Author's Note: Sorry for the lack of updates. This last week was utter Hell at school and honestly, if I weren't six classes from graduating with my degree, I'd quit. Anyway, Erik is not mine. If he were, he'd be supporting me in getting out of school rather than making appearances in my pitiful fanfictions...
How Hungry Would a Woman Have to Be? – Chapter Three
The streets of Paris were cold and silent as the masked man made his way through the alleys. He paused by the Seine and studied the ice flows on the river to pass the time until the hour of their arranged meeting. She had said that nine would be the best time to find her without being seen and he took great precautions in order to secure their meetings. Even in the dark streets of Paris, the mask was still enough to cause hatred and fear in the souls of the populace and he had quickly concluded that it was best to just not be seen.
As he watched the ice flow by, he briefly recalled the first time that he had stood at this same spot and the events that had followed that evening.
Two months earlier...
She sighed into his chest as he drew her nearer and nearer, as if he was trying to envelop her into his soul. She guided him back towards the bed and deftly began to undo his waistcoat but his arms stiffened around her.
"Please...leave it...please..."
She stopped and put her hands on his chest, running them over the lapels of his suit and felt the taut muscles underneath. His breath began to come in quick gasps as she stroked the outline of his body and in response, he began to move his hands over her body. For a time they just stood there stroking each other, relishing the feelings of the other's caresses. She lay her head back on his chest and whispered to him "Love, what will you have me do for you?"
He was brought out of his sensory heaven by the soft question and again, the talons of fear and shame gripped his heart. He had never imagined that anything could be so wonderful, that anything could ever feel as perfect as this. He had often wondered how it would feel to be touched by another and finally, he had gotten his wish. But he could not and would not expose himself. Now that she was pressed softly in his arms, he could not bear having his dream taken away. She felt so right and made him feel complete. But she would undoubtedly leave if she saw his face and he knew that if he allowed her to disrobe him, he would not be able to control his black desires. She must not see...
"May I see you?" He asked in a timid voice. In response, she took his hands and led them to the buttons on her bodice. He slowly undid them and the laces of the shift underneath and held in a startled gasp as he gazed at her beauty. He had seen the scantily clad harem girls in Persia and the Gypsy women who provocatively danced around the campfires to entice their men, but never had he imagined that this is what was concealed by the dresses and veils. This woman was beautiful...
He wanted to press his face into the softness of her stomach, yearning to draw her close and embrace the whole of her, but he could not. He could not bring himself to do anything lest he soil this image of feminine perfection that stood before him.
And more than anything, he wanted to kiss her.
He contented himself by holding her, memorizing the softness of her skin and the warmth of her body. He committed every curve, every slope of her body to memory so that in the lonely days to come, he would have this night to sustain him.
The dawn had found the two entwined in the Marceline's small bed, Erik still fully clothed and Marceline covered in a thin cotton shift. No love-making had transpired in the wee hours of the morning, but both were contented with the simple pleasures that came from the comforting touches of another human being. Erik had awoken first and was shocked at finding the sleeping prostitute asleep in his arms but something twisted inside him when he realized that she slept comfortably and trustingly in his embrace. For the first time in his life, he felt as though he was accepted, that perhaps he was a man and not just the monster that he had been forced to become as he went through his life. Tears pricked at his eyes and he moved to wipe them away before they rolled down the mask. The movement had woken Marceline and she rolled over and smiled at him.
"Good mornin', love." she whispered as her dark eyes twinkled at him. He had asked her to take off the blindfold later in the evening so that she might be more comfortable as she slept.
"Marceline..." He reached out and stroked her cheek with his free hand and a flush of happiness flooded him as she leant trustingly into his caress. He could feel the tears coming now, the tears of the joy of being accepted as a man.
Seeing his golden eyes fill with water, Marceline wondered again why this man was so reserved yet so emotional. The night before had been the first night in nearly two months when she had not been forced to 'perform' and yet this man seemed to be completely undone by actions she normally would've considered to be a tender form of foreplay. It seemed as though he considered touching to be of great significance and she could almost find his timidity amusing as he would not touch any part of her unless she invited him to. He never even once tried to kiss her. Considering this, she realized the truth in his statement that he was unlike any of her other patrons.
She stared at him quietly until he began to feel uncomfortable next to her in the morning light. Again, her proximity was beginning to overwhelm him and he sat up in the bed and moved away from her.
"Thank you, Marceline..." he whispered. The intensity of the adoration and gratitude in his beautiful voice almost undid her as she was only beginning to realize the magnitude of his emotions. For one of the first times in her life, she was rendered speechless.
"I cannot thank you enough. You do not understand...cannot possibly fathom how much this meant to me..."
He stood up from the bed and began to shake out the wrinkles in his beautiful dress suit and smoothed the hairs of his wig. Watching him prepare to leave, Marceline called out to him from her reclining position in the bed.
"What's the hurry, love? There ain't no need to rush if you've the time to stay."
"I must go...I must not overstay my welcome. It is late already."
"Love, it's only 'bout seven in the mornin'. You've got a long way to go before overstayin' your welcome and can stay for some breakfast if you want."
"I must go." He repeated. "It is light out and I must not be seen."
The comment struck her like a physical blow and a wave of coldness flooded over her. She had been wrong; he was just like all of the others even if he didn't sleep with her. He was ashamed to be seen with her, unwilling to admit to even himself that he had been lonely enough to seek out a woman for hire. It was far from the first time that this had happened with a patron, but this time hurt more than the others. Perhaps it was her foolish idea that he had considered her to be more than an animal.
"Ah, we canna have you seen wi' the likes o' me now can we? Mustn't soil the reputation. I understan', dearie. Just close the door on the way out." She said coldly as she drew the worn quilt up to cover herself.
Instead of leaving like any other patron would have, Erik turned around with an expression of absolute and complete horror in his eyes. "You cannot believe that..." he whispered harshly. "Please tell me that you don't believe that..." He had never imagined that his natural inclination to hide from prying eyes might be misconstrued as his shame to have solicited her services. She looked at him coldly, the twinkle in her eyes gone and in two strides he crossed the room and fell to his knees at the side of the bed.
"Oh God, please don't think that! I could never be ashamed of you...you cannot understand. It's my fault...I cannot...I cannot be seen by anyone. I...I must hide from everyone, from the world you see...this has nothing to do with you, nothing!"
His eyes had filled with tears and he shook his head as he spoke, not daring to look her in the face. His hands had a death grip on the thin bed coverings and the knuckles were white as he continued to stammer.
"It is my fault...please forgive me! I never meant to make you think...I never meant to imply that I..."
A gentle hand covered his strained one and silently coaxed him to releasing his grip on the quilt. He looked at her then, his eyes filled with tears and two thin rivulets running down the porcelain mask. In her dark eyes, the coldness had been replaced by tenderness and she smiled at him as she wiped the tears on the mask away.
"It's alright, love. Just a misunderstandin' , that's all. You needn't trouble yourself anymore...but it is light out and if you have to leave then it's alright by me. I'll miss the company though..."
He looked at her in amazement as she let the implied invitation hang in the air. He had never even considered what he would do after leaving, had never contemplated whether or not he would want to return. He had taken it for granted that she would most likely not ask him back for a second time and he was uncertain as to whether or not he desired to meet with her a second time. But deep down inside, he knew he wanted her.
He knew he needed her...
"If I...Perhaps if I was in...If I happened to find you again, would you...would you be willing to...to spend the night with me?"
At this, she smiled broadly and took both of his hands in hers. "I'd be honored if you needed my services again. It's not often that I get to spend the night with a gentleman. I'm often along the Rue St. Honore at night, just ask for me."
He had asked for her the next time he had walked through those streets. And he had found her and hired her for the same evening every following week. Two months had passed by and although it was still the heart of winter, the days became longer and their time together became shorter. Even so, they held each other and comforted each other until the first rays of dawn appeared in the sky and then Erik would sneak away into the remnants of the night. He always paid more than she asked for her services despite her protests and had even brought her small tokens of his appreciation which he begged her to accept.
He looked at his pocket watch and realized that he had waited longer than he expected and walked off in the direction of the Rue St. Honore. He kept to the shadows in the alleys, moving as silently as he possibly could and before long, he had rounded the bend to the alley where she normally solicited. He saw her standing and laughing next to another young prostitute as she waited and he came into view. By stepping into the dim light of the alley, he saw that there was also a man, presumably a patron, with them. A twinge of jealousy ripped at his heart but then she looked up and saw him and flashed her beautiful white smile in his direction. Turning to the man, she said with a smile "Well sir, it's a lovely evenin' and you'd best get 'round to enjoyin' it. Might I suggest Laurine here; she's available and is quite the catch. Have a good night."
She moved to walk away but the man grabbed her arm roughly and hissed at her "I want you. I asked for you and I want you, not your friend here. Jacques offered you and you I'll have."
She shrugged out of his hard embrace and, in a tone that brooked no argument, replied "I have already been engaged for tonight. You will have to come back tomorrow to have my services."
She walked away with the patron throwing curses behind her but as she approached Erik's motionless form, she smiled and held out her hands.
"Sorry 'bout that, love. That's what you get workin' wi' Jacques. Come along now..."
Erik looked down into her face and her dark eyes and felt something inside him turn over. Until now, he had ignored the fact that she really was a prostitute. In his mind, he had blocked that thought from his consciousness and began to lie to himself that she actually chose to come to him. It was easy enough to lie; he was desperate and she patiently and trustingly waited for him at the appointed hour each week. This was the first time that he had ever seen her with another patron and it hurt him to acknowledge that it was only the money that she was after.
What did you expect, you fool? That she could ever come to care for you?
However, he did follow her back to her home and allowed her to remove his wraps as he had at their first meeting. As she hung them with care on the hooks in her wall, he looked around the apartment and saw the traces of himself there. The room had been bare when he first visited, but now it was much more comfortable thanks to his gifts and his money. The thin quilt had been replaced by a warmer one in bright colors, next to the colored dish there was a small jade sculpture of an elephant that he had given her from the Orient. The shawl that she now hung next to his cloak was a warm yet delicate item that was smelled of her personal scent as well as the more flattering perfume that he had bought for her.
She stood back from him and looked up into his eyes and assumed her normal matter-of-fact tone when she announced "There's somethin' we need to discuss, love. I've got news that will concern you an' me an' I don't want you gettin' upset or angry wi' me, please..."
She led him over to the bed and sat down next to him and took his hands in hers. "Well, love, I'm right 'shamed o' myself now...but there ain't nothin' I can do 'bout it. Please forgive me...I'm sorry 'bout this..."
He felt cold at these remarks and stood and walked toward the door. She was telling him that she didn't want him anymore; that could be the only thing that would bring her to this level of discomfort.
"I am sorry to have troubled you. I will not return, you do not need to ask me to leave."
She shocked him by running from the bed and pushing him away from the door. "No, love! It ain't that for heaven's sake! Please...it's not you a' tall..."
Tears formed in her dark eyes and his instinct moved him to take her in his arms to comfort her. "What is it?" he asked. "What on earth could trouble you so much, Marceline?"
She shrugged out of his embrace and turned from him, not able to look him in the eyes.
"I'm with child..." The words hung in the cold air of the room. She took a breath and then continued "I just needed to tell you. There ain't a thing I can do to fix this and I wanted you to know why I wouldn't be able to see you for a time. I'm to be a mother in five months an' I canna be workin' like this if the babe's to be healthy. An' after it's born, I don't want it to have a whore for its mama. I won't be back on the Rue St. Honore."
She turned around and looked at him with tears in her eyes. His eyes were empty behind the expressionless mask and she took a deep breath and pushed on. "But I wanted to talk to you 'bout this. You're the only patron I've got who ain't been a bastard to me. The only man who treated me like I was somethin'. You're the best man I've ever met and you're also the loneliest of 'em all. What I'm tryin' to say is that after the child is born, I'd still like to see you sometimes. An' I wouldn't charge a sou...I'm lonely too, you see..."
She started to cry and he automatically wrapped his arms around her and held her. "Oh, Marceline..." he whispered.
Whatever he was about to say was lost in the moment as the door to the room burst open and Jacques stood in the doorway, drunk and horribly angry. Marceline moved from Erik's arms to confront him and Jacques walked over to her and struck her hard across her face. She crumpled to the floor and protected her abdomen as he kicked her in her side.
"What're you doin' with this freak?" he spat, his fat face purple with anger. "When I tell you you're to fuck a man, you do it! An' I told you you weren't to bed this monster!"
Erik moved like an angel of death as he struck out at Jacques to protect Marceline. Jacques was able to connect one punch to Erik's face, but Erik then grabbed the man by his throat and closed his hand as the air wheezed from his victim. He choked the life out of the man and when the corpse lay limply in his vice-like grip, he dropped the body to the ground. He turned to Marceline only to find her staring at him with absolute horror in her eyes.
His porcelain mask, shattered by the blow, lay in pieces at his feet.
A/N: Well, isn't that a nice little cliffhanger for all? It isn't the end and there's one more chapter left which will be short but will wrap up everything.
Many thanks to Nessarose, SRP, North Angel, Sue Raven for your reviews. I hope that this chapter pleases you as well as the last one did!
Rowin, thanks for your review and thanks for the synopsis of the movie! I have wondered for ages exactly what happened and while strange, the end does sound intriguing if disappointing by a Phan's perspective. Thanks again!
Lil Shady, thank you again for your support in both 'Patron' and 'Hungry'. Regarding your remarks about being a medium to get Erik in character, I must say that I am the most cynical and realistic person I know; needless to say, I am not a medium. And also reading the original French version of 'Phantom', I don't think that even Leroux got our Erik in character...or at least not the type of character we want him to be! I'm sorry, but some of his habits were a bit...um...overly eccentric, to put it gently! Regarding your 'Erik-on-the-shoulder', I used to have an 'Erik-in-my-basement', but when I moved to my apartment I had to leave him at home. Nobody else in my family is a phan and so he's lonely and has taken to swinging our dining room chandelier to get attention...okay, so the foundations of our house are settling but a swinging Erik is more fun than the passage of time, wouldn't you say?
Gryffingirl and Suzey, both of you had mentioned the British Cockney accent...yeah, I know all about it. I do speak French and lived in France for a short time, but I have been unable to write with a 'slummy' French accent. Actually, all of my efforts to put French accents into English turn out to be a horrible mix of French, Italian, German, and some Russian thrown together to make some indiscernible nonsense that is difficult to read and impossible to understand. So I stuck with what I know. In this case, it happened to be British cockney...but Marceline is French, is from Paris, and just so happens to have this little flaw in that she is a heavily British accented Parisian...there's no mystery here other than my own incompetence with writing in accents. Thank you both for your reviews and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter!
ErikaNapoleonica, in the words of the immortal Severus Snape, you are an insufferable know-it-all. So enjoy the 400 house points to the houses of Slytherin and Ravenclaw if you are of those houses. However, like Severus, I'll deduct 400 points from Gryffindor, if that's your house of choice, and 800 points from Hufflepuff...the only thing worse than a Gryffindor is a Hufflepuff. Regardless of your house affiliation, thanks for your reviews and support. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter!!
Olethros, again I must offer you my thanks. But why on earth are you worried? Why are your innards twisting about? Hopefully it's not due to disgust on the fiction at hand! Regardless of the reason, I've heard that such a state cannot possibly be healthy! I hope that this chapter meets your expectations and thank you again for your words of encouragement!