Seven
Christine found her gaze drawn repeatedly to the white that stayed ever close to Erik's right cheek.
The cloth was clumsily cut— unusual, she thought— deftness of hand was Erik's trademark. She wondered at this— it worried her.
"You say Meg took it?"
He did not need to ask what she was referring to.
"Mademoiselle Giry— yes."
"Erik—" He looked up and his eyes met hers. "Tell me what happened."
He sighed, breath hissing out through his teeth.
"You left. People came. I hid myself away."
His explanation was heartbreaking even in its terseness. She did not want to know— not really— but something in her, that deep and sure sadness and compassion, compelled her to say, "More—"
"I— I hid myself away. There was a place— a hole, really— dark— no-one could find me there. No-one knew of its existence— except me— and Nadir. The daroga— the daroga came for me."
"How long, Erik?"
He shivered and shook.
"How long were you there, Erik?" she repeated.
"A week!" It burst from him at last. "A week I was there— or was it ten days— I no longer recall, and I do not wish to. I am not there now, Christine— I am here now, I am here with you, and everything is different."
"Its not so different," said Christine quietly. "Not really. Tell me more, Erik."
"I have no more to give! I have told you all I can remember! It was a hole— steep-sided, small, close, cramped, unfit for a human to live in— but it was fine for me— oh, fine for someone such as I— I have told you all I wish, and now it hurts me. It hurts me, Christine, you make my head ache." He slumped back down onto his chair, his head in his hands, his fingers pushing through his hair, moaning erratically. Christine started towards him but as she moved he was sitting straight instantly, his eyes giving her a warning— stay away.
This, then, was the place she feared the most— the hole in his heart where even his beloved could not intrude— if she was his beloved any more, which she doubted more and more every moment.
If she was his beloved, would he have turned her away last night?
Would he have let her go two months ago?
He was trying to keep her now, she thought, but she didn't know why.
"Why, Erik?"
His head returned to his hands instantly and he moaned in pain.
"It hurts— it hurts—"
She reached out a hand towards him but again his head snapped up and her fingers fell short of touching him.
"Why, Erik? Why?"
He leapt to his feet and loomed over her, his impossibly thin frame shaking with rage, with emotion, with—
She dared not think.
"Why, you say!" he roared at her. "Why does it hurt? Why do I keep crying when there is nothing new to cry over? Why to return to the old hurts, the old haunts, the old injuries and wounds— tell me why you left me, Christine, if it comes to that— and why you return— if it is to do me injury again I tell you it will be the last— the last, Christine— Christine, my ang— no, no angel— no! No angel! Christine, I am dying— Christine, I will die soon— Christine, you have condemned me, you weighed me and measured me and found me lacking and soon I will die, crawl back into my hole and shrivel up as life leaves me. And you will be there, with your love the Vicomte, he will be happy, you will be happy and laughing, your hands held protectively over your swollen belly— you will bear a child, Christine, and if it is mine it too will die!"
He was away, then, leaving her on her own, her body shaking as she tried to take everything in. Through it all the only thing that reached her was the pain of his words— Christine, I am dying— Christine, I will die soon—
Erik dying!
Erik, leaving her again!
"It must not be," she spoke through clenched teeth at the worn tabletop. "It cannot happen, I will not allow it to happen. He will not leave me!"
She began to struggle to her feet but her sobs overcame her and she sagged back into the chair, wracked with pain, pounding her fists on the table in a vicious drumbeat of fury and sorrow.
