If you would cure anger, do not feed it. Say to yourself: 'I used to be angry every day; then every other day; now only every third or fourth day.' When you reach thirty days offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving to the gods.
Epictetus (55AD – 135 AD)
Sacrifice is something all of us do at one point or another in our lives. Whether it is allowing a friend that moment of joy or pleasure, thereby putting our own needs behind that of the one individual, or perhaps the ultimate sacrifice – letting go of our one true love – even though you know your heart would break in two, sacrifice is something we all must deal with – either now or later.
For Erik the time had come sooner that he thought. Still cradling Marie-Christine in his arms, he called out for the driver to change his direction. There was only one person who could and who would help. He only hoped that she was at home.
"Please . . ." Erik whispered, listening to Marie-Christine's breathing growing more and more faint with each passing moment. "Please . . . don't die," he pleaded.
The carriage traveled faster and faster, the horses' gallop causing the carriage to rock just a bit. For Erik, it was still not fast enough. Turning his attention back to Marie-Christine, he did his best to smooth out her rumpled clothing, hoping to erase any hints of what had just occurred, of their near . . . encounter. He held her close to his chest; much like a father protecting his daughter, just like when took care of . . .
"No . . ." he whispered quietly. He knew he must not think of Christine. She was gone and now he had Marie-Christine. She was the present and Christine was the past.
Time had lost all meaning as he watched Marie-Christine hanging by a thread; her precious life seeming to slip away. The trip which had taken a few hours earlier seemed like an eternity at the moment. Erik's thoughts, though, were interrupted as the carriage came to a stop. Apparently, the trip back into Paris did not take as long as he thought. He opened the door of the carriage, still carrying Marie-Christine in his arms. Erik paid the driver and bid him goodnight. He then turned and proceeded to the back of the dress shop. Once there, Erik knocked on the door. No one answered. Fumbling again, still holding Marie-Christine in his arms, he knocked once more, this time with greater force.
Slowly the door opened. "Erik?" A familiar voice greeted him. It was Madame Giry.
"I am truly sorry for disturbing you this late at night but I am in need of your assistance." Erik asked.
Madame Giry looked down to see Erik cradling what appeared to be a young woman in his arms. At first glance, she thought of Christine, but quickly dismissed that thought as Christine was dead.
"This way," she motioned with her hand.
Erik followed as she led him up the small staircase towards her bedroom. He passed through the doorway and made his way to Madame Giry's bed. Placing Marie-Christine down, Erik paused for a moment. He was about to speak when Madame Giry put her hand to his lips.
"Shhh . . . speak softly. Your young friend needs rest. Now tell me what happened?" she asked.
Erik dwelled for a moment on how to explain things. Nevertheless, the evidence seemed to speak for itself. Giving him a look of exasperation, Madame Giry turned away and began to pull the shoes from Marie-Christine's small feet.
"I . . . we . . . were in the carriage . . . there was a dinner . . . she placed her hand to my face . . . she removed my mask . . . she touched that side of my face . . . my unmasked side . . ." Erik was at a loss for words.
"She tried to heal your face? Didn't she?" Madame Giry quickly surmised, as she pulled the covers of her bed over Marie-Christine's petite frame. She remembered the story of the extraordinary young lady that had saved Erik from almost certain death, and now it seemed that this young girl was the one whose life hanged in the balance.
"Yes, she did." Erik's voice grew quiet. He chided himself for allowing his emotions to rule his thoughts. For that one moment of pleasure, he now had to watch Marie-Christine suffered and possibly . . . die.
"Well," Madame Giry began. "She is breathing. From what I remember that you told me, her ability to heal you or anyone for that matter seemed to take away some of her energy. Therefore we can wait for one day. No one will be coming to the shop tomorrow."
"Why?" Erik asked.
"Tomorrow is Sunday. Did you forget Erik?" Madame Giry replied.
Erik thought for a moment. Was today Saturday? He began to add up the days and it had almost been a week since that last night when he had seen Christine, when she and Raoul slowly drifted away in the boat, away from his lair, his life, his heart.
"Erik?" Madame Giry touched his shoulder. He looked up, sadness and uncertainty now adorning his face.
"Yes?" he answered a look of bewilderment worn on his face.
"She needs to rest and we need to talk. I have a feeling that there are many things you need to tell me."
"You are correct." Erik agreed.
Madame Giry began to descend the stairs, Erik following closely behind. Once at the bottom of the staircase, she motioned for Erik to continue on into the small living room. "Why don't I make some tea? You can have a seat."
"Some tea . . . would . . . be nice." Erik whispered; a slight quiver present in his voice.
Erik sat down, his body finally feeling the weight of all that had happened within the past view hours. Finally he could take no more and therefore he began to quietly sob, unable to stop the tears that now flowed freely.
Upon entering the small parlor, Madame Giry was bit taken aback to see Erik crying. The sobbing itself did not concern her but rather the fact that he seemed unable to stop himself.
"Erik?" she placed her hand to his shoulder. He looked up. It was then she realized what he was wearing. "Where did you go tonight? You're not wearing your normal attire."
Balefully, he told her about the night.
"Oh Erik, that was very risqué of you. Someone might have recognized you!" She could not believe the turn of events that he was relating to her!
"I know, but . . ." he turned and took a small sip of the tea, placing back on the tiny end table.
"Go on . . ." Madame Giry urged.
"We danced. It was the most incredible experience I could have ever imagined." A slight smile began to form at the corner of his lips as Erik thought of the pleasant memories of the night.
"You danced? Where did you ever learn to dance?" Madame Giry asked; a hint of surprise was quite evident in her voice.
"I had read books and with Marie-Christine, I just did what felt . . . right." Erik's voice lowered.
"You never cease to amaze me. What music was played that night?" She turned and took a sip from her tea and waited for an answer.
"It was . . . Don Juan Triumphant." Erik waited for a reply from Madame Giry. He wasn't sure he really wanted to hear the answer.
"MY GOD!" she exclaimed. "Where on earth did anyone find a copy of it? I thought they were all destroyed in the fire."
Erik then went on to relate the remaining events of the night, including the dinner to which they were invited. He did not leave out a single detail, including the elements of flirting in which both he and Marie-Christine engaged. All the while, Madame Giry listened and drank her tea. Finally she spoke once more.
"Erik? What do you want from Marie-Christine?'
Erik thought for moment. What did he want from Marie-Christine? He'd come across her by happenstance. He'd many times he could have walked away and yet he did not. He was still here by her side and wanting more. The only question that truly remained was what and why?
"I don't know. I guess that I . . ." Erik stumbled in trying to find the right words to express how he felt.
"Want more?" Madame Giry offered.
"I do want more, but I do not know if I am allowed to have that . . . more that is." Erik replied.
"You are allowed Erik whatever your heart desires. You are a living, breathing human being with dreams and needs that should be fulfilled. Do you think Marie-Christine wants more from you than friendship?" she waited for his answer.
"I do not know." Erik shook his head, a hint of disappointment showing through.
"How does she act when she is around you?" Madame pressed further.
"She's such a mixture of emotions. One moment, she can caring, the next she has actually raised her voice . . . to ME!" Erik seemed genuinely surprised that anyone would dare to raise his or her voice to him . . . The Phantom of the Opera.
Then, Erik found the tears that had disappeared earlier, coming back to flow freely down his cheek. "She has kissed me. Her kisses are like honey. They are so sweet, delicious, almost intoxicating. She has also saved . . . my soul."
"Erik? Have you ever thought that perhaps Marie-Christine sees the beauty WITHIN you?" Madame Giry paused for a moment and waited for Erik to answer.
"How can she? Or anyone for that matter love a monster?" he retorted in an attempt to brush the idea of love quickly from his mind.
"She doesn't love a monster." Madame Giry told him.
Erik looked perplexed by her statement, almost as if she were confirming his worst fears.
"She loves YOU."
The two of them sat in silence for some time. Finally it was Madame Giry who stood from her chair. "Erik, you can stay here the night. Tomorrow night, though, you and Marie-Christine will need to leave. The store opens on Monday morning and I cannot have unexpected guests."
"I understand. I will find . . . I will take care of Marie-Christine," he assured her.
"See that you do. If you would like, I can go with you and stay the night where you would wish. Perhaps by then Marie-Christine will have had sufficient rest and awaken." Madame Giry turned and retrieved a small blanket that was draped over a chair in the room.
When she woke, the first thing Marie-Christine noticed was the smell of smoke. Although it was not overpowering, it was still quite pronounced. Swinging her legs to the side of the bed, Marie-Christine stood and walked slowly to the door. When she opened it, she was surprised to find she was back at the Opéra Populaire. Marie-Christine stepped through the doorway and onto the stage.
As she moved closer, she took note of a gathering of people at the center of the stage. Little by little, their voices became clearer.
"Kill him!" one voice cried out.
"Burn him!" another shouted.
"He doesn't deserved to live!" a third voice added.
Marie-Christine focused her attention on the large object found in the middle of the stage. It was a wicker box . . . correction . . . a coffin. It was situated on a small pile of dry wood and some kindling. It took a moment, but she soon realized that there was someone inside the coffin. It was Erik.
"What are you doing?" Marie-Christine called out. She made out a dark shadow of a figure. The unknown entity held in its hand a torch and it was lit! The mysterious form looked back at Marie-Christine but she could not make out the identity. Then, without warning, the torch was dropped and the coffin began to burn.
"NO!" Marie-Christine cried out! She tried to move but for some reason found her feet suddenly immobile. She watched in horror as Erik was burned alive.
"ERIK! NO! ERIK! NO! PLEASE!" She screamed and then . . .
Erik burst into the room. He'd heard her cries from the sitting room and frantically raced up the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. Upon entering, Erik saw that Marie-Christine was still sobbing and screaming, unaware of his presence. He ran to her bedside and quickly took her into his arms.
"Marie-Christine," he whispered. "I'm here. Shhh…I'm here."
As much as he tried, Erik found that he could not calm Marie-Christine as quickly as he would have liked. She seemed to be living an almost waking nightmare; oblivious to his presence. Finally, he did the only thing he knew how to do – he began to sing. The song was a simple and yet hauntingly beautiful.
La Belle s'est endormie sur un beau lit de roses . . .
Blanche comme la neige, belle comme le jour . . .
ils sont trois capitaines qui veulent lui faire la cour . . .
Erik couldn't recall the origin of the song, but it served its purpose. He had heard it once before and that was all he remembered. Soon, Marie-Christine's tears and sobs subsided, her breathing became calm and then she was fast asleep in his arms.
It was at that moment that Erik noticed Madame Giry standing in the doorway to the room; a smile displayed on her face. Erik nodded his head; acknowledging her presence. Shifting his position, he laid out on the bed, still holding Marie-Christine in his arms. She did wake.
Madame Giry said nothing. She merely closed the door and allowed Erik and Marie-Christine something that had not enjoyed for quite some time – peace.
The next evening, it was time for Erik and Marie-Christine to return to his lair – home as it were for the moment. Madame Giry assisted in their journey as she procured a small open carriage in which they might travel. She assured Erik she would take the carriage back so that no one would notice it was missing.
Marie-Christine had yet to wake again or for the day. She slept throughout the day, but the color had returned to her cheeks and despite Erik's fears, Madame Giry reassured him that she was simply resting and would awaken in her own time. Releasing a breath, Erik placed her gently in the back of the open carriage and soon, he along with Madame Giry headed towards the Opéra Populaire.
The trip took did not seem to take much time. Erik once more had to go into the opera house through his "alternate entrance," but this did not surprise Madame Giry. She was quite aware of Erik's resourcefulness when needed. He placed Marie-Christine into the gondola, which he had previously left moored in his usual spot, and soon the three of them, Erik, Marie-Christine and Madame Giry were heading, down to his lair.
When they arrived, Erik assisted Madame Giry as she exited the gondola. He then leaned down and picked up Marie-Christine, keeping her close to his chest. It was as if her heartbeat was one with his. Erik carried Marie-Christine across the lair and to his bed chamber. Once there, he placed her gently into the bed and covered her small frame with a nearby blanket, allowing his hand to linger for a moment, holding her hand in his.
"Erik?" Madame Giry called out. She was watching the entire time.
"Yes?" He replied, his mind still lost in thought with Marie-Christine.
"There is nothing more that can be done. Now it is a question of when she will awaken," she informed him.
Erik knew she was right. There was nothing he could do. He could only wait and wonder one question . . .
When?
The answer to Erik's question came soon enough. He was not certain of the time, but that was of no concern to him. It was the sound of a body stirring that caught Erik's attention as well as her voice.
"Erik?" Marie-Christine called out, her voice barely audible. She tried to sit up but was unable to do so.
"You need to rest," he told her, almost scolding her in a fatherly tone. "That was rather foolish to do what you did. Do you realize . . ." but before Erik could finish, he was interrupted by Madame Giry who now stood just outside the bedchamber.
"Erik? Would you get some food for us? I'm sure Marie-Christine must be famished, given that she has not eaten for a day or so."
Erik looked at Madame Giry, about to argue, when he recognized something in her eyes. It was that "look" she'd given him so many times in the past. It was a "look" that said so much more. She obviously had something on her mind, but Erik also knew she would not say anything to him. He'd learned from past experiences growing up beneath the opera house, that it was best to do as she requested. Everything would be explained when she was ready and not a moment sooner.
"I shall return shortly, though I am not sure where I will find food this late at night," he offered.
"I'm sure you'll think of something Erik. I've known you to always be quite uh . . . how shall I put it . . . ?" Madame Giry paused for a moment, searching for the right word.
"Resourceful?" Erik replied.
"I'd like to think of you as adaptable." She countered.
Erik understood. He found his cloak and headed towards the exit. Madame Giry took this moment to sit down in a nearby chair. She pulled it closer to the bed, where Marie-Christine was resting.
"How are you doing my dear?" she began.
"You wanted to talk to me without Erik. Why?" Marie-Christine questioned.
"You are indeed intelligent. I can see why Erik is drawn to you." Madame Giry smiled.
"What do you mean drawn to me?" Marie-Christine responded.
"Then again, perhaps I was wrong. Tell me, what are your feelings regarding Erik?" Madame Giry's smile changed to a more serious tone.
"What do you mean my intentions?" Marie-Christine began to sit up but found she was still unable to do so without someone's help.
Madame Giry gave her an exasperated look. "Must I be blunt? Do you intend to marry him? Do you intend to raise a family with him? Or do you intend to use him and then when you are done, discard him as so many before have done?"
Marie-Christine shook her head. "I do not and will not use Erik as you have so rudely imagined. Do you think I am so crass as to think of him as nothing more than some object perhaps to sleep with for one night and then to dispose of the following morning? Do you even know me? How can you come to judge me? Do you understand that for so long I felt alone? Do you know what it's like to live with a deformity?"
"Erik certainly does," Madame Giry answered, sarcasm dripping in her voice.
"But do you know what it's like to live a life where I cannot be who I want? Where I always have to wear a mask and pretend to be something I am not? Imagine wanting the love of another man and yet I cannot have that. So I have resigned myself to the fact that no man would ever want me. Most would think of me as a freak of nature. None would ever bring me into their precious world of balls and dinners and dances. For them I am simply too strange. Sometimes I want to shut out the voices. I don't want to know what people are thinking. I don't want to be an oddity. I WANT TO BE LOVED!" Marie-Christine's cries now turned to tears.
"Then perhaps, you do understand Erik," was the only response Madame Giry offered. "Marie-Christine?" she whispered as she touched the young girl's arm. Marie-Christine looked up, tears still flowing down her cheeks.
"I just do not want to see Erik hurt. He has lived a life of pain with little joy. I thought perhaps Christine might have the one for him, but I was wrong. Now you are here and unbelievably Erik seems to have been given another chance . . . twice in his lifetime. If it meant to be with you then please love him, care for him, be there for him as a friend, a companion, and a . . ." once more Madame Giry was at a loss for words.
"Lover?" Marie-Christine finished. Madame Giry offered no answer.
No other words were spoken. The meaning was clear and Marie-Christine found that she had a new ally.
Erik was not certain of how long he'd been gone from the lair but the first thing he noticed when he returned was Madame Giry's absence. Marie-Christine was sitting up in the bed, her head propped against some of the pillows.
"Where is Madame Giry?" Erik asked as he placed some food on a nearby table.
"She said that she uh . . . had to get back to the shop. Apparently, there were things she needed to do for Monday." Marie-Christine hoped Erik would accept her explanation and not question her further.
"Well then . . . are you hungry?" Erik moved the small table close to the edge of the bed.
"Actually . . . I'm quite famished." Marie-Christine turned and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She then promptly fell back!
"ERIK!" She cried out, but it was more of a small laugh. He was immediately at her side, moving the pillows so that she was properly supported as she began to feast upon the snack he'd brought for the evening.
"Thank you." She told him, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You are welcome. So what did you and Madame Giry talk about when I was gone?" Erik took a small bite of the bread he'd brought with him.
"Why do you say that?" Marie-Christine wondered if Erik had listened to their conversation. Perhaps he did not leave the lair? Perhaps he had the food with him all along?
"I am very familiar with Madame Giry and how while she may say one thing, she often means something that is very different." Erik waited to see what answer Marie-Christine would give to his reply.
"Well . . . we talked about . . . you." Marie-Christine responded as she reached for the small glass of wine Erik had poured for her.
"And . . . how did I become or what was the nature of your discussion of me?" Erik was growing more and more curious as to what was said during his absence.
"Madame Giry wished to know my intentions with regards to you." Marie-Christine bowed her head. She was wishing this conversation would end quickly.
"Your intentions . . . what did Madame Giry mean or more specifically what are your intentions?" Erik found that he was becoming amused. He took notice of Marie-Christine's discomfort, but he decided to press things further.
"She wished to know if we would marry or raise a family."
"She uh . . . I see and what did you tell her?" Erik did not know how to proceed as this conversation had taken an unexpected turn. He wanted to sigh.
Damn Madame Giry and her infernal meddling! Then, he smiled. Erik knew that although her means did not often follow the norms of social etiquette, her heart was in the right place. She truly was a friend who looked out for him in the past, the present and now it seemed . . . the future.
"I told her . . ." Marie-Christine hesitated.
"Go on . . . what did you tell her?" Erik pressed.
"I told her that I would never hurt you and . . ." Marie-Christine stopped in mid-sentence once more.
"Finish . . ." Erik raised his voice.
"Erik, I don't want to . . ." Marie-Christine's voice quivered slightly.
"FINISH!" he growled at her, his impatience quite evident.
"I just wanted someone to love me." Her voice broke into a quiet sob.
Erik sighed. He wished he had not lost his temper. Although he had developed feelings for Marie-Christine is such a short time, he knew it would be best to correct things before they veered off on a course from which neither one might not return.
"Marie-Christine," he lowered his voice and lifted her chin with his hand. "Look at me." Her eyes were still closed and she shook her head. "Please?" he pleaded. She opened her eyes.
"This can never be," he began. "I am a monster and although I bear the semblance of a man, there can be no doubt as to the crimes I have committed in the past. I have extorted, murdered and terrorized people. How can you love someone such as me?"
Marie-Christine allowed Erik to wipe the tears from her face. She then broke contact and stretched her hand out to the masked side of his face. Slowly, she removed the mask and the wig that he wore with it. Her face did not flinch. Instead, she leaned forward and kissed Erik on the lips. It was a gentle kiss. Marie-Christine then pulled back and spoke. "Erik? There is a man inside of you and that is the person with whom I have fallen in love. I am sorry, but I cannot change my feelings. If you must reject me, then I cannot stop you. Know this . . . if you cast me aside, then you will be yet another man who has tossed me aside and for me all I can and will think of is how you do not and cannot stand the sight of me."
"Marie-Christine that is not true." Erik interrupted.
"Please let me finish. Although I know my thoughts are not correct, they are my thoughts. Erik, I told you once before how you bore your scars on the outside. Please remember that mine are on the inside and sometimes . . . they run deeper. So do you what you feel is right, but for tonight, can you grant me one small favor?" Marie-Christine looked into his eyes, the impending tears held back by a wall of self determination.
"What would you have me do?" he answered.
"Please stay with me this evening. I do not want to be alone. I want to feel the warmth and comfort of a man's embrace, even if it is only for the night." Marie-Christine gently slid back to the other side of the bed.
Erik looked at the vision presented before him. Sighing, he removed his boots and shirt. He climbed into the bed and drew Marie-Christine into his embrace. She smiled.
"Are you comfortable my dear?" He knew if he looked one more time into her eyes, his heart would break.
"Yes thank you," she nodded as she closed her eyes. Erik wasn't sure how long it took but she fell asleep. Soon thereafter, so did Erik.
Slowly, her eyes fluttered open. Marie-Christine was not sure of the time when she awakened but nevertheless, something had roused her from her slumber. She noticed that Erik was absent. She hoped he had not left her. Feeling a small lump in her throat, Marie-Christine did her best to put her worries to rest. Focusing her attention on what she now determined to be a noise of some sort, she realized that the sound was actually a medley. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and gently stood. Her balance had returned somewhat and so she placed her hand against the wall to steady herself.
As she came out into the main chamber, Marie-Christine took notice of the source of the medley. It was Erik and he was play at the organ. The lyrics seemed to call to her. They were so . . . achingly . . . beautiful.
No one would listen
No one but her
Heard as the outcast hears
Slowly, Marie-Christine began to walk towards Erik. Her steps were small, her balance a bit tenuous, but she was making progress. Erik did not seem to notice her approach.
Shamed into solitude
Shunned by the multitude
I learned to listen
In my dark, my heart heard music
I long to teach the world
Rise up and reach the world
With each passing step, Marie-Christine found it more and more difficult to fight back the tears that were welling inside. Erik's song and medley spoke volumes to her in so many ways. She thought her own childhood and the isolation she felt. She had longed to have a friend or a companion, but no one dared to be that which she needed. No one wanted to be associated with a freak. As much as she wanted to break down and cry from the beauty of the song and the feelings it stirred within her, Marie-Christine chose to continue moving forward.
No one would listen
I alone could hear the music
Now, as she drew nearer, she could hear his music and it was . . . beautiful.
Then at last a voice in the gloom
Seemed to cry I hear you
I hear your voice
Your torment and your tears
She saw my loneliness
Shared in my emptiness
Although Marie-Christine knew the song was probably meant for Christine, it did not matter to her. The melody still resonated with her and she could hear so much of what she and Erik had shared now coming through as his hands brought forth the song.
No One Would Listen
No One but her
Heard as the outcast hears
Marie-Christine found that she was only inches away. His scent . . . a mixture of nutmeg and something else . . . was intoxicating. She felt light-headed but fought her body's desire to faint. She wondered why she had noticed this scent before.
No one would listen
No one but her
Heard as the outcast hears
Marie-Christine was now behind Erik. Hesitating, she extended her hand and touched his shoulder.
"Marie-Christine," he whispered as he turned to face her.
"I listened, Erik. That song was so beautiful. Would you play another one for me?" Marie-Christine looked at him, a longing apparent in her eyes.
"Well . . ." Erik paused, unsure if he would play again.
"Please?" she implored and she still stood behind him.
"Would it not be better for you to sit down?" he inquired.
"No, if you do not mind, I prefer to stand here." She replied, indicating her preference standing behind Erik.
Erik nodded his head and turned back to the organ. He thought for a minute. What song should he play? Although it was true that the present was what he should focus on, there was something to be said for the past. Placing his hands on the keys, the melody slowly came to life.
Night-time sharpens
Heightens each sensation
Darkness stirs and wakes imagination
Silently the senses abandon their defences
Erik stopped for a moment; the touch of Marie-Christine's hands to his shoulders sent a surge of energy through his body. Her closeness, evident by the heat of her breath that he felt on the back of his neck, heightened his feelings even more.
"Marie-Christine . . ." he whispered, although it sounded more like a moan.
"Please continue Erik." She responded as she began to place small kisses along the back of his neck. Erik did his best, but Marie-Christine's assault on his senses complicated matters considerably.
Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendor
Grasp it; sense it – tremulous and tender
Her kisses were indeed tender. As Erik continued to play, Marie-Christine now focused her attention along Erik's jaw line, tracing her tongue along the edge, nipping at it with her teeth. Erik hissed in response, doing his best to focus on the music. Marie-Christine simply smiled and proceeded to his earlobes, nibbling and then tracing her tongue along the backside of Erik's right ear.
"CHRISTINE!" he hissed as he found his concentration slowly losing ground.
"Mmm . . . Erik, please play your song for me . . ." she moaned softly.
Erik cocked his head to the left, allowing Marie-Christine a more open avenue to his neck, but he had forgotten about her hands which were now opening his shirt. Gently, she ran her nails down the smoothness of Erik's chest, feeling the taut muscles contract in response to her touch. Then, she brought her hands back up, raking her nails along his chest and sending yet one more surge of excitement through Erik's body.
Erik was teetering on the brink of sweet oblivion and it was Marie-Christine who seemed intent on sending him over the edge.
"Marie-Christine . . ." he rasped, his voice throaty and barely able to utter a word.
"Erik . . ." she sighed as she turned his face to hers.
"You do not know what you are doing . . ." he stammered.
"Oh . . . but I do know what I am doing . . . I am . . . living . . ." she answered.
All rational thought left Erik's find with the next sensation he felt; that of Marie-Christine's hands at the opening of his trousers.