally, I nodded and held it out to him. "Alright," I agreed. "Keep it in your room. But, know that you never have to wear it again if you wish not to; I'll never hide my face again, so you shouldn't have to, either."
He didn't cry, and I was glad, for I was already near tears. Instead, he silently wrapped me in his arms. I leaned my head against chest and wondered when on earth he had managed to endear himself to me. For now, I wasn't only Christine; he was my Erik.