Thank you for those of you who took the time to review the last chapter…you're all awesome! -NSLJ
Warning – non-consensual sex and violence…Don't say you weren't warned.
Chapter Twenty-Three – Lock and Key
Persia 1875
Christine
Hamir drags me down the hallway, kicking and screaming as I am, and into my old room at the harem. With a great amount of force, he throws me down on the bed and produces two lengths of rope, tying my arms to the headboard. "I swear, Hamir, I will kill you if you even think about touching me."
"I have thought about touching you, Risa, for quite some time now," he says harshly, pressing an impassioned but hurtful kiss onto my lips. "And besides," he says, running a finger sensually along my jaw, "you are a prostitute. It is your job to do as I say and to let me have your body."
Mustering my strength, I lash out at him with my legs and one of the makes harsh contact with his chest. Hamir reels backward, clutching at his chest, and I snarl at him, "I don't give a damn what you think I am, Hamir. You cannot have me."
He comes back over to me and slaps me forcefully across the face. "I am the Shah's Grand Vizier; whatever I want is mine." With that he turns on his heel and goes to the door. "I will return shortly. By that time you best come to terms with the fact that someone like you must do what they're told." Hamir walks out and slams the door shut behind him.
Crying out, I struggle against the tight ropes that are now cutting into my wrists, leaving marks on the skin there. It's all in vain, and I give up my futile attempts, collapsing tired on the bed. Looking at the blankets, there is still a stain there from the tea I spilled the other night. Damn them. Damn them and their narcotic tea. I know now that it's all true. As much as I am loathed to admit it, I was wrong. I was terribly horribly wrong. I let them boss me around, make me give pleasure to men, ruin my life, all for the sake of what? Nothing. I earned nothing.
That's not true. You have Erik now. Your Angel has returned to you. Tears spring forth in my eyes and land on my neck and dress. I suppose that I am still that religious woman pleading with the Holy Father to forgive me my sin of thinking of another man. Some things never do change.
Erik
My eyes flutter open to see nothing but darkness. A dim light on the wall casts an eerie glow to the opposite side of the room that I'm in. My head is throbbing, sending jolts of pain all through my body, and I try to stand up, hoping the pain will ease. However, upon standing I fall to the ground again. Never in my life have I felt so helpless, and I don't even remember where I am.
The girl who helped me…execution…the palace…Christine…the sudden realization of where I am prompts me to put a hand up to where the pulsing ache is on my head to try and help it, but I am met with something much worse than a headache; they took my mask.
I let out a roar of frustration, stand, and pound both of my fists against the stone wall, letting my head droop. "Well?" I shout, once again feeling a little religious but wanting to strangle God. "Is this what you wanted? The infamous Opera Ghost to be captured himself? You've taken everything from me! The one thing I had left, the one person I had left to hope for…you gave her up to be whore to another man! Are you happy now? Are you?"
"In fact, I am very happy now," says a voice from outside the cell. I turn around and see the Khanum standing a few feet from the door with a bodyguard, a man much taller and bulkier than myself, who is holding a torch, casting firelight and shadows around the dungeons. "It's wonderful to see you know your God; you will meet him personally quite soon."
I stride over to the bars keeping me from the outside world and stare at her with fury. "Why are you doing this to us?" I growl at her, prompting the bodyguard to move in my direction and brandish the torch, before the Khanum puts a hand on his chest and pushes him back.
The Khanum comes right up to the bars, knowing that I can't rightfully hurt her while the guard is there, and sneers. "Before that little ingénue started causing trouble, my husband and I were fully in love. We made love every night; we ruled as one, we were as passionate as any. But then that girl of yours showed up and her charm caught men who would've gone to the ante-Khanum. So, naturally, we gave her a chance; it's good money. Then, of course, the ante-Khanum was less busy and, what do you know? She and my husband have been having an affair behind my back." I see her feign tears and pretend to wipe them daintily from her face. Then her words on Christine take hold.
"What do you…what are you talking about? Christine would never…"
"Oh, but she would," the Khanum says slyly, her façade of sadness completely thrown to the dogs. "She's quite a pretty girl, and seductive as anything. I suppose her charm did you in, along with her late husband. You know, I don't know anything about him, but it is no surprise that she chose him over you," she muses, drawing a finger across my mask. That, if nothing else she's said, does me in.
Without thinking twice, I grab her by the neck and hoist her off the ground, holding her at arm's length so her flailing legs don't hit me as she uses her hands to try and force me away. "Get yer hands off 'er!" the guard shouts, coming towards me, but I force a leg out through the bars and my boot-clad foot connects with his groin, sending him to the ground, doubled over in pain.
"Au revoir," I say as I stare into the Khanum's eyes, tightening my hold on her neck, ready to send her to the grave.
"I'll see you in hell, Monsieur le…" With that, the Khanum is no more. The bodyguard, still howling on the ground, pays me no attention as I slip an arm through the bars and grab the ring of keys. I manage to unlock the door of the cell and I hurry out, grabbing the dropped torch as I go.
After exiting the dungeons, I reorient myself and keep running, knowing I must find Christine before it is too late for either of us. As I run, I feel around in my pocket for the letter I had written to her earlier. Drawing it out into the open air, I press it to my lips and whisper so only God can hear, "Let her be mine."
Christine
My tears have dried by the time Hamir reenters the room. This time, he has with him a goblet of some sort of dark liquor and is in loose cropped pants and a shirt similar to Erik's. Erik, help me. The thought of him brings more tears to my eyes, knowing that I had acted as though he didn't exist for so long and that I am now in his debt, knowing that he may find me ravaged and impure like a common whore, knowing that his kindness, kindness he'd never shown before and certainly doesn't owe me, has not been reciprocated by me.
Hamir comes over to me and I struggle against the bindings on my wrists as a signal to him. "No," he says curtly. "If you want me to take them off, you must earn it." He lifts the goblet to his lips and takes a sip, then hands it out towards me. "Would you like some?" he asks, feigning generosity. I give him a look of consideration and he moves it closer to me, tempting me.
With that, I spit into the goblet, tainting the liquid with my saliva. Hamir doesn't hesitate to backhand me, harder than before, and pain courses through me. I am scared half to death, wishing I'd never enticed him by spitting in the liquor, glad I have just to show that I'm not scared, even though I am.
I nearly faint dead away when Hamir climbs up onto the mattress and rests himself on my legs, and I know he's doing it so I don't use them as a means of protection for myself. "Now," he says, placing his large calloused hands on my shoulders and then running them down my front, over my breasts and down my sides to him waist and hips, "you will show discipline and do anything and everything I say. Is that understood?"
Realizing that I have some movement in my knees, I bend one harshly up, hoping to hurt him where I know every man is vulnerable, but he is faster and sits up out of the range of my range, then sitting back down again in a safer spot on my legs. "Feisty today, are we?" he says, leaning down and pressing searing kisses along my neck, proceeding to unlace the front of my dress and kiss the skin he reveals. I shudder beneath his touch, frightened of what he will do to me, terrified even more of my fate in the long term if Erik doesn't come for me. You didn't think about this before. You didn't leave this place when you knew you were destined for prostitution. You are a silly girl, Christine Daaè, silly and naïve. I know it, too. As much as I have become more…womanly in these last few months, as much as I have learned more about my femininity and its power than I could ever have hoped to in Paris, I am still more naïve than most. I thought I could convince myself that such a significant part of my life didn't happen. I thought that if I tried hard enough I could keep my promises to both my husband, may God protect his soul, and the Holy Father. I was wrong. This is wrong.
My mind returns to the present as I hear Hamir ripping apart the camisole I have on underneath the dress, and am reminded vividly of Erik ripping away my skirts the first night he came to the harem. He wouldn't hurt you now, Christine. He's helped you more than hurt you. I cry out in pain more than anything else as Hamir reaches his hands inside my ruined camisole and beings to fondle my breasts, pressing and squeezing like it won't hurt me.
Tears begin to form in my eyes as he lifts up my skirts and searches for the waistband of my pantalets (I had, thankfully, saved one pair from Paris). He hears me and wipes my tears away with his thumb. "Do not cry, Risa," he says in a voice full of overdone sympathy. "Don't fear me. I won't hurt you," he continues, pulling down the undergarment and throwing it to the side. My skirts are hiked up around my hips now, and I watch in a dazed horror as Hamir begins to prod at me in the place Madame Giry used to call, "a woman's treasure."
"Risa," he says, his voice full of passion, "you really mustn't be afraid. Be excited." Hamir's words are incoherent in my mind, jumbling together to be inconsistent and they don't make sense. All I know is that his face is right near my neck, breathing on my skin, whispering things that become nonsensical. His hands explore the rest of my body, from my hips and waist to my breasts and my back.
There is pain, terrible pain, and I close my eyes, wanting everything to be over, wanting to black out and forget everything. My life spins before me, and all I want is to be back in Paris, safe from harm, safe in Raoul's arms. Safe in my Angel's arms… I hear a distant cry of, "Angel!" and I know it's my voice, though I'm not really sure why. Everything is spinning and I feel as though my body is numb, a worthless pile of skin, muscle, and bone. Somewhere in the distance I hear a loud crash and my eyes fly open, but upon seeing what's before me I only wish to be back in that world of what felt like near-death.