Chapter 4: Stolen Indulgence
Days passed, and Christine became increasingly listless. She rarely spoke, except in a laudanum haze, and then her thoughts were disjointed and fantastic. The rigor that had seized her during the first few days had passed, and now, when she returned to the real world, she waited patiently and quietly for Erik to administer the drug once more. Life no longer held any hope for her and the magic of slipping away was the only source of pleasure left. In dreams she could find the happiness that had been taken from her in life, and she spent timeless days lingering in the sun with her father and Raoul.
Sometimes she smiled. Sometimes she even laughed to herself. And Erik stood by and watched and listened, and he smiled when she smiled; for in his mind, it was a sign that she was not altogether unhappy in his house. The hysteria had passed and she did not shudder when he gave her the nightly draught, not even when he brushed her hand with his own. Time was slipping past, and much had changed since that fateful night. He had a wife! And she was learning to tolerate him. It was a very slow progression to be sure, but it was happening and perhaps one day he could wean her off the medicine and they could put all regret, all shame, all betrayal behind them.
Perhaps one day, but not yet. In the corner of his mind Erik knew there was another reason to keep Christine insensate, though he was reluctant to admit it. In her dreams, she often looked on him with shining eyes that spoke of love. She would reach out to him, and sometimes he would go to her and touch her arm or hand without fear. He knew in these moments that she imagined someone else's face watching her and hands touching her, but these stolen affections were too distressingly gratifying to part with. Her skin, so warm and soft, became unbearably tempting in her submission, and he would not give it up, could not, when he had been denied so much in life. It was a theft, of course, and on the grandest scale, but is it so wrong to take what is denied by cruelty and injustice? If a beggar steals his bread to live, should he be condemned?
And so Erik led Christine into dependence and encouraged her lucid dreams, allowing her to believe he was another while he stroked her warm flesh and brought forth sighs of elation from her perfect throat. It was a dark path they now tread, to be sure, but Erik would not consider that it was destructive as well. Not when Christine began to show physical signs of addiction, trembling violently if he were even a few hours late with her treatment, and not when her affections grew more forward, so that he not only touched her arms but sometimes her face and neck as well. And so they descended the viscous spiral of dependence together.
And time passed to the constant attrition of their lives until the eve of their third month together. Erik had been out to purchase some gifts for his wife, a few toiletries and some pretty night clothes. But the streets had been crowded, although it was evening, and these small errands took him far longer than he had anticipated. When he arrived home, and unlocked the door to Christine's room, he found her collapsed in her bathroom, shivering and sweating. It was obvious that she had been sick, perhaps many times, and he cursed his negligence as he carried her back to bed. These were withdrawal symptoms and Erik found them deeply distressing. He quickly prepared the draught, increasing the dosage in the hope that it would help her sickness pass more quickly. Christine's hands shook so violently that he had to hold the glass for her as she drank and awkwardly spilled some of the liquid on her nightgown. But she managed to swallow most of it and within ten minutes, the shaking had completely subsided. Her body relaxed once more, though the look of distress lingered on her face.
After he was certain that she was no longer in danger, he left her room for some time to prepare the gifts he had purchased for their anniversary. When he returned, he found that she had been crying, for her eyes were red and her cheeks wet with tears. But the moment she noticed him, her face changed entirely. A great smile broke out suddenly and her eyes shone with a look that was utterly incomprehensible to Erik. Her breath trembled with excitement as she sighed, and she held out her arms to him invitingly.
"You're back," she whispered and her voice was full of desire. He had never seen her like this before-so comfortable in her yearning-and it struck him as exceedingly feminine. Throughout their relationship he had only ever seen her as a girl, a sort of adult child. But now, for the first time, he saw her as a woman, and he realized suddenly that all his fantasies had been nothing compared to the magical possibilities that existed in reality. He desired this new vision, and all it had to offer, more than he could ever have anticipated and it overwhelmed him with a fierceness that was maddening. He had to hold her! No matter who she thought he was he had to accept that embrace.
Erik moved to her bedside with trepidation, nervous, like a small boy, in his excitement of the potential offered in her welcoming arms. And as he sat, she moved her body against him and held him, pressing her golden head against his chest and grasping his back with passionate urgency. But then she lifted her head, and laid it on his shoulder, and he could feel her breath on his neck, and her trembling lips brushing his skin, and the black desire set upon him so viciously that his vision grew dark and his head swam. He clutched at her hair, holding the flowing locks tight so that he could not move his hands to more tempting places. His control was balanced upon a knife's edge and he felt the void of utter ruin beneath his feet. It was only a matter of time before he fell and poor Christine would be pulled down with him. But still he struggled to restrain himself, and he panted wildly from the effort.
Perhaps Christine believed he was in the throes of the same passion she was, for after a time, she lifted her head, looked him in the eyes and spoke:
"Kiss me," she said.
The terrible gasping stopped, the shaking stopped, and Erik was suddenly paralyzed, unable to breathe.
"Kiss me," she said again, and her eyes half closed as she lifted her face to him.
Every thing of beauty that he had ever possessed had been stolen. It was impossible now to turn away from that life of theft, to not claim the object of his most urgent craving when it was mistakenly offered. He took off his mask and waited a few moments, to give her one last chance to understand her actions. But she didn't turn away and so he leaned in slowly, nervously and with a thrill of anticipation, and kissed her moist parted lips. And as he pulled her to him, he felt her hot breath in his mouth, and her hands in his hair, and he realized too late that it was overwhelmingly erotic and enticing. He was caught in a landslide and in a last moment of desperation, he threw himself from her and backed across the room, tripping and stumbling.
But as he watched her he understood finally the strange look that had been in her eyes since he first entered the room. It was more than longing-it was real human joy. And it shocked him that this look was more desirable to him than even those coral lips. But why should it shock him. Didn't he want love above all? More than a body to hold and explore. But that body was tempting too, so tempting in its misguided submission. He told himself that her mind wouldn't know, wouldn't remember the kiss, wouldn't remember the next kiss and hate him in the morning. As long as he didn't truly violate her, as long as he left no marks, no trace or evidence, she would never be sure that it wasn't a dream. Was she even dreaming at all? Maybe it was him that she wanted. She had looked into his eyes-she must have known it was him kissing her! And so he believed what he needed to, and he went to her once more. This time he didn't pull away or stop, but kissed her until the pressure of her small breasts against his chest nearly drove him mad. And he touched her, falling ever further into the abyss of desire, now halting, now justifying his exploration, always pushing the world away, even when she whispered in his ear, "I thought you were dead"; always counting the minutes until the delirium would end.
