Erik waited impatiently in his chair, now glaring at the fireplace, now at the door, now at the rich Persian carpet at his feet. He would have paced before the fireplace, but did not want to admit to such a degree of nervousness. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, his brow deeply furrowed. Nervous? Maybe not, but he was becoming dangerously close.
What if she didn't come? What if she was still too weak? She had only made it to his sitting room by the skin of her teeth the last time, and he had heard her fall down before she had appeared at the door. Of course, you could not expect someone to suffer a near convulsive fever and wake up the picture of health.
There was always the possibility that she didn't want to come, but he had decided not to think about it. The memory of that cold fear which had crossed her eyes...he wasn't sure whether he should be angry and annoyed, or hopeless. When he had last looked in on her, she had been fast asleep. He had no idea how she would react to his presence now. An image of a little girl child, huddled into a trembling ball, popped unheeded into his head.
He could easily imagine what she had looked like as a child. She was probably very thin, almost scrawny, with a cloud of golden hair tumbling untamed over her shoulders; a little fairy princess.
She had most definitely changed. That hair was pulled up and back to reveal those sharp features and eyes that spoke nothing of her sylvan nature. Poor little fairy, to be hardened so young. When she died, she would most definitely go to heaven; she'd already served her time in hell.
The door opened, and Erik nearly held his breath. Did he dare to hope, or was it just one of the house's tricks, like creaking floorboards at night, imitating human voices?
He slowly detached his eyes from the carpet and turned to face the sound.
Adrian's eyes were fixed on his, as if he fascinated her to the skies. But it was more likely that having her eyes fixed upon her destination was the only thing keeping her on balance. Though she was obviously trying to hide it, she swayed with exhaustion. Her hair was pulled back into the familiar coiled braid, and she wore the brown dress that completed the image. He had been tempted to burn the ugly thing, but had not, seeing how there were no clothes to fit her on hand.
She took a step. Then another. Each one was painfully slow, as if she moved underwater. He smothered the impulse to get up and assist her. This was her first walk unassisted and without mishaps, and she would have to practice if she was to ever walk freely again. When she finally stopped, a bit of the strain in her face relaxed, as if she had shed a heavy burden.
They faced one another, eye to eye, neither one breaking their gaze. She, ramrod straight and on her feet. He, leaned back, legs crossed, steepled fingers and cocked brow; the picture of idle male supremacy. A brief contest of wills began.
It was now, more than ever that he realized how tall she seemed and how short she actually was. The top of her head didn't even reach his shoulders. Christine had been much taller, but had given the impression of a woman half her stature. Adrian appeared to tower at his level. In his eyes, it was a much more favorable trait.
Finally, Erik broke the stillness by uncrossing his legs and standing, offering her the adjacent chair with a cool gesture. She acknowledged this with a brief nod, walked with the same careful pace toward it, and sat down with unmistakable relief.
Once again, silence prevailed. This time, it was Adrian who broke it.
"What did you wish to discuss with me, Monsieur?"
So cold, my child. Such mild words, such hostile feeling.
He sat back down and leaned forward slightly. This was to be expected. Making sure that his manner would match hers for coolness, he began to speak.
"As you are now a…guest in my house, I felt that I should reinforce some of the things I said this morning, and introduce some new ones. First of all, you have been here for three days, this one being the fourth. It is the eve of the seventh of October."
So far, so good. No emotion. He was beginning on her level, and (he hoped) they would both build it up from there. The only way to get to the top was to begin at the bottom.
"Second, you have been suffering from a severe fever and several minor injuries. I suggest that you continue to sleep as much as possible if you are to ever get back on your feet. I shall take you to the place of your choosing when I see that you are fully recovered"
She nodded, indicating that she understood.
"Third, I suggest that you not attempt to leave this house. If you do, there is an exceptional possibility that you will drown."
Erik nearly laughed at himself. The sentence sounded ridiculous, but if she was surprised, she said nothing, though her pupils dilated slightly. She never questioned that a random stranger, out of all the population of Paris had chosen to nurse her back to health. She simply took it without comment. At least she wasn't the annoyingly inquisitive type, who stuck her nose into everything.
"Fourth, your room is connected to a bathroom that I think will suit all of your needs. If you wish for anything else, ask me, and I will try to assist you. And last…"
He reached for the books he had picked out earlier.
"It must be dull sitting in bed all day. I believe these might make the time pass."
Was it his imagination, or did it seem that she wanted to say more than "Thank you Monsieur." At any rate, she said this, and made her slow way back to her room, the books making her progress all the slower.
When he had taken out the books, a strange expression crossed her face; an expression which he could not identify. Her eyes had changed. They had not softened, but they had most definitely changed. A curious sensation of having accomplished something important made the corners of his mouth twist into a barely perceptible smile.
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One, two, one, two. Right, left, right, left.
The hallway seemed just as endless as it had last time. And just as dark. That was the problem with no windows: there was never any light. Still, she continued to walk in a straight line, forever onward and onward.
It was all she could do, really. At least she wasn't falling down or anything. And the hallway continued on to eternity.
How would this encounter go? Remembering the cold formality of the letter, Adrian's face tightened ever so slightly. It was as if he was a twin. The wrong twin was the one she had been in contact with, and the right twin was the one whose miraculous music she had heard.
The door.
Please let it be the right twin.
The door opened easily, and without a sound. Funny, but nothing seemed to make any noise in this house. Her bare feet padded silently on the stone floors, and even her breath seemed muffled.
She barely took in the crackling fire, or the hundreds of books that lined the shelves. He was the only thing in the room. His presence dominated the very air, smothering anything that might have existed prior.
As if an icy thread was strung between them, they stared at one another, barely breathing. Suddenly, he shattered the stillness, stood and gestured to the chair that sat alongside his own. Making sure that her pace would not reveal her slight limp she sat down and faced him.
"What did you wish to discuss with me, Monsieur?"
He watched her for but a moment, his eyes vaguely reproachful, as if he disliked her cool tone.
As he sat forward, elbow resting on the arm of the chair, Adrian felt a bit childish and stupid, as if she was a schoolgirl whose teacher found her at fault.
"As you are now a…guest in my house, I felt that I should reinforce some of the things I said this morning, and introduce some new ones. First of all, you have been in my house for three days, this one being the fourth. It is the eve of the seventh of October."
The way he had paused before the word guest seemed to be vaguely sarcastic. She was more like a patient in his hospital.
Four days…it seemed like four weeks. Had their last talk only been that morning? The cool look of his face pulled her away from the words.
How easily he spoke, and with such manners and grace! His voice matched his clothes perfectly, and the white mask seemed oddly fitting. She did not question the mask. He most probably had an excellent reason for having it on, which he did not care to share with her.
"Second, you have been suffering from a severe fever and several minor injuries. I suggest that you continue to sleep as much as possible if you are to ever get back on your feet. I shall take you to the place of your choosing when I see that you are fully recovered"
Adrian nodded slightly. The bone-crushing tiredness she felt even now could only be cured by sleep.
"Third, I suggest that you not attempt to leave this house."
Coming from anyone else, Adrian would have interpreted the words as those of imprisonment. But somehow, these had an oddly welcoming quality.
"If you do, there is an exceptional possibility that you will drown."
Drown? I must be near the river. Surely she had enough sense in her head to avoid the water in her state! But he seemed to know what he was talking about. Her sense of inferiority increased.
"Fourth, your room is connected to a bathroom that I think will suit all of your needs. If you wish for anything else, ask me, and I will try to assist you. And last…"
Adrian's heart practically stopped beating as time slowed to a momentary crawl.
Books. He was giving her books to read. And if the titles revealed anything, they were works of fiction, not atlases or books of history. They were what Isobel called "fanciful books" and according to her, they were not worth reading. Adrian had to disagree. They enchanted her. Every word stuck into her head and was played over and over like music. The Professor had taught her that. The Professor had taught her many things.
As the weight of the books in her hands disrupted her thoughts, Adrian looked closely at the man's eyes, searching them for something other to say than, "Thank you, Monsieur." As she left the room, she felt horribly inadequate.
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Entering her room, Adrian noted the sleepy, messy air it seemed to have aquired during her short absence. The air was thicker here, and warmer: a room made for sleeping.
However, her mind resisted the clinging aura of sleep. The aching weariness of before had been pushed to the back of her mind and replaced by a sense of expectation. There was something exciting about him that she could read below his frigid demeanor. She felt at once anxious and delighted. Sleep was the last thing on her mind.
He had said that sleep would improve her condition, and Adrian was faintly reminded of her ardent desire to return to health and the outside world. That wish seemed so far away now, but still, rest was important. A hot bath would sooth her heart beat to something approaching normal.
Pulling aside the heavy scarlet curtain and entering the door behind, Adrian was greeted by dazzling white, accented with soft green. The tub was made of white marble and green sea glass and reminded her of a fountain. The faucet was located so that the water would flow over shelves and channels set in the immaculate stone before hitting the tub itself.
The water proved to be comfortably warm and Adrian sank into a delicious torpor, her eyes half closed. This was by far much better than the bathroom in her room. That tub had been rather narrow and unimaginative, barely allowing her knees below the surface. This one was enormous in comparison, and let her rest comfortably while she bathed. After soaping and rinsing her hair, she reluctantly left the tub. The water was starting to cool, and a cold was the last thing she needed.
Dried, dressed in a nightgown, warm and content, Adrian sank into bed. The three books beckoned warmly to her, offering their contents with languid ease. Lifting the first one off of the stack, she examined the cover with curiosity. Les Miserables, by Victor Hugo. Settling back into the pillows, she opened the book.
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Colorful oaths learned from his years with the gypsies filled Erik's kitchen before he subsided into a brooding silence. He had cut his thumb with the knife he had been using to cut up his own dinner. It wasn't only the pain of the cut, but the fact that he had allowed it to happen that blackened his mood. Usually, he knew precisely what he was doing at all times, and there was no room for error. But these days, he was always distracted.
After quickly binding the wound, he placed his scant meal upon a tray and went to the lakeside to eat.
Poking at his food, he sat in a dark reverie, too preoccupied to even touch the bread and cheese. God, but they were always on his mind! Soft brown eyes filled with tears turned into blue and green, to cold to cry and then back again. Tightly curled chestnut locks became flowing and golden before curling again. The images collided with one another, melding and folding till the actual shape was unrecognizable. Erik sighed petulantly, before tearing a hunk of bread off with his teeth. These days, he was never sure which image tormented him most. Christine's memory was painful, Adrian's face provoked…guilt? Surely not! But there it was, before his eyes. He had almost pledged his life to Christine, had professed to love her, but she had left him with nothing to soften his existence. Adrian filled that void where only memories existed, he was almost happy when in her presence. And yet…
Erik swore again. He had bitten his tongue. Throwing the remaining food into the lake with disgust, he stomped down the shore towards his house.
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Adrian swore softly, but with no less energy than a shriek would have vented. Of the few books she had read, none had been as hard as this one. She was frustrated, for although she could see only prose, she had a strong feeling that she was missing some meaning written in the colossal volume. If the professor was there, he would have explained it perfectly, and sound neither patronizing, nor confusing. Then, perhaps she could read the book in peace, with the knowledge that she wasn't missing something right before her eyes!
Suddenly, she heard distant yelling of profanities. Apparently, her host had a short temper. He stomped about for a while before a door slammed and the house was quiet again.
Looking back to the book, Adrian attempted (once again) to read the first chapter. And (once again), her thoughts trailed off from the words, refusing to stay put. Sighing, she put the book down, deciding to try it another time. She was too discouraged by her initial failure to attempt the other books.
A door slammed again, jolting her from her frustration. He was back from wherever he had been, and judging from the absense of stomping, had calmed down slightly. Adrian wondered what had upset him.
I must be a terrible inconvenience, she thought vaguely. There didn't seem to be anyone else in the house, and she had a feeling that he didn't get much company.
As the moments ticked by, her feeling of being a burden intensified.
He cooks for me, he doctors me, he takes me into his home, he gives me books to read, and I don't even know his name. Yet he knows mine.
Come to think of it, he seemed to know a great deal more about her than she did about him! Uneasiness crept into her mind. It was one of Isobel's cardinal rules to know more about the other person than they knew about her. The knowledge that she had broken this rule wasn't helping at all, and Adrian wished that she had never come to the Populaire in the first place. But only for a moment, because then she remembered the voice, and any wish to be elsewhere faded away. Besides, he had not attacked her in any way. For the three days she had been unconscious, he could have easily taken advantage of the situation. But, as far as she knew, he hadn't. Funnily enough, she almost trusted him, even though she hardly knew him at all.
Picking up the book, she began to read again, her fingertips set resolutely at her lips.
After what seemed hours later, a knock sounded at the door. An insane thought entered her mind like a fear-crazed mouse. "Ask him to help you!" It squealed before dashing away.
An interesting idea. The calmer voices soothed the mouse-thought, taking control of the situation. Ask him to help you understand. He said that he would assist you in any way he could. Just look at him! He seems intelligent enough. Ask him. He wants you to.
"Come in." Her voice level, her face calm, she smoothed out the nightgown she was wearing in an attempt to look impassive.
The way he stood in the door way reminded her of a big cat, appearing lazy but being far from it. He seemed nonchalant, unmoved and unmovable. He was only here because he had nothing else better to do. But for all that, she saw right through him. Perhaps it was a slight change in the tilt of his head, a miniscule shift in the angle of his brow, a tiny alteration of the slope of his shoulders. He was only keeping that cool, distant air because that was what she was doing. Now he resembled a crow, mischievously mimicking her in an attempt to understand. Those calm voices were right. He wanted her to ask.
They regarded one another for several moments, as she attempted to find words to express herself. She needn't have tried. He understood exactly what she wanted, and sat in the chair beside her bed.
"Are you enjoying the books?"
She almost nodded, but stopped. She had barely read one chapter. To nod would be to lie. He held out a hand for the book.
After examining the cover, he nodded, as if it had told him something that he had already guessed.
"This book is known for being difficult to read. I find it easier to follow and understand when read aloud. It might help you, and it would pass the time."
Adrian nodded carefully, taking care to hide the warm feeling that buzzed in the back of her head. It had been so long since someone had read to her. So long. The last one to do it had been the professor, and she had left his house months ago. Settling back on the pillows, she gestured for him to begin.
The man was a wonderful reader, his voice lilting perfectly over every phrase. Once in a while, she would stop him to ask a question, and he would answer in a way that reminded her of the professor: neither confusing, nor patronizing.
As she listened to his melodic voice, she found that she was able to better concentrate on the story.
Suddenly, the reader's voice faded into silence. Adrian looked up in surprise. They had been there for hours, far into the night and into the new day, and yet she felt as if the story had only recently begun. The tale of Jean Val Jean was so mesmerizing, the suffering he had undergone, the suffering of Fantine and Cosette. They had reached the point when Marius and Cosette had met, and confessed their love for one another. It did not seem like the end, and yet he had stopped. Why?
"It is very late, or rather, very early, Mademoiselle. We have been reading for at least ten hours without pause. Besides," He took out a pocket watch. "It's almost breakfast time"
Ten hours! Had it really been that long? To a certain extent, Adrian felt guilty. Ten hours was a long time to read aloud. He had neither complained, nor hesitated for all that time. Even if the book was not yet over, he deserved a break.
"I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you, Monsieur."
"After breakfast, we can continue reading if you like." His voice had undertones of grim amusement that she couldn't understand. Through the entire ten hours he had read to her, his voice had kept emotionless, going only so far as the characters' word, and only touching upon the emotion behind them. She was slowly getting more accustomed to him, and his steely tones which so resembled hers were almost welcoming.
After another delicious breakfast (he ate with her) they went back to the book. She was sitting with her knees drawn up slightly to her chest (as close as her ribs would allow), her eyes fixed on her knees, but darting to the man's face every now and then. They continued reading till lunchtime, and then continued after the meal.
As they went through the sad plight of Eponine's unrequited love for Marius, his reading became suddenly strained. His jaw was clenched, and if he had been a cat, his hair would have stood on end. As Eponine died of a bullet wound taken for Marius's sake, Adrian felt her chest tighten, and closed her eyes. The man seemed to feel the same way, and his jaw continued to tighten as his eyes iced over.
Suddenly, the book snapped shut and the man stood quickly, exiting the room with a flare of his cloak.
Adrian only looked after him, not daring to call out.
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I do not like this chapter AT ALL. I feel as if I'm leaving something out. Please help?
