"The die has been cast"
Deep into the night, long after Raoul had collapsed onto the rose-colored sofa, Christine finally crawled into the comfort of their bed. It curved around her body splendidly, bathing her slender form in washes of pitch-black shadow. The darkness was a welcoming friend, yet she found she could not sleep – she tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, her mind running incessantly over the events that were forthcoming and unstoppable – like a die that had already been cast.
Raoul's pitiful begging and instruction felt like a blessing, yet it cursed and plagued her as a sickness ravaged the body. How could she, who often felt like she did not exist at all, become a woman who could capture a man's attention in a room full of elites? And not just any man…it was the man whose space she had invaded, crawling on all fours across a gritty cold rooftop to peer in through his ceiling. And he had seen her; she could not remove the imprint he had made upon her – oh, how his fingers poured out the misery that she kept in the deep of her heart!
To quiet her pacing anxiety, Christine ran the instructions Raoul had drunkenly given her over and over; she must get her curls relaxed, and she was to pick out an eye-catching gown from the fashion district; a place he had once forbid her to go. Christine had worn expensive dresses before, of course…all hand picked by her husband. But strangely enough, after she had agreed softly to what seemed like a devious plan, he had shoved wads of money into her hands, giving her full freedom of what to wear to the gala. Raoul had rambled on about her lovely curves and delicate breasts – she must show off her beauty, stronger and smokier than ever before! It was almost unnerving to receive this golden key of freedom – if she could carry out what he had asked, would he reward her again? Would he press independence into her hands, just as he had long ago done with a diamond ring? Would he be so preoccupied with work that he might leave her alone; would the marks disappear from her flesh forever?
Christine sighed into the smooth charcoal of night that surrounded her. She would meet Rosie early morning, as usual…but she needed to convince Rosie to skip dance with her; she needed Rosie's thickly plumed love and enthusiasm to uncover the ideal gown. For she did not know how to feel in a dress that pulled tightly at the arcs of her body, and she worried about the state of her frenzied curls. Could anyone even unravel them? They were like the coils that lived inside of light bulbs; too rigid and impeccably tangled to tear apart.
As exhaustion eventually dulled her troubled spirit, she fell into the stillness of sleep. A new world colored itself behind the darkness of her eyelids; a world that was vivid with sounds that spoke and moved, and colors that were painted in lucid layers – God's vision of the world before it had ever been formed.
He was there, in front of her; the man with the inky leather mask that shrouded the upper half of his face. He sat upon the piano bench in the depths of her dreams, his dress shirt unbuttoned to expose the curls of dark hair upon his chest. She reached out a hand to touch him, and his eyes were digging into her skin, travelling up and down to explore the intricate lines of her figure. She was naked, standing close to where he sat pensively, reaching out powerful fingers to touch her in return. There were no words that came out of his lips, only a ragged sigh that spurned a delicious warmth between her legs. Christine felt a throbbing ache hum from the wetness of her clit, causing trickles of sweet juices to dribble down the soft flesh of her inner thighs. The man's eyes gleamed from behind his mask, and she watched in a daze as he parted her thighs with a rough hand, teasing her with a thumb that rubbed against her cunt. She was in sensuous agony when he tweaked and tantalized her; it was as if his fingers controlled her, and she worshipped the very feel of his cool touch upon the scorch of her skin. Christine's hips bucked forward as he plunged his fingers inside her, dripping her warmth down the veins of his knuckle. He surged them rhythmically as her tightness pressed against his fingers, and she fell against his brawny frame, moaning uncontrollably into the sweat on his neck…
Christine's eyes shot open abruptly, dissolving the fullness of his fingers inside her; of his golden eyes that let her in through tiny doorways in the air, unbeknownst to anyone or anything. She reached down and felt a dampness between her legs – God, what she might give to have him touch her that way, to feel his hands invade her, torturing her…Christine's heart fluttered as the rising sunlight slowly filled the walls of the bedroom. Everything must happen that needed to happen, today. She had to skip class, persuade Rosie to play hooky, get her curls relaxed, find the most flawless and revealing dress possible…for what Raoul had asked of her was dangerous. It was a collision of fate and luck, perhaps, but she would die tomorrow if it meant she could steal his attention tonight. And luckily, her husband had tasked her to do this; to saunter the firmness of her breasts in front of the infamous Captain Vanderbilt…the man who had seen her through the skylight; this devilishly handsome man who had looked deep into her soul for what seemed like forever – but was only perhaps a handful of seconds. And her mind obsessively lived in those seconds, those moments that her brain could not rebrand or erase. He was an infestation within her veins, invading her private thoughts and dreams like the paranoia of coming home in the evening. For some unknown reason, she had given herself to him that night, without pondering or deciding anything in particular. His eyes could not be cleared from her vision, nor the painful howls of the piano that his fingers caressed. She heard each refrain in the echo of the silent morning, and she felt his eyes upon her even still, as if she were on his rooftop forever waiting, crouching in the cold autumn rain.
Christine rose from the bed with vigor, with more strength in her sinewy muscles than ever before. She grabbed the tightly banded cash from the nightstand, squeezing it in her hand as if it were the doorway to her spirits' liberty. This money would change her today, just as she had been changed last night. And the feeling within her grew, although she did not entirely understand it; it coiled like a snake around her growing fears, choking the life out of each terrified bud that attempted to bloom.
Raoul had disappeared from the rose-colored sofa, and from the state of the living room, it looked as though he had thrown up in a porcelain bowl left strewn on the rug. His clothes were thrown everywhere, with shoe polish spilled on the coffee table, and a handful of various ties laid over the back of the loveseat. Christine breathed a sigh of relief; his briefcase was missing by the door, so she knew he had already left for work. Checking the clock over the mantelpiece, she tucked the bundle of cash deep into the leather of her purse, smiling to herself as she released it from her hand. A key, a righteous blossom of freedom! God had finally smiled upon her; he had taken her from the depths and shown her a glimpse of heaven. She would need to be brave, she would need to walk with the saunter of a sophisticated queen…she would need to stand out as she did at dance class; leaping higher and extending legs more graceful than a swan that might glide on the glass of a pond.
After a brief bath, Christine pulled her mass of curls into a loose bun and took a moment to observe herself in the bathroom mirror. She sighed at the plainness of her face, and brushed blush across each cheekbone, adding a dash of dark mascara to each eyelash. She rummaged through the closet to find her most comfortable day-dress; a long houndstooth skirt that ended just below her knees. Checking the clock again, Christine threw on her long woolen coat, slipping her feet into simple pumps as she snatched up her purse and flew out the door.
She hurried down the grand swirl of carpeted stairs, running a hand along the smooth mahogany railing that curled in procession with the staircase. The lobby was nearly empty at this time of morning, and Christine breathed out a sigh of relief. There were no crowds she'd have to push through to reach the front double doors – it was a straight shot to the sidewalk of wealthy complexes that crowded the Upper East Side.
The coolness of the brisk autumn morning awoke her senses, with a light wind that tousled the edges of her coat. Christine's heart was bursting with excitement along with the residential traffic, for she could not wait to see Rosie's bright blonde hair at the corner. Thoughts began to prickle at her mind as she walked, disturbing the usual denial that she buried deep down. Rosie was perhaps the only friend she'd ever had; would it be safe to tell her the succulent secret that left the tips of her breasts tingling? Could she beg her friend enough to skip dance and to help with the extravagance needed to charm a man that she did not know…but desperately wished to? Christine bit the inside of her lip as the corner crawled into her view; Rosie was already waiting, sporting a long fashionable leather coat and boots. She seemed to be preoccupied with something, as her face was turned toward the sun and her eyes were squinted. A curious sensation crawled in-between the spaces of thought that were seemingly unknown, and Christine almost stopped to consider the peculiarity of emotions that had run rampant inside of her since last night. Could friends, almost sisters, sense something amiss? Did Rosie dream as she did; hoping to create a future that was not yet written by God?
"Rosie!" Christine called out as she neared the corner, brandishing a smile too grand to hide. Rosie's head whipped in her direction, her mouth hung open in surprise. "Oh, Christine! You look absolutely fabulous! You know we're just going to dance, right, milady?" she giggled, embracing Christine tightly. Christine held Rosie's shoulders as they broke their embrace, searching her friends' eyes for the deep trust that was vital for today's events to fall perfectly into place. Rosie looked innocently back, and then cracked a toothy smile again. "Christine, you look…happy! You're glowing! Did you finally show Raoul your turnout into your splits?"
Christine shook her head aggressively, her stomach turning at the thought of ever showing her body willingly to Raoul. "No…it is something…something magical. And I need your help, sweet Rose! There is this black-tie gala tonight at the Opera House, Raoul told me about it last night…and he's given me money to get my hair relaxed, and to pick out a gown…because…" her voice trailed off, searching the pale face of her friend for understanding. Rosie's blonde eyebrows lifted, as if realizing the truth of it all. Perhaps Christine had been right; perhaps Rosie did notice the bruises, perhaps she could see the truth of things after all…but if that were true, Rosie would see the blush she was hiding, for in the back of her mind, the dream kept replaying itself, over and over…
"Because why? He wants to show you off at the gala?" Rosie inquired, spinning in a circle to mimic the haughty elegance of a black-tie event. Christine shook her head again, grabbing Rosie tightly by the hand. "Listen…Raoul wants me to…to help him. You see, he wants to secure a certain…client, for his research. A high level client," she added at the end, just to give the story a bit more mystery. Rosie seemed fully intrigued now, and she bit her bottom lip while staring widely into Christine's eyes. "A high level client? Who?" she asked eagerly. "And why does he need your help?"
Christine swallowed dryly, taking a deep breath in fear she might become lightheaded. "A man named…well, called…Captain Vanderbilt…Raoul wants me to, to impress him at the gala with…my beauty. That's what he's asked me to do…I know it's quite strange," she added nervously, watching her friends' expressive eyes widen even further.
"Captain Vanderbilt?! Oh my god!" Rosie covered her mouth in shock, letting go of Christine's hand. She stared at Christine in awe for a silent moment, and Christine's heart almost leapt from the confines in her chest. She wanted to immediately ask a thousand questions, but she forced her mouth to stay closed, waiting for Rosie to drop her hands back down to her sides.
Rosie was quiet for an excruciating moment, but then forcefully grabbed Christine by the arm. "We aren't going to dance today," she said firmly, pulling Christine along into a brisk stride. "There's too much we have to do! I can't believe you're going to meet him, Christine…I can't believe Raoul wants you to…to romance him! Oh," she sighed, swinging her purse with her free arm. "Mother was gossiping on Sunday brunch about him, with the other ladies in the living room. I usually always eavesdrop on their brunches; they always get drunk off champagne and talk about the latest bachelors," she explained, tugging on Christine's arm in excitement. "His father is quite wealthy, a widower, too…so naturally, mother obsesses about him, not around father though…but Erik Vanderbilt is his son, the Captain you mentioned! He was a prisoner of war for a couple years…and I think he was tortured by the Germans…apparently he's very handsome, but I think since he's been back, well…the women were saying he wears a mask. And no one has seen him without it since!"
Christine bit her bottom lip hard, her heart shuddering with the hasty realization about him…Erik. The stitches alongside his mouth…had someone done that to him? Did that explain the black depression that lived behind his eyes?
Rosie continued in hushed tones as they neared a coffee shop. "Apparently when he was rescued – or so the women said – he was tied up like a dog, with cuts all over his body!"
They entered the coffee shop, and if not for Rosie's pull upon Christine's arm, she might have floated away. She savored every drop of gossip that Rosie had uttered, and it ran through her mind on a loop, tossing and turning her spirit like the roaring waves of a storm.
Rosie ordered their coffee quickly, as if the mere mention of his name had stoked a fire within her step. "We need to get you ready to meet him, Christine…he's a war hero! And I can't even believe Raoul wants you to…to seduce him! This is so scandalous, I wish I could be there to see it! Oh, Christine…he's going to be smitten with you!"
As Christine forced herself to sip the steaming coffee as if it might slow her fluttering heart, Rosie stopped dead in her tracks. "What if…what if he falls for you? What will you do?!"
"Rosie, my God…he would never," Christine choked out, turning her face away to hide her bright red cheeks. "If he is everything that you say he is, then…he wouldn't fall for the likes of me. I'm too plain," she countered, although her heart screamed for mercy against the lies that she strung together.
"Christine, when are you going to realize that you're the most beautiful woman in all of Manhattan?" Rosie snapped, and Christine froze against the sincerity of her tone. "You know what? I don't know why you never compliment yourself! You're the most sensational person I've ever met. If we weren't friends, I'd even wish I were you! Doesn't Raoul call you beautiful? Doesn't he make you understand…" her voice faded off as she stared at the ground, her innocence fading away like the steam from the coffee, curling up into a smoke filled sky. Rosie stared down at the sidewalk, then suddenly turned to face Christine. "Is he…is he bad? Tell me he isn't bad to you."
Christine stared into the clear blue eyes of her friend, her heart sinking with every silent moment that passed after the words had been spoken. Bad? He was worse than bad…he was sinister, vile, and cruel…
"Does he hurt you?" Rosie asked, tears now filling the corners of her eyes. "Have I just been stupid enough to believe what you tell me? Mother says my naivety is my most terrible quality…but I won't be naïve anymore. Not when it comes to you."
Christine could not escape the sky colored eyes that would not look away; and even though she had dreamt of the righteous moment where Rosie might understand, or knew exactly the pain she lived through every day…she suddenly wished it were not so. For the tears that now cascaded down her lovely friends' cheeks were for her…and without words, Rosie had shattered the thick façade that Christine had taken a full year to construct; but she would not lie, anymore. Not after being trapped in his eyes, last night. Not after feeling his touch thrust life into her, not after dreaming of his hand pulsing inside of her…not after hearing of his torture – the tearing of the side of his mouth, and the blackened truth that stitched the skin of his cheek back together…
Not anymore.
…
A/N: Thank you to all of my lurkers and readers, as per usual! I appreciate every single comment/bit of feedback, so feel free to leave any thoughts. Also, "The die has been cast" or "let the die be cast" are taken from a Latin phrase thought to have been spoken by Julius Caesar upon crossing the Rubicon River, about to enter into a civil war.