Thanks for continuing to read my story!

I added some details to the last chapter (after a review asked questions about it) explaining how Erik found out about the rumors and why the village didn't straight up burn their house down or attack his mother/Marie.

Christine

Chapter 20

The Curse

Thunder rumbled overhead.

Erik tensed again, still standing. He was watching the door through which Nadir had just left with deeply exhausted eyes.

A bolt of lightning struck directly outside the window, and the air cracked open with a monstrous noise.

Whatever memory that sight, that sound, unlocked in Erik, it was clearly too much. The relentlessness of the storm, combined with the tense encounter with Nadir, was simply too much. He gasped, lowering himself, bringing his long arm behind him and gripping the back of the couch with a trembling hand. His eyes were wide and full of terror as he stared at nothing. His lower lip was thin and white. He brought his other hand to rest over his chest. His breathing became rapid and uneven

So Erik was frightened of two things.

Mirrors.

Lightning and thunder.

Such...childlike fears.

Oh, don't look so troubled Christine, he'd said to me. That's not the only traumatic event that's befallen me. I haven't even gotten to the good parts.

My heartstrings were pulled toward him, and I decided that if I was going to be a friend to him, I would be a friend.

I brought my own hand to rest on his arm. His eyes whipped to my fingers, and then to me. There was visible surprise mixed in with the fear.

"Can I have your hand?" I asked softly.

"Why?" he asked immediately.

I smiled and pulled my hand away, making it face palm-up in front of him. "Just trust me."

Steadily, he brought his fingers from their death-grip on the couch and put them in mine. They were trembling still, and were ridiculously long in my own small hand, but I didn't pay any mind to that fact. I looked up at him. He was watching me warily, curiously. He was taken off guard, but was going along for the ride anyway.

"All right," I whispered, and cleared my throat. "What are five things you can see?"

His eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

I flushed. "I used to be...I used to be scared of thunder, too," I said, "and my father would do this with me when I was frightened of the sound. Trust me. It works."

His gaze softened, though the rest of him remained stiff. "Oh. No. I'm all right. It's all-"

"Erik," I cut him off. "Just...five things. Five things you can see."

He looked at me for a moment, and then looked away any nodded. "Fine, then." He looked around the room, his hand still in mine. "The piano. The couch. The door to the study. The rug. The chandelier."

I smiled. "Good. Three things you can feel."

"My clothes. The warm temperature of the room." He was starting to visibly relax. He paused, looking at where our fingers met. "Your hand."

My flush deepened. I noticed that his fingers weren't shaking anymore. "And now tell me one good thing that happened today."

His eyes lifted to mine. "I was able to see you."

I was sure that I was as scarlet as the furniture we sat on.

He pulled his hand away quickly, blinking. "I only mean...I do enjoy music, and seeing you means..."

"I enjoy your company, too," I whispered.

He widened his eyes again and stood. "We should start. Music. The lesson. We should start."

"Wait."

But he didn't. He walked to the piano. Thunder rumbled, but this time, he didn't seem to flinch.

"Wait, Erik."

"We only have an hour, Christine; we really should start."

"But can we talk for a moment?"

"No. Let's start."

"But I want to talk."

"And I want to start."

"Erik," I insisted, "it will only take a few minutes. I want to talk-"

He turned to me then, eyes hard. "About what, exactly?" he asked sharply. "What is so dire that you need to talk about?"

I cringed, feeling my shoulders pull forward. "I just...we're friends, right?"

"Right."

"Well..." I searched for the words. "I liked...what just happened, and I didn't really want it to stop."

His masked face was cold. "And what, pray tell, just happened?"

"We...I don't know..." I bit my lip. "It seemed like...like maybe we were becoming closer...or-"

"I think we are close enough," he said, and backed up a half-step. "I really do."

I stared at him, feeling a chill. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No."

"Then...why are you being like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like you don't...want me here." I swallowed. "Are you only...using me for music? Am I, Christine, getting in the way of my voice?"

"No."

"Then did you only offer me friendship out of pity?"

"No."

"I mean, you offered me friendship. You brought me to the roof to look at the stars. I thought you wanted to get to know me. I thought maybe...you cared about me."

"I do." He said it so flatly, so emotionlessly, that I wasn't sure whether to believe it completely or not at all.

"Because...I do consider you a friend." I gripped the couch cushion. "I do care about you, too."

He paused and looked down. "Don't."

"I'm sorry?"

"You can consider me a friend," he said softly. "But do not care about me."

I let out a humorless laugh, and his eyes shot to mine at the sound. "Erik," I said, "they go hand in hand."

He looked so incredibly bitter. He turned away, sat at the piano, and simply stared down at the keys.

"Why," I said, "don't you want me to care about you?"

There was a long silence. He didn't move. It was though he'd calcified.

"Erik."

"I heard your question," he responded quietly. "The trouble is, Christine, that though it would be lovely to have you care about me, about what happens to me, about my well-being, emotions, and thoughts, I would rather you didn't, because I care about you. And I deeply, deeply regret showing you my face when you first arrived at my door."

"But it doesn't matter to me what your face looks like," I said. Not anymore, I almost added, but thought better of it.

"And that's the problem." He remained staring down at the keys. Lightning struck somewhere far away, thunder growled low in the distance, and the rain continued to slaughter the window. "Everyone who has ever looked on my bare face and dared to care about me has died - and died at my hands, one way or another."

My stomach dropped. "What do you mean?"

"I don't try to kill them," he whispered, "but they always die. And always because of me."

"Oh..." I frowned. "Erik, no, I'm sure that's not true."

"It is." He exhaled, finally turning to me, shifting all the way around on the bench, and there was deep anguish lining his gaze. "But I will keep you safe from that. You will live at Nadir's house, visiting me only for lessons, and he will make sure you are hidden from anyone who may seek to harm you. And, God-willing, we will soon hear from your father, and you will be gone, never to see me again."

"I will miss you," I said immediately. I wanted to see my father, so very badly, but I would miss Erik.

The anguish in his expression deepened. "No you won't. You'll forget me, easily. I will be a shadow of a memory in your mind - and, like a shadow, the light of a new day will make me fade."

I looked down for a time. I didn't like that concept: forgetting Erik. I liked him. I really did. He'd been my lifeline during and after the murderous dinner, when I'd been locked in my own body, when I'd discovered Amir's betrayal. Surely he didn't think I'd cast the thought of him away if and when I was safe with my father once more.

"Erik," I said, "I need a friend." I met his stare. "And not just a shallow friendship. Not the friendship you initially intended to offer me. I need an actual friend. Not just someone to talk to, but someone I can care about and who cares about me."

He didn't look away from me. "I do not want to be responsible for your death."

"And I'm the one who's insisting - so if I die, it will be at my own hands."

He considered my words. Actually considered them. Perhaps that was all it took - the knowledge that his hands would be clean whatever the consequences were. "Do you...need this?"

"I need you." I remembered how he'd told me that I didn't need him, the first night he'd left me at Nadir's house. And maybe I didn't need him, per se, but I certainly wanted his company. His actual company. And there was something about reclaiming what I did and didn't need that was empowering.

He wanted to tell me I didn't need him. So I wanted to tell him that I did.

His eyes were intense, fearful once more. "I want to feel cared for again."

Again.

Implying he wasn't cared for right now.

How long since he'd been cared for at all?

Reza cared about him. But Reza also couldn't see his face - and Erik talked about his face as though it were cursed. That if human eyes rested their gaze upon it and the person attached to those eyes saw him instead, a terrible fate would befall them.

Maybe that was why he was so relaxed around Reza - the little boy was immune to that curse.

I smiled kindly. "Then let me do that. Let me care about you."

A pause. "I'm selfish for saying yes," he whispered.

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am." He closed his eyes. "But I'm saying yes, anyway."