The Elixir of Misery
What majesty and freedom had touched her heart! She had never been to the summit of ecstasy; she had been too afraid to reach out and touch it, as if it lay tangible in front of her eyes, flitting through the air like a firefly. For even after her singing had died upon the final note of her mother's lullaby, the city seemed to quiet itself for a moment. Did her beloved Manhattan live and breathe; did it listen with the pointed and poised ears of a dog, did it groan beneath the weight of a thousand lives moving on the surface of its skin?
Christine gripped the railing with chilled fingers, welcoming the cool strike of wind that grazed her cheeks. Something had changed within her the moment she had begun to sing; was it the drink that had stolen her paranoia away? Did Raoul's acrimonious liquid have the authority to morph a person's psyche, entirely? Surely this was why he drank so often; it gave him courage, supremacy, and strength! She had been meek all of her life; so desperately delicate, paper thin, and scrawny. Most days she feared she might be blown adrift by a modest breeze, left to wander the earth aimlessly like the shadow of a spirit.
Yet in spite of her weary heart, tonight had changed that feeling, somehow. Could it have been the masked man she had seen through the roof; the man whose form blurred in her mind's eye with bizarre melodies…the man with thickly veined fingers that seemed to rip the piano in two, leaking out notes of the fallen; the forbidden songs of a blackened state too deep to climb out of?
Now as she surveyed the city atop the balcony, she noticed something new, something foreign that had wormed its way into the foul depths of her mind. Could she possibly, one day, be free of this? Could she admit to herself, or even to the world of her own crippling condition? The lies painted over with powder and licks of blush – the greatest act of her twenty two years upon earth; the dainty pale woman in the mirror with lips sewn shut?!
The drink had not muddled her; it had brought sense back to her! Christine gripped the rails of the balcony tighter – she would claim them to be hers, now! The city would kneel before her voice, it would cower and live in the trenches of her worry; it would see and feel and hear everything that she ever was…and could be.
A secret matrimony was created within her spirit that night; something almost too powerful and terrifying to wield. Christine released her fingers upon the railing, no longer commanded by the shadow that loomed over her every minute of every day. This time, her demons would plummet five floors down; they would land upon their necks with a collective and deafening snap – she would watch them fall, she would laugh as they clawed senselessly at the air; fighting to live and breathe inside of her, if only for one more moment…
And as she spun around to exit her private stage, humming the lullaby lightly to herself, she immediately discovered that she was not alone. There was a figure leaning against the back of the cobalt loveseat; one whose form she had memorized and buckled before in terror.
Raoul had returned. And from the look on his face, she knew he was drunk – even more drunk than she. But it was not the liquor upon his breath that she feared, no…it was the punishment that he would inflict upon her. She had broken his rules. She had sang on the balcony in nothing but tights and a leotard. And her hair was a mass of curls around her, hovering like a flock of bees. How he hated her untidy hair…how he seemed to utterly despise everything about her.
He sauntered over to where she stood frozen; she did not know what might happen now. Even when she would adhere to his authority, there were still always consequences that wrapped her soul in corruption – there were always corrections, discipline, and never ending pain.
Christine stood holding her breath as he approached her. He moved nimbly like a panther in the jungle, outmaneuvering his prey with giddy satisfaction and ease. A cigarette was freshly lit and hung between his lips, and his blue eyes glittered coldly as he stopped mere feet in front of her. The silence was almost palpable between them, so sheer and crisp it could have been made of ice. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, now looking her dead in the eyes.
"Ah, Christine," he sighed, reaching out to grab a fistful of her curls. "You don't know how lucky you are!" He wrenched his hand downward, forcing her face away from his; controlling her every move with his vice-like grip that now grazed her scalp.
He bent lower, pressing his lips against her earlobe. "Let me explain. You love explanations, right? You want to know why I fight to change you, is that it?" He pulled her hair harder, and she bit her bottom lip to keep herself from screaming.
"You," he spoke lightly, tensing his grip on the roots of her hair, "are like an infestation. Now, there are plenty of ways to rid oneself of this kind of…condition. You know that word, don't you? You must, Christine! I taught it to you. Now listen closely!" he laughed, releasing his cruel hold upon her. She stood wavering with her head bowed low, swallowing the blood that had filled her mouth from the bite she had dug in her lip.
"Normally I would not even care to know what the fuck you were doing; I know you're a desperate little slut that can't keep her gangly legs closed," he simpered, shoving her out toward the balcony with his palms. Christine's legs buckled from underneath her as she stumbled back through the threshold of the terrace. She caught herself on the edge of the wide doorframe, holding the weight of her body up with trembling hands.
"And normally, I would beat you senseless…for whatever the fuck it is that you were doing. And more or less," he took a drag off of his cigarette, "because I fucking feel like it! One of these days you will learn to be what a man needs," he sniggered, flicking the ash from his cigarette in her direction. "Or, perhaps you won't, in which case I will continue my ardent affection upon you." Raoul took a long drag from his cigarette, smoothing his thumb along its tip. "I just wish you weren't so…pathetic, Christine. You're the most fortunate woman in Manhattan, being married to me." He turned on his heels to pace back and forth in front of her, creating a wall that she dare not raise her head to – that she dare not even lay eyes upon. The temptress of the night and of her song had dissipated into the air like smoke eventually did; folding into the creases of the wind to hide itself away. Perhaps, she thought, it had never existed at all.
"But, I did take you as my wife. And although I consider our marriage to be tainted, well, mostly by you…I still need you to look pretty. And trust me, I've longed to break that delicate little nose of yours! Oh, I have. All the way home, I fantasized over it! The sound of it, the blood that would run down your pretty white face…and of course, your screaming. I know you think I hate it," he paused, looking over at her crumbled form. "But the truth is, I live to hear it!"
Another period of silence stretched out between them. Christine slowly raised her head to steal a look at him – just one look to regain what she had lost. The elixir still flowed through her veins; the poison that gave him his strength still reigned within her! She had to straighten herself; he had called her pathetic, and she felt pathetic…she was always such a flimsy piece of rubble falling endlessly from the sky. But the voice grew louder inside of her, born from the darkest stars that watched her blindly in the night sky.
Look at him, steal a look, just one look, the voice urged her. Show him what you've seen…show him what you felt out there beneath the stars, show him…let him see…
Slowly, she lifted her eyes to his, steadying herself. "I…I am sorry, Raoul…I drank and I felt quite warm. I wanted to get some fresh air upon the balcony." The words felt like raw power dripping from her lips. Talk to him as if he hasn't spoken at all! Speak to him as you would to anyone…give him excuse after excuse. Lie to his face if you have to! He will never rip you open and discover what you've seen tonight…your precious glimmering little secret.
The man in the mask. The man with the eyes that dripped with fresh blood, whose lips were parted and stained into her mind. She closed her eyes for a moment and imagined him again, as if he were a flawless portrait of pain set on fire. His back had shone through his white dress shirt, and as he had turned to look at her, to see her…she had instantly memorized the long pattern of stitches that curved upon the side of his mouth…
Christine's eyes flew open, as if waking from a dream. Raoul hadn't said a word since she had spoken; instead, he had made his way over to the table of assorted decanters, gracefully removing the top from a bottle and pouring himself a drink.
He drank from the glass, licking his lips after tasting the delight of heaven. It numbed him further, and he relished and worshipped that numbness – the feeling that could take away all feeling. "How peculiar is it," he murmured to himself, taking another swig from the crystal glass, "that this drink poisons the internal organs, yet sets the spirit free? It shows us who we truly are."
He turned swiftly away from his reason and his thoughts, eyeing Christine as she straightened her back and let go of the balcony door frame. His eyes softened upon her, and he pushed back pieces of golden hair that had fallen out of place. "Christine," he spoke, his voice almost a whisper. His eyes fell away from hers as he finished the last of whiskey in his glass.
"I understand it can get warm in here. But showing yourself to the world out there, half naked…I cannot condone. Nonetheless, I need you to be your beautiful self, for me. I am close to sealing in a client…and I need you to accompany me. You always were able to charm anyone I put you in front of…therefore, I do not believe you should be punished. Not tonight," his voice had changed from benevolent to kind, all in the span of a minute.
He smiled at her, and although she quickly dropped her eyes from his, he began to pace in circles once more.
"There is going to be a black-tie gala at the Metropolitan Opera House, tomorrow evening. Many of my high-end clients will of course, be attending. But Christine, there has been one name that I've longed to study from ever since I heard the stories…and I am acquainted with the clients' father. Oh, we barely know each other…but I always make it a point to speak with him, at any event…" he trailed off, pacing back toward the table of decanters once more. As he poured himself another drink, he motioned toward the loveseat. "Please, sit, my darling…sit and listen, for this is very important. Won't you please sit? I will beg if you want me to."
Christine stared at him for a moment, fearing that his gentle tone was merely a trick or a mask waiting to be ripped off. But he did not falter; he kept his eyes innocent and soft, staring her down like a wilted stray dog. "Please," he murmured, kneeling upon the carpeted floor. "Please, darling, for me…"
Christine obeyed silently. Still wearing nothing but her dark leotard and tights, she crossed the room and sat carefully on the edge of the loveseat, waiting for his continuation of thought; hoping he might stay sweet and gentle, wishing suddenly that she hadn't drank from the forbidden decanters – perhaps she had shamed him, standing out beneath the night sky as a formless dancer, free to showcase herself to the world…although…
She could not forget the words he had uttered to himself. Did the drink show one's soul to the world? Did it poison the body, the bloodstream and the heart…but renew the spirit within? And if what he said was true…was the feeling that she had felt not a fantasy – had it been real, perhaps more tangible than anything she had ever tasted or touched?
Was she afraid of its pull on her heart?
Raoul was still pacing behind the shoulder of the loveseat, causing Christine to turn her body to watch him. He gripped his hands behind his back, pulling his tie loose from his neck as he walked swiftly, back and forth, back and forth. He turned once again to face her, his eyes filled with lush adoration and longing. Raoul reached out over the back of the loveseat, stroking a shaking hand upon the side of her face. She shivered uncomfortably beneath his touch, but forced a smile as he slowly released his hand.
"This client could change the course of my studies, he could be the reason for my research to exist, to make sense…He is the kingpin that I must crack open, he is the winter wind that I must harness…and yet…and yet he could just turn me down, Christine. I…I won't beg another man, you know I won't do that! Only you, darling…I would only beg you…"
Raoul suddenly catapulted himself over the back of the loveseat, sliding down its cushions and onto the floor. He crawled like a beast in the night across the rug, pulling himself to his knees at Christine's feet. He touched the back of her calves, running his fingers down the slender muscles that lay hidden beneath her tights. "Oh, Christine…I need you now, more than ever. I am nothing without you." He bent his head low, kissing the tops of her feet. "Please come with me, help me…your charm and grace is like no other. Please, my love…I will do anything…you know that I love you, right? You know I don't mean to punish you, I don't want to hurt you…I'm going to stop, I never want to do it again! Oh I promise, I swear it! I have been so horrid, my love…" he was sobbing against her feet now, clutching the backs of her ankles. "Please help me, please forgive me…say something, anything!"
Christine stared down at him in a daze. This wasn't the first time he had begged her, but it certainly was the most pitiful. She knew his words, as honeyed as they were, meant nothing…he was merely unloading all of his guilt onto her, and she was forced to take it every time – she was made to involuntarily forgive him! If she did not, he would make himself smaller and smaller…he would threaten his own life, and he would even blame her! How twisted and deep were his depths that he would do this, over and over again?
She did not know. And she wished desperately, as he cried into her feet, that she could be on the rooftop once more, all alone, save for the wind of melody surrounding her…
Had that been true understanding? Had that been anger, rage, and sadness all bundled into one ferocious and thundering refrain?
Had there been peace once he had lifted his fingers from the keys?
Or was it merely silence that he craved, once he had poured out his darkness into the air? Did he mourn for the loss of his own soul, as she did?
Christine could not shake his eyes from her mind. There, they would live until the end of her days; glistening hazel and golden, as if the sun itself had formed them in the center of the earth…
And it was then, when she knew the feeling was not a façade. It grew stronger every time she saw him in the darkness of her mind's eye; the muscles of his back twisting and urging, touching, coaxing…
Bleeding.
She reached out a hand numbly, setting it atop Raoul's mussed hair. "It is all right," she whispered, stroking the stray hairs back into place. "I will do what you ask. I always will."
He jolted his head up, staring through her with bloodshot eyes. "Oh, my love! Oh, how I love you Christine…you have given me everything, truly…I owe you my life, oh my love!" His face cracked open into a cartoonish smile, and he stood up abruptly, snatching his empty glass from where it sat on the floor. "Let us drink, Christine…for luck! That I may further my brilliance of psychiatry - my studies of the warped and tortured minds…Let us drink to the capture of the most unscrupulous and deviant client…Captain Vanderbilt!"
Raoul let out a howl of laughter, throwing back his head like a crazed hyena. He stumbled across the flat to the table of poisonous elixirs, pouring himself and Christine a drink. He held them up with widened eyes, the tear tracks still fresh upon his smoothly shaven cheeks. "Let us pray that we can capture his attention with your beauty and my articulate knowledge of the human mind…and…and then, I will be able to buy the fucking penthouse above us! This research, Christine…oh, if I can prove my findings, I will be able to buy the entire fucking Metropolitan Opera House!"
Christine could not hear his shouting anymore; she had retreated into the recesses of her mind in a panic, flustered and confused…she remembered the name from the workers in the lobby, hoisting a grand piano with golden inscriptions into the elevator…and the name Vanderbilt upon their lips…
Her stomach dropped and her heart began to race. She felt Raoul shove a glass into her hands, and she immediately emptied its contents into her mouth. She did not even feel its sting – for something even more powerful than the drink began to sprout; it coiled up inside of her heart like a vine, wrapping itself around every piece of her obliterated spirit…
Tomorrow night she would undoubtedly come face to face with the man in the black mask…the man who had seen her through the opening in his roof. The man with the full and parted lips, with the black stitches and eyes that burned like a thousand suns…
Tomorrow night, he would speak her name.
Christine.
…
A/N: To all of my brilliant readers: I apologize for the long gap in updating, and I hope you are continuing to delve into this story. This story is quite close to my heart, and as always, any comments/feedback/opinions truly make my day. Thank you for reading.