NOTE: This chapter is one of my favorites as it is truly my dark obsession gone wild. I'm afraid some of my own "phantasies" crept in. Oh well, I am sure all of you phangirls out there will enjoy this chapter!
Ch.19 - Acceptance
Somehow Erik made it up the steps and into his bedroom before collapsing in exhaustion. He removed his silk cravat, and unbuttoned his shirt slightly, hoping to encourage his body to take in more oxygen, as he felt that he had been unable to breathe properly for several hours now. Erik opened the balcony door, allowing the spring breeze to embrace him. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, thinking that what he really needed was a hot bath to soothe his knotted muscles, and allow him a measure of solitude in which to replay the revelations of the past day. He opened the door to his bathroom, and drew a steaming bath. Removing his clothing, he sank into the scented water, enjoying the heat on his skin. For so many years, that skin had been unnaturally pale, due to his inhabitance below ground. However, after his treatments had been completed, he had taken a month-long trip to the Riviera, as something of a reward to himself for his endurance through the long ordeal. As a result, nearly his entire body now was a healthy tan color, although his modesty had been too great to allow him entire freedom from clothing, unlike many others he had encountered there.
As he lay soaking away his tension, his mind slowly began to unravel the twisted thoughts of the day, one by one, sorting through them and filing them away. Erik, Comte de Chagny? He snorted derisively. He would never have imagined himself a noble, and most definitely not of the same blood as that ridiculous boy, always playing Christine's white knight to his evil genius.
Yet, as he remembered Helena's words, his heart softened a bit for the brothers and the father he had never known. He had always believed that his father had run off before he was born and that his mother had abandoned him to the orphanage because she couldn't live with the ugliness of his face. That was what one of the older children in the orphanage had told him. The other children there had been horribly cruel to him, jealous of his talent for pleasing the headmistress with his music and for answering every question correctly during their lessons. They had tormented him relentlessly, often tearing his mask from his face and throwing it back and forth between them, relinquishing it only after the headmistress paddled them all soundly.
Erik closed his eyes remembering how he had run away from one hell, only to enter one far worse – taken by gypsies and forced to become part of their display of freaks, with his own face as the main attraction.
He pushed the unhappy memories away from his mind, and began to think instead of what he knew now. He had a father who had wanted him, even knowing of his deformity – a father who had searched for him until the time of his own death when he had passed the search on to his son. My brother, Erik thought wonderingly. Even knowing of his sins inside the Opera Populaire, Philippe had continued to search for him so that he might restore his birthright and help him to take his rightful place in the family.
Tears gathered in Erik's eyes. He had a family, and that family wanted him. He had been born of love, his mother had not abandoned him, and he had once had a father and brother that had cared enough to search for him. That thought was like a salve to Erik's wounded soul, healing so many hurts that had existed there as long as he could remember. Even the grandparents who had reviled him he could forgive, now that all had been made right. It was enough.
There was one item of Helena's revelations that still troubled him, however. Christine's marriage, or rather lack of one. If she had been free all this time, why had she not sought him out? If Philippe knew that he was not dead, that must surely mean that Raoul knew as well, which in turn should have meant that Christine was most likely aware of it. He sighed. Perhaps she wanted to believe he was dead. It certainly would simplify her life. And of course, she had rejected his love once before. Why should he think that just because she chose not marry the Vicomte, she would come running back to the one whom she had cast aside so easily before? He ran his hands through his dark hair in order to rinse the soap from it, then stood and stepped lightly from the tub, wrapping himself in a towel.
He walked back into the bedroom, holding the towel around his waist with one hand, and reaching to light a candle with the other. What was that infernal racket downstairs, he wondered? With a start, he realized it was someone knocking...no, pounding on his front door. With a muttered curse he reached for a robe from his wardrobe. While certainly not presentable for polite company, he wrapped it around himself hurriedly. He was thinking blackly that the unwelcome party at the door would have to anticipate that at such an ungodly hour he would most likely not be dressed appropriately. He stormed down to the door in an absolute temper, angry for the disruption in his thoughts, and cursing his decision suddenly to return to society. He flew down the stairs to the front door and threw it open rudely, ready to assail his intruder with a verbal assault relating to the etiquette surrounding the proper time frame of social calls. To his amazement, there stood the lovely Helena, her fist still raised from her last knock.
Helena's eyes were wide with shock as she took in the murderous expression and unusually casual appearance of the man before her. His hair was damp, and curled slightly at the nape of his neck. He wore only a robe of deepest blue that served to highlight the golden tan of his body beneath it. Every muscle of his lean masculine frame stood outlined in the fine fabric that clung slightly to his skin, which was still damp. Where his robe remained open at neck, she could see his well muscled chest and the sparse dark hair that covered it. Good lord, he is beautiful, she thought with a sigh.
Suddenly realizing she had been shamelessly ogling her angry host for nearly a minute now, she blushed a deep crimson and stammered an explanation. "My handbag," she squeaked. "I forgot it here earlier. I...I apologize deeply for the intrusion at this late hour, monsieur, but the key to my room and all of my money is inside of it. I...I had nowhere to go..." She trailed off in embarrassment.
Erik managed to nod and turned inside to retrieve her handbag from the sofa. He wondered vaguely why he had not noticed it there earlier. He stepped back to the door, wrapping his robe a little more securely around himself, suddenly acutely aware that he wore nothing underneath. This time when he reached the door, she was staring in deep concentration at the walkway below her feet as if it were the most interesting subject in the world. Erik could not help a slightly amused grin. He held her handbag out to her. Her cheeks blushed scarlet again as she briefly met his eyes, reaching for her bag. She murmured a quick 'thank you' and nearly ran down the walk to her carriage.
Erik closed the door, bemused by her reaction. If he had not known better, he would have thought she had been momentarily attracted to him. The same woman who had been so self-assured mere hours before had seemed as an awkward school girl just now. Of course, Erik reasoned, she was young and unmarried, so it was logical that she had probably never seen a man in such a state of undress before. Still, remembering the loveliness of her face with its maidenly blush, he secretly treasured her reaction. He was not accustomed to young ladies being attracted to his appearance, quite the opposite in fact.
As Erik climbed the stairs to his bedroom once more, he realized that he was bone jarringly tired. He was no longer a young man, a thought he didn't care to dwell on, although his body was more fit than those of many men half his age. As he reached his bedroom at last, he extinguished the candle, removed his robe, and slipped in among the fine sheets. Yes, this day had given him much to think about. Yet as his damp head met the pillow, sleep quickly overcame all thought.