Chapter Fifteen – A Question of Purity
The Colville Mansion – July 2005
Christine sits silently on Richard's bed, waiting for him to finish up in the bathroom. She reluctantly agreed to go out dancing with him tonight, but she regrets it now. In her free minutes, she inspects her dress. Maybe, she thinks, I should've chosen something a little less revealing, as she fixes the rather low neckline.
"You ready?" Richard says, appearing at the door.
"As I'll ever be," Christine replies, hopping off of the bed and going to meet him at the door. He offers her his arm and she takes it, giggling softly at his silly attempt at chivalry. They go out to the car and drive off into the streets of Paris. In a few minutes, they stop at a parking garage and get out, walking down the street to the club Richard's chosen.
"I picked a place where they serve nonalcoholic drinks, since I know you're not comfortable in a drinking environment." Christine nods appreciatively as they make their way into the club, À la Nuit. The music is loud, everything Christine hasn't heard since she's started at the opera. Richard immediately pulls her out onto the dance floor, grabbing hold of her waist and dancing close. Christine is timid for a moment, but the music is a fun tune and it soon grabs her.
Richard's hips grind against her own, and soon she is matching his rhythm, placing her hand on his shoulder and letting her other hang by her side or entwine itself in her brown locks. She hasn't danced like this in a while, not since her class dance at the end of eighth grade. And that was with someone her age. This is Richard, a man two years older than herself who is clearly more experienced with intimacy while dancing. "You're catching on."
"I sure hope so!" she replies over the blasting music. Richard pulls her closer, on hand moving from her hips to push against her back so she is almost molded to him, her head resting on his shoulder as they dance. The necklace he gave her bounces on her chest as she dances, the cool metal of the ring swinging around on its chain.
After a while, they decide to go and get something to drink. Christine, tired as she is, orders merely a water, and Richard, out of courtesy, she's sure, does the same. The drink in silence for a few minutes, then go back to dancing.
It nears ten at night when Richard whispers into her ear, his voice ragged from dancing, "We should go home now."
"But why?" She's lost her fears and is now dancing like there is no tomorrow. "I'm having fun!"
"We really should go, Christine," he says firmly, leading her from the club and out into the night. They do not speak as the get the car and drive off towards the Colville Mansion. As Richard parks the car, Christine hops out and goes to the front door, waiting for him there. Richard finally joins her at the threshold step and unlocks the door. "Let's go upstairs," he says, leading Christine up to his room.
Christine is frighteningly reminded of her night with Erik and she fears being alone in a bedroom with a man again. "I should go back to Missy's, you know."
"Christine, I need to speak with you." She nods. "I would like to teach you about a certain opera. I'm not sure you've heard of it before- it is much less out in the open than the ones you know."
"Go on," Christine says as she walks to sit on the bed, encouraging him. Richard sits down beside her and they turn to face each other.
"This opera is the greatest the world will ever know, the greatest you will ever know, but it takes much work from little preparation. Though, I suppose you could say that your whole life is preparation enough. This opera is difficult, especially for those younger and inexperienced at the elements that add into a performance, but the rewards are great.
"First off, there is no script. No stage directions. Merely…ideas, per say. It has been written by many centuries of performers what you must do to make this opera a success. But the performer must feel great passion for the opera for it to work, or the rewards that I spoke of are nonexistent and the performer is met with great disappointment and resentment for the opera." Richard inches closer to her.
"The music this opera provides can be slow, fast, painful, and breathtaking all in one. But there is one thing that never changes; the final notes of the opera come from a great crescendo. Cymbals crash, lights flare, and the performers take their final bow to a great and wondrous applause. Am I making sense to you?" Christine nods.
"But whoever heard of such an opera, such a spectacle?" She has a strange feeling as to what he's referring to, but she keeps her mouth shut, preferring to sound naïve rather than bring up such a sensitive subject.
"Any pair of lovers, mon chéri." Her suspicions are confirmed as he leans towards her, planting his lips firmly on hers. It is not at all like her experience with Erik. A kiss from Erik was soft, warm, inviting, tender, and full of longing, though subtle. Richard knows what he wants. His kiss is fierce and full of fire and passion. It is not nearly as welcoming as Erik's.
Richard pushes her back onto the bed, running his hands up her body as he crawls to lie partly on top of her, his arousal pressing into her leg, making her yelp into his mouth out of surprise. There is no doubt in Christine's mind what Richard is looking for in their evening, and for the moment she does not resist.
Slowly, almost painfully, Richard moves his hands to the buttons of her sweater, undoing them one by one. Christine remembers back to a conversation she'd had with Missy a few months back.
"What was your first time like?"
"Well," Missy replied, blushing profusely, "he wasn't all that helpful. He wasn't used to working with a virgin."
"That much experience, eh?" Missy chuckled.
"I guess. He nearly hurt me. He didn't realize I was so pure." They laughed together for quite some time. "He said it was different."
"It should be, shouldn't it? Your reactions would be different, right?" Missy nodded.
Richard throws Christine's sweater to the ground and plants kisses down her arms before reaching down to pull her shoes off and unbutton the top buttons of his shirt, revealing a few inches of tanned skin. He clambers back up to Christine's level, pressing his lips to her temple, then her jaw, then lightly to her lips and chin, then down the curve of her neck. She whimpers in apprehension as Richard slides one strap of her dress, then the other, from her shoulders, kissing the skin they'd covered.
With great gentility, he trails kisses down each of her arms in turn, drawing out the time as much as he can. Then he turns back to her neck, doing the same there until his lips touch the fabric at the bottom of the plunge of her v-neck. Carefully, he pulls the fabric down an inch or two, revealing the very tops of her breasts. He lavishes kisses there before moving the silky fabric down a little more.
Christine stops him. She pulls him up by the shoulders and looks him straight in the face. "I can't do this," she says firmly.
"Christine," Richard whines, almost angrily. "Why not?"
"I just…can't." Thinking back to Meg's words, she realizes how obvious it may be that she is not inexperienced, that she's done this before. He'd ask questions and she'd have to answer them truthfully. Christine stands up abruptly. "I'm sorry," she says, a little too nonchalantly for Richard's liking, as she touches his lips softly with her own.
As she walks home from the Colville Mansion, Christine's head is spinning. How will she face him in rehearsal any longer? Will he ask why she wasn't ready? She walks in the door to see Missy at the kitchen table. "How was your date?"
"Lovely, thanks."
"Did anything happen?" Missy looks at Christine with questioning eyes.
"Not really," Christine replies, her voice devoid of emotion. Missy, however, seems to notice her lack of feeling and Christine can feel that she's smiling.
"You don't love him, do you?"
"That's none of your business," Christine replies coolly, heading straight for her bedroom, not even saying goodnight to Madame Garnier as she passes her. For many minutes she can hear the sounds of Missy and her mother conversing downstairs, and though she cannot make out their words, she knows that it's about her. They'll never guess it's Erik. Never.
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