Erik:
When I woke, I was more than annoyed to find I could barely remember the night before - save the moment when I recall falling into darkness. . . Disoriented, I looked around at my surroundings: the vanity table, the armoire, the cover of the bed. A bed, I suddenly noticed, and not my coffin. . .
It slowly dawned on me that the room that I had slept in was the Louis-Philippe room, the room I'd given to Christine.
My temples throbbed dully, and my throat was vaguely sore. There was a heavy pressure on my chest, and I wondered if I'd had another attack. It wouldn't have surprised me - I'd surely been forcing myself through enough to trigger one. But how, then, had I been brought here?
I sighed softly with frustration and instinctively moved my hadn towards my chest. It wasn't until then that I realized that it wasn't a stroke that had caused the pressure on my chest - it was the dear weight of Christine! My hand stopped itself of its own accord, but I could not bring myself to put it down. What an opportune moment, I mused, to rid myself of the desire to, one last time, touch her skin; one last time, to touch her cheek.
Deliberately, I moved my hand closer to her warm, pink cheek. And then, as my fingers touched her skin, I had fallen into bliss.
I would have kept my fingers there for all the time had I not noticed the flash of white in the corner of my eye.
Pulling my hand away, I touched my own face as my gaze fell on the gleaming porcelain of the broken mask. In mute horror I covered my face with my arms, lest Christine should see me. At least, I thought bitterly, let me have some dignity!
She sat up slowly, stifling a yawn with her delicate hand. And she looked directly at me! I wondered at her calmness in the presence of this ruined face - a face that I, myself, refused to even glance at. I let my arms drop uselessly to my sides and, to my astonishment, she graced me with an actual smile. My heart lept almost painfully to my throat as she touched the gauze on my forehead.
"Good morning, Erik," she said with unnerving composure. "How are you feeling?"
The initial shock of being unmasked still lingered, and I could only stare at Christine incredulously. How was it that she could bare to look at me without the shielding mask?
And it was for this that I reached for feebly. In understanding, she gave me the mask; even though she handled it carefully, the crack that had appeared in the middle of the pristine, white surfice grew out across it. Nonetheless, as I placed it back onto my face, the iciness of the porcelain calmed me greatly.
"What happened?" I asked, my voice somewhat hoarse. Instinctively, I flinched as her fingers felt my forehead once more. She frowned in a most endearing way as the coolness of her touch penetrated the bandages.
"You had a fever," she replied simply. "It's gone down now. . . you don't remember?"
I shook my head, closing my eyes for a moment. My throat had gone painfully dry at the thought of her being here with me, in my home - and not because she had been forced. Nor was it because she had been kidnapped by the creature in the dark. Letting out a shuddering breath, I realized that she watching me with guarded curiosity.
"You really don't remember." It was a statement, not a question. "It was a high fever. . . well, it doesn't surprise me, then." She chewed on her lower lip gently and toyed with a crease on the covers, deep in thought.
"Erik," she ventured quietly. Her gaze slowly met mine, timidness filling her deep blue eyes. "I hope you don't mind my asking but. . . when is your birthday?"
Her question caught me off-guard, and for once I was lost for words. Birthdays. . . when was my birthday? I would have laughed aloud at the fact that I didn't even know the date, had I not been so flustered by Christine's mere presence. I frowned behind the mask as the memory of mbeautiful mother bombarded me - the refusal of that simple sign of affection. . .
But why did Christine care about my birthday? Why did she even want to know when it was?
She too had an expression of mild surprise that it was taking me so long to remember, to provide her with a mere date. I smiled a little to bitterely and muttered, "You see. . . my poor, unhappy mother left the matter of days of birth out of our. . . conversations."
Christine nodded slowly, but by the look on her face, I knew she couldn't truly understand. "It's all right. . . I was only curious; I remember that you celebrated my birthday with me. . . when I was still in the corps de ballet. . . nevermind, Erik. Forget that I ever asked. I'll get you some water."
Nadir walked in as she left, showing me a half-smile and handing me a mask. He turned away obligingly as I replaced the broken one with the balck one. Turning back around, he stared at me, no ungently.
"How long has she been her?" I asked, slipping into Persian and breaking the silence that had settled.
"The whole night. Since we brought you home. So I take it you don't remember anything of what happened last night?"
"Has she eaten?"
"I made sure she ate something, yes. And I fed that damned cat of yourse." He showed me the back of his hands as evidence, revealing the shallow, but numerous, scratches he had accumulated. "He sighed and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "You were delirious, Erik. And since she stayed the whole night. . ."
He trailed off, an expression of helplessness on his face. I groaned quietly and pulled my hands through my hair. "What did I say?"
"I supposed that she. . . learned of a few events from your past. . ."
It was all I could do to supress another groan. Was that why she wanted to know my birthday? Because I'd inadvertently told her of my mother's rejection? And is it because of the telling of my past that she had stayed? Maybe she wanted to know more about this insane creature that once kidnapped her and threatened her very life - her dear, precious, beautiful life. I'd ruined her innocence, destroyed any slim chance of her having any affection for me. In my obsession, I refused to acknowledge her feelings. And now. . . and now. . .
Christine entered the room again and suddenly her arrival broke through my brooding like a ray of sunlight through a blanket of dark clouds. Her smile radiated a sort of ethereal warmth and I couldn't help but feel a sense of security in that smiple expression. Without another word, Nadir nodded towards Christine and slipped out of the room.
"Here," she said, placing the cup in my hands. "I would have gotten you tea, but I'm not exactly the most skillful with that. . . samovar."
She said the foreign word with difficulty, frowning a little. I sipped at the water, quenching my parched throat. I felt her bright eyes on me as I examined the broken mask, though I paid very little attention to it.
And now. . . and now, I was willing to let her live her own life. I'm little more, really, than her obedient and loyal dog, laying at her feet. I was willing to kill for her, and now I am willing to die for her. She wasn't mine, as I had once thought, and I didn't have her wrapped around my poverbial finger. No, I'd had it all backwards. I was hers to do with as she pleased. She held my soual and heart in her hands, and, perhaps, that is exactly as it should be.
"Summer," I murmured wistfully.
"What was that?"
Thoughtfully, I looked up at her, smirking slightly behind the back mask. "My birthday, I explained softly. "Late summer. . ."
The smile that appeared on her face would be the one expression that I would remember until the day I died.
Author's Note: Once again, the hiatus still stands. . . I'm really sorry, everyone. I was thinking I'd have time over winter break to get more chapters done, but unfortunately, that just wasn't the case. I don't know when the next chapter will be - whether it's next week, or next month. It may even be next summer. . . I just don't know. I do promise to try and get another chapter up by New Year's, but I really don't see it happening.