Her father was awake. He was getting better. And if her father was getting better, that meant Christine would be leaving soon.
Of course her leaving eventually was an inevitability. He had always known that it was going to happen sooner or later. The contract was never meant to last forever, and he had accepted that initially, but that was before he truly knew her. Before he had learned how her smile could light up a room, how her voice could make his spirit soar, and how her touch could set his body on fire. When he had first proposed this deal to Christine he had not taken into account that he might grow attached to her. He did not know exactly how or when it had happened, but the result was that he could no longer imagine returning to his former life, a life without Christine in it.
What an idiot he was. How foolish could he be to form an attachment to someone he would inevitably lose? No, losing her implied that she had ever belonged to him in the first place. She could never be his. If this were one of those fairy tales she loved so much, she would be the fair maiden, the damsel in distress, and he the monster hiding in the shadows, the beast she needed saving from.
When he had mentioned how thrilled she must be at the prospect of getting away from this place, from him, she had not contradicted him, and that had told him everything he needed to know. She would never feel the slightest affection for him. She was merely biding her time, fulfilling her part of the deal until she was released, although it seemed she could not even be bothered to do that anymore, since she had not turned up for dinner.
Not feeling even the slightest bit hungry, Erik left his food untouched and went to the music room. Christine would clearly not be joining him tonight, so he would use his time to compose instead. Soon his music would once again be all he had left. He might as well get used to it now.
He settled behind the piano and began playing a passage from his Don Juan Triumphant. It was a composition he had been working on for years, an opera, meant to be his masterpiece, although he doubted anyone but himself would ever hear it. He had poured all of his hatred for a world that would never understand or accept him into that music, creating a story in which the villain triumphed once and for all. In the past, playing it had made him feel powerful, as if he truly were this Don Juan, with the entire world at his feet, but now the music sounded violent and obscene to his own ears. If Christine ever heard it, she would be so appalled by this vile creation that she would run away screaming.
What a joke. Music was supposed to be his calling. He had always thought of himself as some kind of musical genius, a master composer, and now it turned out he had failed to do even that right. He leaped up from the piano bench, tearing at his hair in frustration, growing even more irritated as his hand brushed against his damned mask in the process, reminding him once again of the hideous sight that lay underneath. He let out an animalistic growl, went over to the piano, bumping into the music stand and throwing it down on his way, and swept all the pages containing his most recent compositions onto the ground in one violent motion. It would never be good enough. He would never be good enough.
That was when he heard the door open behind him. He was in such a blind rage by then that it took him some time to recognize her, but once he did, a feeling of terrible shame started to overpower his all-consuming fury. Christine looked terrified, hastily stumbling through an apology as if she were afraid he might punish her, as if her being late were somehow the cause of all his anger. Seeing her fall to her knees, cleaning up the mess he had made, he felt utterly disgusted with himself. Someone as lovely and kind as she was should never be on her knees for the likes of him.
He did not mean to frighten her even further, only wanted her to leave it and stand up, but she would not listen and before he knew it, he was yelling at her again.
In the deafening silence that followed, he told himself he could not go on like this. He had sworn that he would be nothing but kind to her so many times, and he had managed to ruin it again every single time. She deserved better than that. She deserved so much more than what he could offer.
He reached out his hand, grateful that at least she was not too scared to take it, and helped her up. When she was back on her feet, he saw her sway slightly. For a moment he thought it had all become too much for her and she was about to faint. Luckily he was able to catch her before she fell, and she seemed to recover pretty quickly. She told him she was just tired, but he doubted that was all there was too it.
When he realized he was still holding her, he pulled back his hands, slowly, so she would not lose her balance. He should not touch her any longer than was necessary. He had frightened and disgusted her enough already.
He did however accompany her up the stairs, just to make sure that she made it to her room safely. Once they reached her door, he wanted desperately to offer her an honest and heartfelt apology, to make her understand how ashamed he was of his earlier behaviour, yet the words would not come. He would have fallen to his knees at her feet and begged for her forgiveness if he thought that it would help. It was no use. She would only find him even more despicable and pathetic because of it.
Eventually he came up with some feeble excuse for an apology, explaining that his anger had not been directed at her – which was true; it had only been directed at himself – and swearing that he would do better in the future. It was an empty promise, he knew that. At some point in the near or distant future, his temper would inevitably gain the upper hand again, but he could at least try. He owed her that.
After she had said goodnight and closed the door in his face, Erik returned to the music room to clean up. He made quick work of it, picking up the papers and depositing them on top of the piano without another glance. He did not want to look at them again.
He did not retire to his room when he was done. Sleep tended to elude him more often than not as it was, and tonight he was far too agitated to even try to rest. He spent all night trying to think of something he could do for Christine to make amends, without result.
The answer came to him the next evening.
Christine had not left her room all day – not that he could blame her after what had happened the night before – so he had not expected to see her at dinner either, but to his surprise she was already seated at the table, waiting for him, when he entered the dining room. He was relieved that she had decided to come, although she did not look particularly well. Her face was extremely pale and her eyes looked puffy, as if she had been crying recently, no doubt because of how horribly he had treated her. She seemed exhausted, even more so than last night.
"Christine, are you sure you are alright?" Erik ventured to ask while the two footmen set out their meal on the table. "If you do not feel up to singing, we can forego your lesson for tonight. You deserve to have a night off once in a while." Especially after last night's disaster, he thought.
She sniffled a little before answering, confirming his suspicion that she had been crying not long ago. "Oh, that's fine," she said, her voice sounding a bit rougher than usual, "I'm used to singing every day. When I was travelling with papa, there was only one day a year on which I would never have to perform."
He had not expected she would still be willing to talk to him. In truth, after what had happened, he was convinced she would refuse any further lessons and would want to stay as far away from him as possible, and he would not blame her for it if that were the case. Yet if she were willing to move on and pretend that nothing had happened, he was more than happy to go along with it.
"Is that so? And what day was that?" he asked.
"My birthday," she answered with a timid smile.
"I see. And when would that be, exactly?"
"Soon, actually. In five days."
There it was. An opportunity to make amends. He could do something special for her birthday. Now he only had to figure out what. That would be quite a challenge. He was not in the habit of celebrating his own birthday, let alone anyone else's. He had no idea what present he should give someone like Christine.
Nadir was married, so he might know what kind of gifts would be suitable for a young lady, although Erik was not particularly looking forward to asking him. He had always made a point of not needing anyone's advice on anything and was loathe to admit that maybe in this case, he did.
"That is decided, then. No singing lesson on your birthday. Is there anything else you usually do to celebrate?"
"Not really," Christine replied. "Being of meagre means, we could never afford anything extravagant, but my father would always try to save enough money to provide us with a room and a hot meal for the night, and after dinner he would take out his violin and play all my favourite songs, just for me, without an audience." Although the delicate smile on her lips as she spoke and the soft tone of her voice made it clear that those were some very fond memories, the wetness in her eyes indicated how sad she was that her upcoming birthday would be entirely different.
"I'm sorry your father will not be able to play for you this year. I will make sure that you can at least visit him at the hospital that day." No doubt she would be much happier spending her day with someone she truly loved than with her hated jailer.
"Thank you, Erik. I appreciate it."
"It is the least I can do," he said, fixing his gaze on his food to avoid having to look her in the eye. He would do whatever he could to make her birthday as agreeable as possible for her, even if it meant having to go to Nadir for advice.
They spent the rest of their meal in silence before moving to the music room. He tried his best to ignore the image of a terrified Christine kneeling on the floor covered in sheet music that flashed before his eyes as they entered the room.
As Erik took his place behind the piano and they started their lesson with the usual scales and warm-up exercises, he immediately became aware that something was not right. Christine seemed to be struggling with these exercises she had performed dozens of times before. Maybe she was just tense and needed a little more time to adjust to their teacher-student dynamic again, after the fiasco of last night. But then she began to sing the piece they had started working on two nights ago and Erik knew that there was something else going on.
She had made vast improvement over the past few weeks, and during their last lesson she had performed this song with remarkable ease, but tonight her performance rather resembled that of a howling dog. Her voice was rough and raspy, and she could not reach the high notes, which usually sounded so bright and clear in her angelic voice.
She fell silent as he stopped playing. He looked at her in concern. Clearly this could not be blamed on tension or a lack of concentration.
"Christine, will you please tell me what is going on?"
"I'm sorry," she sighed. "I think I must have caught a cold. I have not been feeling very well today."
"Why did you not tell me?" Erik asked, a little annoyed. "I could have spared you the trouble of coming here."
"I thought if I took enough rest throughout the day and spared my voice, I would have recovered enough by now to sing, but it turns out I was mistaken." As she sniffled again, he realized that he might have been mistaken in assuming that she had been crying. Her pallor and her puffy eyes were most likely a result of her cold, nothing more.
"Well, I suppose there is no harm done, although I must insist that you return to your room to rest now," Erik instructed. "If you continue singing like this, you will only damage your voice. We can't have that, now, can we?"
He stood up, intending to walk her to her room, but she seemed hesitant to follow him.
"Is there anything else?"
"I, uhm, I was wondering… Would you mind terribly if I stayed here for a little while? I would rather not be alone right now," she admitted shyly.
He did not imagine she was asking because she liked his company so much. It just so happened that his was the only company to be had around here, and she must have found that only slightly preferable to no company at all. No matter. He would take any chance to be near her a little longer, if she allowed it.
"Of course. Why don't you make yourself comfortable over there," he said, indicating the chaise longue as it was situated closest to the fire. "I will have one of the servants bring in a cup of tea. That should help with your sore throat."
He did not have much experience tending to sick people, but he vaguely remembered his mother having been taken ill once, when he was a child. He had asked one of the maids what he could do to help his mama feel better, and she had sent him to her room with a cup of tea, which his mother had accepted with one of those blinding smiles she reserved only for him. He shook himself from his reverie when the servant came in with Christine's tea.
Once she was settled, an uncomfortable silence hung between them. He felt rather out of place, not knowing what to do or say. Would she mind if he played the piano? Maybe he could sing for her. Or would she prefer silence? He did not want to hover around her, but he did not really have anything else to do either.
"Erik? Might I ask you for a favour?" Christine suddenly asked.
"I suppose that would depend on what kind of favour you had in mind."
"Would you read to me?"
Her question took him by surprise. "Read to you?"
"Well yes, to dispel the silence. And… And because I… "
"Yes?"
"I… I like listening to your voice. It can be quite soothing, when you are not yelling." Her pale cheeks quickly took on a rosy hue. She looked embarrassed, as if she had admitted more than she had meant to.
"Oh," was all he could think of to say. It was the second time now that she had complemented his voice, and he did not think he could grow used to the feeling it gave him even if she did it a hundred times more. After all he had done and said to her, she still wanted to spend time with him, still wanted to hear his voice. He could not understand it, but he would not deny her request.
"Is there anything in particular you wish to hear?"
"No, not really. Whatever you are reading at the moment is fine."
He went to fetch his book in the sitting room, where he had left it on a table the day before. It was one of his favourites, a collection of tales titled The Arabian Nights' Entertainment. When he returned, he sat down on the sofa closest to Christine and started reading.
Christine seemed unfamiliar with the tales he told her, listening with rapt attention as he read, only looking away from him to occasionally take a sip from her tea. Although these stories were vastly different from the Swedish fairy tales Christine loved so much, she seemed entranced, no doubt trying to picture the faraway lands and colourful characters Erik was reading about. Now and then he would change the tone and pitch of his voice to imitate a particular character, or throw his voice to a different place in the room to make it seem like a character was there with them, savouring Christine's surprised exclamations and soft laughter whenever he did so.
After a while, he noticed that Christine's reactions became less and less frequent, and when he turned to look at her after about an hour, he found her fast asleep.
He put down his book then and simply watched her sleep for a few minutes. She looked so peaceful. The flames dancing in the fireplace cast an amber glow across her face, highlighting her delicate features. His fingers itched to reach out and brush that one escaped curl back behind her ear, but he knew well enough how utterly inappropriate such an action would be.
For a moment, he pondered what to do. He did not want to disturb her much needed rest, but he could no let her sleep on the chaise for the rest of the night. She would be far more comfortable in her bed. He would have to carry her up to her room himself then, he supposed. There was no other option if he did not want to wake her.
He carefully draped her arm around his neck, putting one hand under her knees while the other supported her back, and lifted her from the chair. She stirred a little, though not waking fully, and in her half-conscious state nestled her head against his shoulder. He could not deny that a part of him had been longing for her to touch him again, like when she had embraced him that day in the library. This was different of course. She was still asleep and was unaware of what she was doing, but he relished the feeling of having her so close nonetheless.
He carried her across the corridors and up the stairs with ease. Opening the door to her room turned out to be quite a challenge, but he managed to push down the door handle with his elbow. Once inside, he gently laid her down on her bed.
He hesitated briefly before unfastening her shoes. He could not possibly let her sleep with her shoes on, could he? He carefully removed the left one, allowing himself to hold her small stockinged foot for a second longer than strictly necessary before placing it back on the bed and repeating the motion on her other foot. When he was done, he stood up and put her shoes neatly against the wall.
For a moment he considered taking the pins out of her hair to let it down – the way in which it was pinned up did not look particularly comfortable to sleep on – but if he allowed himself to run his fingers through her long dark tresses once, as he had been imagining more frequently than he liked to admit lately, there was no guarantee that he would be able to stop.
As uncomfortable as it might be, she would have to sleep in her clothes. He would not dream of removing them. Even he was not so depraved as to undress an unconscious woman. He draped the bedsheets over her sleeping form before taking a few steps back and watching her for a moment. She had shifted a little in her sleep, one arm thrown up so her hand rested right next to her face, the other arm draped across her stomach. She looked so young and innocent like this. Never had she seemed so unobtainable to him.
He could have watched her for hours, but even if that had not been so inappropriate, he did not want to risk her waking up and finding him there. He turned around and walked out of the room without looking back.
If Christine ever wondered how she had ended up in her bed, she did not mention it the next morning. She came down to have breakfast with him, looking much better. Her throat was still a little sore, and even after a good night's rest she still felt quite tired, so they decided that she should take the day to recuperate.
Erik made use of the situation to leave the house unnoticed by Christine to pay Nadir a visit at his house on the edge of town. If he wanted to make arrangements for her birthday celebration, he would need to start soon. As he still had no idea whatsoever of how to surprise her, there would be no other option than to ask for advice, no matter how opposed he was to the idea.
Nadir was more than a little surprised to find him on his doorstep. Erik had refused to set foot in town for years, and since Nadir lived so close to it, he had never visited him at his home before, always inviting him to the manor instead when they had business to discuss. Having recovered from his initial shock, Nadir invited him inside and brought him to a modestly sized yet cosy and inviting sitting room. For the first two minutes after they were seated, Nadir did not say a word.
"What is the matter, Nadir? You look as if you have seen a ghost," Erik remarked calmly.
"I am starting to think that I might have," his friend replied. "Surely you must be dead, or you would never venture out here, so close to town."
"In this case, the end justifies the means, I'm afraid. I would not have come here if I was not in need of your advice on some… rather urgent matter."
Once again, Nadir remained silent, studying Erik with an intense look in his eyes.
"What?" Erik finally snapped. He always felt on edge when people stared at him for too long.
"I am committing this moment to memory, so I never forget there was once a day when you actually asked me for help. Be assured that I will take every opportunity from now on to remind you of this moment," Nadir grinned.
Erik rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. He knew his friend would never let him live this down, but he had no other choice.
"Well then, tell me. What is it you need my expert opinion on?" Nadir asked.
"I would like to purchase a present for Mademoiselle Daaé, and since you have a wife whom I imagine you might occasionally buy a gift for, I thought you could advise me on what to get her."
"A gift? For Mademoiselle Daaé?" Nadir looked at him suspiciously. "Whatever would you need to buy her a gift for? You are not trying to woo her, are you?"
"Woo her? Whatever do you take me for?" Erik snorted indignantly. "I am not nearly stupid enough to try anything of the sort, nor am I remotely interested in that kind of thing. No, Mademoiselle Daaé's birthday is coming up soon. It is customary to give people a present for their birthday, is it not?"
Nadir looked unconvinced by his reasoning, but made no further comment.
"Well, in my experience, you can never go wrong with flowers or a box of chocolates. Most women seem to appreciate receiving those things, so I expect Mademoiselle Daaé will not be an exception."
"Flowers? Chocolate?" Erik repeated, unimpressed. "Those seem rather generic. Erik does not do generic. I was hoping to give her something more… personal."
"If you want something more specific, I will need more information, Erik. What kind of things does she like? What does she like to do when she is not putting up with your company?"
He decided to ignore the jibe this once. If he killed the man now, he would still have to go home empty-handed.
"Music," he said. "She likes music. And reading."
"There you go, you could buy her a book!"
He could not give her books. He had just put his entire library at her disposal. She already had access to all the books she could ever want. He did not like any of Nadir's suggestions so far, but the man had given him something to think about. He started to consider some other things he knew Christine liked – listening to her father play the violin, memories of her time in Sweden – and gradually a plan began to develop. By the time he left Nadir's house, he knew perfectly what he was going to give Christine for her birthday.