Christine pulled her nightgown over her body, still damp and flushed from her bath. She wouldn't bother with a robe – what use was there for propriety in the strange underground world she now inhabited? Besides, Erik was gone again – where, she couldn't say. She had stopped asking long ago. Maybe he was on a mission to stock their barren pantry, maybe he was gleefully continuing his reign of terror in the opera house above, maybe his glorious hands were wrapped around the neck of yet another unsuspecting victim. Whatever the case, if his patterns were any indication, he was likely to be out late into the night, giving her a welcome reprieve from his constant scrutiny.
A sick and familiar thrill coursed through Christine as she crept across the dark corridor, pausing momentarily to make sure she was indeed alone before reaching a trembling hand towards the door to Erik's bedroom. She had promised herself that she wouldn't do this again, wouldn't violate the fragile newfound trust that had Erik allowing her to roam beyond the four walls of her bedroom, but the lure was too great to resist. With a burst of anticipation, she crossed the threshold into the private sanctuary of her captor, the frightening man she had once known as her angel - that part of her still did, despite it all.
Like always, she struggled to resist the urge to crawl into his massive four poster bed, to writhe in his used sheets like a kitten in catnip and press her face into the very spot on his pillow that she assumed he must lay his own – not that she had ever seen him sleep. Did he even sleep? Christine imagined Erik in the act of rest, his damaged features relaxed and peaceful instead of twisted in the unrelenting anger he had favored since bringing her to stay with him.
The only barrier keeping Christine from indulging in her nagging perversion was the risk of being caught. One out of place item, one wrinkle in the pristinely spread duvet would be all it took to give her away, and God only knew the rage he would unfurl upon her if he ever found her out. Instead, she treaded her usual path to his wardrobe, pulling open its wooden doors to run shaky hands across the rack-full of Erik's immaculately pressed suits which hung like ghosts in the air. She closed her eyes and traced a finger down the lapel of his jacket, wishing in secret that she could feel the stony chill of his body beneath its rough material.
The next step of her shameful and all-too-familiar routine had her reaching for his wide brimmed hat, bringing it to her face and inhaling his lingering essence deeply. Erik's scent ignited something within Christine that she preferred not to acknowledge, yet the heat spreading between her legs insisted it could not be denied. She briefly clutched the hat to her chest, her body tremoring with an aching sigh before reluctantly putting it back where it belonged. As she did so, her hand brushed against something foreign, and she clutched to bring forth a leather-bound manuscript from the depths of the wardrobe shelves.
She knew she shouldn't open it. Sense said to shove it away, to shut the doors and never open them again, but Christine's reckless need for a glimpse into the mind of the man who consumed her had her thumbing through the pages before she even knew what was happening.
Shock spread over Christine's face as she took it in. Stretched across the length of each page was Erik's meticulous handwriting betraying the depths of his heart's fixation. Revulsion flooded her veins to see detailed descriptions of every one of their vocal lessons together, down to notes on her mood of the day and what she had worn; an anecdote recounting one of the rare instances he had made her laugh; a newspaper clipping briefly mentioning her well-received performance at Gala night. And – oh God, a lock of what had to be her hair, was bound in a blue ribbon she had written off as lost and pinned to one of the pages. Had he slunk into her room during the night, brandishing scissors and a sinister grin? Had he taken any other liberties with her sleeping body? She shivered in contemplation of it.
Frantically, Christine shoved the book back into the wardrobe, slamming its doors closed and bracing herself against its steadying weight as she tried to compose herself. Feeling the urgent need to flee, she ran from Erik's room into the relative safety of the study and unthinkingly grabbed a book from one of its built-in shelves. Her breaths came in ragged as she situated herself on the sofa and propped the book in her lap in a bid to weave the illusion that she'd spent the evening innocently reading by the fire. She stared blankly into its dancing flames, struggling to process what she had just seen.
Erik was fixated on her; that much she knew. He had stolen her away from her life aboveground and forced her to stay with him. What had never been entirely clear to Christine was his motivation for having done so. Until now she had assumed she had simply fallen prey to an eccentric maestro who was invested in his pupil to the point of lunacy. The sole focus of their relationship was music and the development of her voice, with Erik never wavering from the role of stoic teacher. A mélange of hope and fear had her now wondering if there was something more driving his madness.
Christine's reverie was interrupted by sounds of life coming from the entryway. Erik was home much sooner than expected. Had she lingered over his journal, or whatever it was, for even a few moments longer…no, she couldn't let herself think of it. It was time to plaster on a convincing smile and play Erik's dutiful sycophant. She could feel his looming presence behind her, her body jolting in shock as frigid hands abruptly came to rest upon her bare shoulders. He almost never touched her, which made it all the more unnerving when his long fingers slithered into the waves of her hair.
"Good evening, Erik," Christine greeted him with a false bravado she could only hope concealed her rising fear.
"Good evening, Christine," he echoed with a disconcerting vacancy before asking: "What have you been reading?" in a sing-song tone that sent panic flooding through her chest.
Oh God. She didn't know. Her mind had been too addled by the horror of what she had found in his closet to even notice which book she had hastily pulled from the shelf. Mercifully, he continued before she was forced to scramble for an answer, but the goading whisper that came next sparked an outbreak of goosebumps all over her trembling body: "Did you find anything of intrigue during your little perusal of my bedchamber, my angel?"
Christine swallowed a gasp before crying out.
"Erik, what? No, I wasn't – "
"Lies!" he bellowed, his furious gaze clearly traceable to the door of his bedroom, which had been left slightly ajar. "You're a liar, Christine!"
Erik's grip tightened within Christine's cascading waves before he yanked her painfully to her feet, spinning her around to face his unyielding wrath.
"Did you truly believe you wouldn't be caught? Oh, Christine…surely you must know me better than that by now!" he hissed into the ether, now dragging her behind him, making purposeful strides towards the scene of her earlier crime. Christine didn't resist as they made their way across the path she had surreptitiously tread only moments before. With a feral growl, Erik unceremoniously hurled her onto his bed, the malevolent force of it wracking her body with a heady mixture of dread and strange anticipation for what was to come. Despite her fear – or perhaps because of it – Christine buried her head in his pillow, fulfilling her own deviant fantasy. Wasn't this what she had wanted for so long? It shamed her to recognize that instead of anger, she felt relief that he had made the choice for her, that in his bed was exactly where she wanted to be.
"Look at me, Christine," he commanded brusquely. She obeyed without hesitation, running her eyes over his intimidating form. The beguiling aura of power and mythos he exuded when he wanted something from her hung thickly in the air, making her its trembling prey.
"Ah, poor Christine. She was caught in her little game, and now plays the innocent victim." He stalked around the bed like a tiger on the verge of pouncing.
"If you would just let me explain – "
"What is there to explain? I've given you everything you could ever want, and still you betray me at every turn," Erik snarled. "How much of your treachery will I be forced to endure? Shall I lock you in a cage every time I leave on an errand?"
Mustering every ounce of boldness within her, Christine started "I came in here to feel close to you. You've kept an unbreakable barrier between us all this time I've been here with you. You won't let me know you, Erik, and I want to."
"Your cruelty is breathtaking. My God, you will say anything in your attempts to placate me…" he snapped, shooting a look of contempt like a hurling dagger.
"Placate you…what? No, Erik, it's the truth," she insisted. Taking a deep breath, Christine made her admission. "I looked at your…journal." She thought to ask him about the lock of hair, but part of her didn't want to know.
Erik chuckled. "And what did it reveal to you, Christine? That the disgusting, pathetic freak is dangerously obsessed with the perfect princess he has abducted and locked in the tower? We are the very picture of the sneering villain and the pristine heroine, are we not…?"
He pivoted to face her, rage warping the visible features of his masked face, amber eyes glowing ominously. "Only, when the story is told from my point of view, Christine, it is you who are the villain! You and your inconstant heart, tormenting me to madness…when one moment I catch you looking at me as if begging me to take your very soul, and the next you are running like a frightened animal to the sanctuary of your virginal chamber."
Christine gulped as she watched Erik pace the length of the room fitfully. Had she truly brought him to this? Everything inside her wanted to reach out to him, yet she remained frozen in place.
With a miserable sigh, Erik continued, staring at the floor. "What you…discovered earlier…it shames me to know you've seen it. Know that it was my desperate attempt to puzzle you out. To garner every clue that I could possibly use in the hopes of someday making you love me…as I love you. I won't speak of it any further."
Erik's words rocked Christine to her core. He loved her…did he truly? How could that be when all she'd seen of him since learning the shattering truth of his decidedly un-angelic mortality had ranged between frigid indifference, melancholy, and fits of temper which both frightened and thrilled her in their intensity?
Her moment of silent contemplation was broken by eyes that stared at her with what seemed an unfulfillable longing. Christine burned under his gaze, watching as his chest heaved with uneven breaths. She brought her arms around herself protectively, suddenly feeling more exposed than ever before in her life.
Christine bit her lip in trepidation as Erik abruptly closed the gap between them, falling to his knees at the bedside and forcefully gripping her forearms, drawing her closer to him.
"Do I even stand a chance? Tell me what I must do to make you love me, and it will be done. Anything, anything at all. What do you want from me, Christine?" he pleaded, leaning so close that his lips almost grazed hers. As if by magnetic pull, she closed her eyes and began to move in further. To the disappointment of her wanting lips, he abruptly released her and turned away, rising to stand with an arrogant posture before removing his jacket with an elegant flourish and tossing it over a chair in the corner. Christine held her breath as he lifted an arm and began to methodically unbutton the cuffs of his shirt. The soft glow of the candelabra played upon the spectral cast of his forearms as he then slowly rolled up each sleeve. He faced her once again, his demeanor now darkened, and rasped "…I know what I want. I want to punish you. Not only for this, but for everything."
He seated himself at the edge of the bed, yanking a startled Christine face down across his knees and pulling up her nightgown to expose her lower half. Erik gave her no time to protest before raising his arm to deliver a resonant strike to her backside. A startled gasp tore from Christine – oh God, what was happening? "Don't be afraid," Erik crooned. "I won't truly hurt you. The touch of the living corpse is punishment enough, is it not?" He hit her with another stinging smack. Could this really be considered a punishment when her arousal was dripping down her thighs, she wondered?
Erik's nearness was driving her to a frenzy. Christine could feel his menacing hardness growing to its full enormity beneath her, and his unbridled moan as she struggled against it made her throb against her will. "Do you now see what you do to me, Christine? I've kept this desire hidden from you for so long, afraid that you would hate me even more for it. But now you've forced the secret out of me, and I'm tired of waging a losing battle." The way her body was responding to him terrified Christine; it was telling her to give him everything. "Erik, please," she whimpered in feigned protest.
"Erik, please!" he mocked in a whisper, squeezing the curve of one of her reddened buttocks. Bending forward, he grazed his lips against her ear and murmured "…the next time you say those words, it will be as you writhe beneath me, begging me to fuck you." A burst of heat erupted in her Christine's belly at his blatancy. Without warning, she felt a long, bony finger slip inside her, making her cry out at the sudden intrusion. Shame scorched her with the realization that he was now drenched in the desperation she had diligently hidden for so long.
"Have I gone too far?" Erik asked, his tone softening and shifting into the one that melted her. "Tell me to stop. Say the word, and I will."
For all her apprehension, the thought of ending things here was unfathomable to Christine. "Don't. I don't want you to stop, Erik." A sound of satisfaction rumbled in his chest at her reply.
"I didn't think so. God, you are so deliciously wet…for me. Do you want me, Christine?"
A second finger slipped in to join, and Erik began moving them as if he were beckoning her surrender. So often she would watch those hands and lose herself in the fantasy that they were racing over her body instead of the keys of his piano, and now they were moving within her, causing shockwaves of euphoria that made her innocent body frantic for more.
Christine dug her nails into the sheets and arched into his penetrating hand, signaling her submission. He moved with intent, an unwavering rhythm that had her racing towards nirvana. "Let go, Christine," Erik breathed. "Give yourself to me." The words alone could have shattered her. Coupled with the fervency of his ministrations it was all too much, sending Christine careening over the edge. Erik's triumphant groan of approval only intensified the eruption of sensations she couldn't have previously imagined. They decimated her, making her collapse in a shuddering heap. She hadn't yet regained her senses when strong arms lifted her into a straddling position over his lap. Dazed, she rested her head against his chest and let his racing heartbeat be her compass back to reality.
"Christine…" Erik lowered his masked face into her hair, defeated. He embraced her as if he believed the first time would be the last. "I'm sorry…so sorry. How dare I? Can you ever forgive me?"
Emboldened by her determination to stop his self-loathing in its tracks, Christine tilted her face to glare at him incredulously. "Forgive you? But why…for giving me pleasure like I've never known before?"
"Oh…" Erik exhaled in a way that made her shiver. His eyes burned her alive. "Then instead of forgiveness, shall I ask for repayment?"
Anything, said the voice in Christine's head.
He stroked her hair softly now, a contrast to the violence of earlier. "A kiss. That's all I want," he coaxed, as though he could hear the thoughts playing in her mind.
All he wants? Lies, Christine thought. You're a liar. But his game had given her the excuse she needed to let passion take over. Her hands snaked beneath his jacket to grasp his protruding ribcage, feeling it rattle with each ragged breath. His pulse beat wildly against lips set to the side of his throat. The scent of him tied her mind into knots. Unthinking teeth gnashed at his pallid flesh and his accompanying groan reverberated, pulling its urgency down to her center. She wanted to comply to his demand and kiss his mouth, but an obstacle stood in her way. She had removed his mask once to catastrophic results and knew better than to do it again. Taking his bottom lip gently between her teeth and guiding his own hand to his face, she coaxed: "Take it off, Erik."
There was no hesitation to be seen. With the muscle memory of an act completed thousands of times, he unmasked himself, stripping away the facade. This was a challenge that Christine was doubtless he assumed she would lose, and she was smug to know he'd be proven wrong. His deformity did not shock her with its skeletal angles and missing pieces. The eerie disaster of his face only added to his subversive allure. If that made Christine a degenerate, then so be it. She reached out to grant a touch of acceptance, but he caught her by the wrist before she could dare. His nature demanded that he test her resolution even further.
"Run from me, Christine. Let this moment between us fade like a nightmare in the dawn. Treat me like the monster I am. Say that I disgust you. Condemn me for making you my prisoner; beg me to set you free. Damn me for every trespass I've made against you."
Run? Nothing could break her from him. If he locked her in a cage, she would swallow the key. She would lick the blood from his hands in absolution. The sins of his past were irrelevant. All that mattered was the nauseating need welling in her abdomen, and him fulfilling it.
Christine dove forward, her hands sliding up his chest to cradle either side of his face. She was just barely able to register his look of surprise before crushing her lips to his. She let desire be her puppet master, hoping eagerness was enough to make up for inexperience. He kissed her back, harsh and unrestrained. His hips rose and her gasp at the demanding hardness straining against the confines of his clothing let his tongue slide in to taste her. He had to have noticed her wetness pooling between the two of them, but she was too overcome to care.
Christine groped the collar of his shirt, tearing it open in desperation for more. She worked down the line of buttons, revealing pale skin stretched painfully over a broad, cadaverous torso. Animal instinct drove her to lean in and bite, making his body tense beneath her in response. Erik exhaled sharply through clenched teeth as his hand shot out to grab her by the hair, guiding her to meet eyes that glowed with thirst. Never breaking his stare, Christine found the hem of her nightdress and lifted it slowly over her shoulders, baring herself to him completely. The unprecedented need rising in her belly demanded that she stop being a slave to her fear. A hiss of disbelief came from Erik as she guided his hands to cup the full swell of her breasts, arching into his touch as if she had been starved for it.
"You are so beautiful, my Christine," he murmured impassionedly, his caress growing more urgent. "My Christine. You are mine…"
His need to possess her plunged Christine even further into the depths of the desire she was already drowning in helplessly. "Erik, please," she begged in a strangled whisper, knowing he would understand exactly what she needed from him. In one swift motion he took her around the waist and pinned her to the bed beneath his trembling frame, kissing her with a tenderness that wrecked whatever remained of her defenses.
"Do you wish to leave me, Christine?" Erik's voice was thick as he whispered, touching his forehead to hers. "This is your chance. Go now, and I won't follow." He arched his hips into her as if to taunt her with what she would be missing if she dared, relishing the gasp it stole from her. "This is the only and last time I'll present you with the offer. If you stay, you'll be mine forever."
She welcomed his challenge. Parting from Erik wasn't even a consideration. Not now, not ever. He was a bastard for holding her captive, but the truth of the matter was if let her go she would only return to him again and again. He could close every door to her, and she would claw her way back in.
"I don't want to go. I'll never leave you, Erik. Never," Christine vowed. She wasn't sure that he believed her - if he would ever believe her - but it was enough for now. He lifted himself to unfasten his waistband, the realization of what was happening sending a throb of anticipation tearing through Christine's core. The mattress dipped as Erik lowered his primed body flush to hers, guiding her legs apart with his knee. She brought her arms around him, drawing him even closer as she felt the heated length of him pressing into her. It seemed like too much before it had even begun, the pressure as he slowly slid into her making her cry out at his intrusion. He brushed a kiss of apology over her lips and drove further inside. It hurt, and Christine welcomed the pain, arched against him, took him deeper. The dragging sting of their consummation couldn't contend with the thrill of his weight on top of her, the satisfaction of the strange vacancy that tortured her at last being filled.
What he was doing to her wasn't what she had expected the fucking he had foreshadowed earlier to be; instead, he was moving into her with the reverence of a disciple at worship in languorous strokes that were building to something dangerous. Tension coiled around her insides like a serpent ready to strike, a beating pulse on the precipice of explosion. Panting, she gripped him with slick, shaking thighs, tethering herself so as not to become lost in the blinding white flash that took ownership of her body and threatened to send her elsewhere. She reveled in the aftershocks brought on by his insistent rhythm until his hipbones were grinding against hers and he filled her with a final claiming thrust, his shivering body falling into her with a resounding moan. For a moment he remained motionless in recovery before reluctantly disentangling to lie on his back beside her.
Christine turned to survey him in the aftermath, to scout out his mood. A thin wash of sweat imbued his deathly skin with the hollow gleam of a diamond cabochon, glinting with the rise and fall of his heaving chest. Erik's mangled features had settled into a beatific repose, like he had just felt himself reborn as an innocent within her. And then swiftly the illusion shattered, his short-lived solace swallowed whole in an effusive sob.
Not this. Not now. He was going to coerce her pity and reassurances as she still thrummed with the ecstasy he'd granted her – and the biting ache he'd left after shredding her virginity. The thought of it made her stomach turn.
Then it came: "Tell me you love me, Christine! Say it, even if it's another one of your lies…let me hear the words or I'll die right here beside you! I swear it – I'll die!" he pleaded between racking wails of utter debasement. The desperation painted over his haunted visage made Christine willing to do whatever it took to comfort him.
She did love him; somewhere, buried beneath the dirt of seething resentment, self-preserving denial, and her own false piousness she hid a love so treacherous in its depth that she could hardly reconcile it. Christine loathed being forced to admit this aloud under the duress of one of his manipulative tantrums when she couldn't yet be entirely candid with her innermost self about the inextricable hold he had over her. Professing her feelings now would be conceding defeat. It would mean the destruction of any hope she had once held - however delusional - of somehow finding the strength to escape Erik and his suffocating, all-consuming emotions and wildly vacillating temperament, of forcing herself to lead a life of banal decency devoid of his peculiar enchantments that would make it worth living.
All the same, how could she deny that voice which bound her so thoroughly in its spell, pulling her to its every demented whim? Bittersweet relief surged through Christine as she decided to succumb to Erik; to inevitability; to herself.
"I love you, Erik" she said, unwavering. The confession freed her at the very same time that it chained her to a disfigured murderer for eternity. "I love you," she repeated, pressing her mouth to the jutting vertebrae of his shuddering spine, her dead eyes staring into the distance.
