To Live Again 14

To my love who loves me not, and to my dedicated readers.

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The curtain rose on a renewed production of Il Muto.

Colette's fill-in in the lead role sang admirably, and Carlotta played the role of Serafimo with aplomb.

A small smile touched Joelle's face as she remembered one of Erik's more long-winded rants at how horrible she was.

People could change: Carlotta was living proof.

Unfortunately, she was also a reminder of Erik's dark deeds.

'Human nature is capable of great good or great evil,' she thought, 'but an ill-deed, no matter how abhorrent, does not necessarily define a person.'

Which made her wonder about Rojer, who'd grown up with a bitter, abusive father, and a mother who'd run off with a gypsy when he was young.

How did these things shape the person he'd become?

If, in the name of love, she could overlook the deeds of one man, could she forgive the other?

Where was the line drawn?

When did an act become unforgivable?

She'd always seen her Erik as sort of a "tarnished Knight", shadowed and stained a little, but good at the core.

However, with the slightest suspicion, he turned on her.

She looked at her hands, covered by the innocent silk gloves, concealing the wounded wrists as well.

"He didn't mean it." She assured herself. "You saw him; he was horrified by his actions!"

'Which didn't stop him from committing those same actions.'

She wondered where that bitter thought came from.

It hit her, "I…I'm angry with him.? Joelle realized. "I never would have thought…but I am! How could he doubt me like that? How could he leave me?

She started with the realization that intermission was about to begin.

Joelle heard a sharp intake of breath behind her and wheeled around. "Erik.? She breathed, looking him over longingly.

He wore his usual white mask again, and she could see a bruise spreading where Haral had hit him. His eyes were bloodshot, shadowed with dark circles, as if he hadn't been sleeping again.
He met her eyes for one brief instant before backing away.

So she followed him back, back through the rapidly closing door in the pillar.

Through the silence in the blind darkness she heard him running and ran herself, following the sound of his footfalls to guide her in the inky blackness.

"Erik, stop! Please, just listen!" Joelle cried.

The sound of his flight grew fainter and fainter.

"DON'T LEAVE ME AGAIN!" the cry of pure anguish that tore from her throat surprised even her.

Desperately sprinting, she didn't hear him stop and she crashed into him, pulling them both down to the cold stone ground.

When it occurred to her what had just happened, Joelle clung to Erik like a lifeline. Weakly, Erik struggled, but he knew he didn't want to part from her any more than she from him.

Finally, the two figures held on to each other in the dark, silent.

As her eyes adjusted, Joelle touched Erik's thin cheek, "Oh Erik…" She kissed him gently on the lips.

The kiss deepened and neither noticed Erik's mask fall to the floor beside his face as lips parted and tongues dueled in an ageless dance of feeling.

But after a few short moments, Erik pulled away. Fighting down the feelings she awakened in him, he stood, looking down at her.

"Joelle, we have to stop this… this has to end…"

For a moment she just stared, horrified and dumbstruck.

Erik ached inside, 'I've hurt you again… Oh Joelle, don't you see?' he thought, 'this is why it has to end! I keep hurting you? your blood is still on my hands…can't you se it? I can't wash you off!'

When she finally spoke, her voice trembled, but her eyes blazed with pain and anger and love, "And?why is that, Erik? Is it because you can't trust the woman who loves you more than life? Because you're afraid? I've never given you any cause to doubt me." Tears flowed freely down her face now, but she continued, "God, Erik, was it all a lie? Were you lying when you told me you loved me? Love can't exist without trust and obviously I've never had yours. I gave you my soul, Erik; everything I am, and you tossed it away like a mistake!" Her voice lowered, and the sheer pain cut him up, "Was I really so terrible?"

He shook his head, "All I ever do is hurt you, Joelle," He said slowly, "And I cannot do that anymore." He turned and began to walk away. Over his shoulder, he called back, "I'll love you until the day I die, Joelle Oriana Etienne!" And he disappeared into the darkness.

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Crash

Fwooosh

Crash

Muffled curse

"When did you learn to use a revolver?"

"Go away, Bevan, I'm not very good company right now."

"I can't. Not only am I, personally, worried about you, but Chera is too, and she can't come up now, being pregnant and all."

She growled, "Goddamn, does everyone know...?"

"Most." He replied, "And you know your parents wouldn't like to hear you talk like that."

She rolled her eyes, trying not to smile at his knowing tone. "Well, I can't really vouch for my mental state, but I'll live. You can leave now."

He looked hurt; "We used to be pretty good friends, you and I." He turned.

Immediately, Joelle took his hand, "Oh, Bevvie, I'm sorry, I'm just… not me right now."

"So I noticed." He replied wryly, "The Joelle I knew always thought a revolver was 'far too unsporting, and didn't require nearly as much finesse as a sling'. Isn't your father going to miss that pottery?"

She shook her head, "No, we were throwing it out; it's old, flawed, and we have newer, better pieces that go much more prettily with the decor. More suited to our lives, even if they're somewhat lacking in character."

Bevan sighed, "We aren't talking about the pottery anymore, are we..."

Joelle shrugged, "We were talking about pottery?" she asked absently.

"Are you drunk?" He asked incredulously.

"Just a bit..." She admitted. "I wasn't out alone."

At his doubtful look, she continued, "I went with Tomas from the chorus. Nice guy, too bad he's a homosexual; I think daddy would have approved of him. Such a nice voice, too. Excellent range. Almost as good as— but that doesn't matter." Joelle trailed off, a slightly vacant look coming into her eyes, like a wall between the world and her heart.

"He really hurt you, didn't he, Ellie?" He asked gently.

She nodded dumbly, sinking to her knees

"You want him back..." He asked.

"I said such harsh things, Bevvie." She murmured, looking so much like a child that he swept her up into his arms.

"Tell me everything." He said, "And we'll come up with something."

"…And he just left, Bev, and said he'd love me until he died. God, I wanted to die then, but then I'd be in hell 'cause I couldn't see him anymore. How could he just throw it away just because we hit a rough patch?" She finished.

Bevan felt a sharp pain in his heart to see an old friend so broken. He'd liked Erik when he'd met him at the wedding, though he didn't know him very well. But what he'd liked the best was the peace he'd put into his friend's eyes. He'd been happy to see Dom on his way to wedded bliss and wished the same for Joelle, his personal favorite of the siblings.

"He still loves you." He said slowly.

She nodded, "I hope."

"Well then, make him need you." Bevan said, inspired, "Make it so he needs you even more than he loves you; for now, anyway. When you've got him as hopelessly trapped as you do with most men, reel him in and talk him into marrying you. Not the most traditional way of marriage, but you've always defied convention."

"Are you telling me to seduce Erik?" She asked, mystified.

"The man won't know what hit him."

She nodded slowly, shock sobering her slowly; "I… shall have to write a letter to Christine. Hopefully, she and Raoul have reached their estate by now… and she knows what he likes."

Bevan chuckled, "And, if I may make a suggestion..."

She nodded again, "Well, you are a man—fire ahead."

"Wear something red, figure hugging," He said, "That shows of those-" He indicated her well-shaped, muscular legs, "And those," Her trim hips, "And of course, those." Her breasts.

Joelle turned bright red.

"Yes," Bevan said thoughtfully, "Close to that color; it becomes you."

She darkened even more and he laughed, "So does that, though, come to think it."

"Oh, quit it." She said mock-sharply, "Or I'll tell your wife you've been eyeing me."

He simply gave her an impudent wink.

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Erik was puzzled.

Joelle sat in Box Five, yet again, alone.

Yet her appearance was subtly more sensual, and he could detect a soft, alluring fragrance.

He had thought she would turn, hearing him, more than once, or at least suspecting his little spy-holes.

Yet there she sat, silently exquisite, as if she expected a man to come, without even seeming to think of anything but the admittedly well-done opera.

She disappeared during the intermission, and he couldn't find her, then returned, looking as calm as ever.

After the Opera House was emptied out of performers and customers, he sat in Box Five, contemplating. Joelle had worn a light, floaty rose-colored dress that, in the latest fashion, hugged the delectable curves of her body in a way that made his jaw drop, progressing down to a swishy skirt that went down to just above her ankles. (A/N you have to remember that during the 1880s, society was a lot more repressed, so the exposure of even one's ankles was considered very sensual, and, in some circles, a bit risqué)

Her hair was worn up, a few perfectly curled dark tendrils loose to frame her face.

She looked like an angel.

"How could she not know I was there?" He wondered aloud, "I know for a fact that I got sloppy near the end… I just wanted her to turn to face me, but she acted as if she heard nothing."

After awhile, he noticed a note, neatly folded, sitting on her seat. Curious, he picked it up.

"Miss me yet, Erik..." It read,

"As long as I live I will love no other. I'm not giving up, even if you are. I had a feeling my behavior would puzzle you, and you're probably sitting there trying to figure it out. This gives me time to leave a surprise for you at your home. Enjoy. Love always, Joelle."

He shook his head; the woman was too clever, and yet she lacked simple self-preservation instincts. He'd given her her freedom: Why did she not fly away? Her writing was casual, almost amused, and it drove him mad to picture her there, pen in hand, and that sweet, mischievous half-smile as she wrote, hair wild and loose behind her like a dark halo. For surely she must have written it before coming—he hadn't seen her writing it, though, admittedly, he'd been somewhat diverted by that marvelous dress?

Wait.

Surprise?

Oh Joelle, what have you done this time?

Hoping to catch her there, Erik hurried down.

The sight that greeted him shocked him more than he would be willing to let on at a later date.

The entire place was filled with flowers of all sorts: Roses, daisies, even a dangling wisteria. Water lilies floated in the lake. Erik's couches, coffin, bed, and chairs were covered with rose petals.

He saw a sign, in the middle of it all: "A petal for each time I've thought of you since you've left. I think even you would take forever to count them all, my brilliant love."

He shook his head--how did she manage this?

And why? No one had ever gone to such lengths for him.

Usually he did the wooing, and was rejected, but now someone had made an elaborate gesture of love for him.

And it was getting harder and harder to remain strong, and to remember that she deserved better, that this was for her own good.

Flowers? It smelled like her.

This was going to be a long night.

As he approached the sign, he saw a smaller notation at the bottom: "Same time, same place, tomorrow night? Maybe you'll say something this time..."

Those playful lines were so very her.

Erik groaned and collapsed in frustration on the couch.

"Can't you see I'm trying to save you?" He cried aloud, "I can't keep this up when you do things like this! I'm only a man, I only have so much strength of forbearance?

And still he heard her laughter in his mind and heart, light, faint, teasing.

And I think that's a good place to leave it off for now.