Helene rolled over slowly, reaching to find the coverlet that lay rumpled at the foot of the bed.
Erik had made love to her a second time during the night and her whole body seemed suffused with a pleasant, but persistent ache.
The blanket lay just out of her reach and she reluctantly sat up to grab it by a corner.
He was asleep, lying on his stomach with the right side of his face hidden in the pillows.
She drew the velvet blanket up to his waist,
noticing the tension of his shoulders. His hand lay close to his
face, half curled into a fist.
What are you dreaming of,
Erik…who are you dreaming of?
His unruly hair had fallen across his face and she reached over to smooth it back, not wanting his features to be hidden from her.
Lying as he was, every scar on his shoulder and back was clear to her. She murmured his name under her breath as she let her finger slowly trace its way through that terrible labyrinth of pain.
How long had he endured such abuse? How had he endured it?
One long thin scar ran across his ribs and matched perfectly with one on his arm, the narrow lash of a whip.
She closed her eyes against the sight, not wanting to imagine the things that had happened to him. And she lay down again, resting against his back…her own body covering the scars.
"Christine…"
It wasn't just the name itself that knifed through her. It was the tenderness in his voice.
She felt as if something inside her was dying. Her soul? Her heart?
She rose, wondering that she could even stand for she was shaking, and went to find her clothing.
Two days ago, it would not have hurt her this much…if he had never told her that he loved her…she could have borne it.
I cannot do it…I cannot stay here night after night…not knowing who he is really making love to.
She had not yet arranged for her luggage to be brought to the ruined opera house, there had been no pressing need to. It would make her departure so much easier, there was only the tiny trunk which she packed as quickly as she could…praying he would not hear her.
Her wedding ring still lay in a cracked dish of Chinese porcelain on his desk where he'd put it that day he slipped it from her hand.
She put the gold band on her finger, realizing that she was still wearing the necklace. She unfastened the heavy clasp and laid the choker on the desk.
She wanted to go to him and press her lips to his one last time. She wanted him to awaken, to pull her down into his arms and make love to her until she died from bliss.
She stood in the door that led up towards the Rue Scribe and looked back at him, almost unable to see him through the tears.
Don't let me go, Erik…please, wake up…please, don't let me leave…don't let me go!
But he did not move, did not awaken.
Then, picking up the little trunk, she hurried up the dark passageway.