A/N:)
Chapter Eleven
Oh, Christine.
I am still reading when I hear you approaching my bedroom.
I turn to find you, standing in the doorway, clad in a pale blue nightgown and a thin robe. Quickly I turn back away; I am not used to seeing you in so little clothing. You do not seem embarrassed, though looks can be deceiving.
"What is wrong, Christine?"
"I can't sleep," you reply lazily, taking a step closer to me. "Erik," you ask, concerned, "when do you sleep?"
"Whenever I feel the need to. . . which is not too often," I reply, still not looking at you.
"Why do you avert your eyes?" you ask innocently.
"You are not dressed. . ."
"So?" you reply, drawing closer to me still. "You are my husband. . . it should not matter. . ."
"What would you like?" I ask, still not looking at you.
You reach down to hold my hand, but do not speak.
"Some tea?" I suggest, staring at our hands.
Gently, you cup my chin and guide it so I look you in the eye. "Erik. . . could you please come with me, and stay with me until I fall asleep?"
I swallow, blink and clear my throat. "I could not deny you. . ."
You smile slightly, before giving my hand a gentle squeeze. I rise to my feet, and you begin to walk from the room, not letting go of my hand.
We reach the bedroom, and as you get situated in the bed, I take a seat in the chair beside it. You lay down, and we spend a few moments of silence, gazing deeply into the other's eyes.
"Erik. . ." you whisper.
"Yes. . .?"
"Could you lay down with me?"
A silence. "I do not think that would be appropriate. . . it is your bed, after all."
"Yes, and I am inviting you to lay down with me, in my bed. Why wouldn't it be appropriate? We are — "
I interrupt you, as I know what you are going to say. "Husband and wife. But still."
You are silent for a few moments. "Why don't you want to?" you ask quietly, sounding almost. . . hurt.
"I do," I reply, reaching out and cupping your cheek; you lean in slightly to my touch. "I just would not want to impose. . . we all deserve privacy. . ."
"But I want you to," you reply, loudly, as if to get it through my head once and for all, and that you do.
I rise from my chair and lay down on the bed awkwardly beside you, on my side. "I don't think I could ever become accustomed to this. . ." I murmur.
"To what?"
"Sharing a bed with another."
"Certainly you will not, if you never do at all."
"Why should I?" I ask, stiffening slightly.
You sigh. "Erik. . . why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"Denying me the simple pleasures of what husbands and wifes do. . . acting as if we are not the same as other married couples. . ."
"But we are not," I reply flatly. "I forced you into this."
"No." You shake your head. "I was not forced. It was my own decision. Please accept that. . . I want to be your wife, Erik."
A silence. "Christine. . . you know not what you say."
"Yes, I do," you reply sternly. "I know exactly what I say. How do you suppose I spent the first month of our marriage? I was not only crying, Erik. I was thinking. Thinking about our marriage, about us, about how I want our life to be. . . I want us to be happy, Erik. . ."
"Is that possible?" I ask quietly.
"Of course it is! It would be quite simple if you would just allow it!" You turn to face me suddenly.
"What makes you so certain?"
"I just know this, Erik. . . trust me. . ." Without warning, you reach up and gently pull the mask from my face, cupping my now bare cheek.
"Christine!" I interject angrily. "What are you — "
You silence me by tenderly joining your lips with mine.