Chapter 28- Mirrors and Doors
Erik awoke to find Isabelle still asleep and warm in his arms. The fire had burned out in the hearth not to be compared with their endless supply of love. He lay down again even though the sun peaked through the drawn curtains reminding him of the day. Isabelle's eyes fluttered and she opened them and gave him the most satisfied look on her face. Pure ecstasy.
Erik felt a pang in his stomach as the blissful ignorance of reality subsided. He felt like having a drink to maintain his content state but he couldn't find anything around. Isabelle had risen to get cleaned up. He really loved her, but he felt like a stormy petrel, discord seemed to follow him everywhere. All he ever wanted to do was forfend the people in his life that he loved and keep them from harm. He thought of Christine and shuddered. He did not want Isabelle to ever feel that way.
Erik ran his hand over his chin and his hand cringed at his unshaven jaw. His normally precise hygiene routine had become sporadic in these last couple days. All he wanted was a bath and a shave and to put on a fresh suit. He departed from his bedchamber to seek out another place to bathe without disturbing Isabelle.
Being legitimately wealthy and being expropriated from his lair in the opera house had its advantages—although he never had a problem when Christine had been his guest. Here in this lavish home he had bought, every bathroom had the proper furnishings and all of the modern conveniences. Hot water, indoor plumbing, and a superfluous supply of toiletries. When he had lived in Persia bathing had been like a ritual and he never seemed to outgrow it. He lay in his porcelain bathtub, closing his eyes, and inhaling the sweet-smelling steam from the eau de toilette he poured into the bath.
Being in the bath allowed him to reflect on everything and relieve his tension. Ever since his surgery he could not prevent himself from exploring is face with his hands and feeling each time as if he were a stranger. Not feeling the scars and malformations he had felt from before effected him with a peculiar sense of discomfort. He never regretted his decision very often but he could not help feel like he still wore a mask. Underneath this façade he still felt like the same misshapen hobbledehoy attempting to avoid the aspersions of society.
He stepped out of the bath and put his silken robe on, staring at the fogged up mirror, a possession he had never owned willingly in his past life. He appeared as he felt, a blur, hazed in confusion. Never in his life had he felt so lost. All of his life he had known what he wanted and sought to get it. The only this he had never been able to make appear or disappear at will was his face.
Now, he did not see himself. "At least," he thought, "as a monster I had a place in society, I knew who I was, I knew what I could have and what I could change, now…" Now being what he considered normal, perhaps surpassing the label, the world at his fingertips, decisions could not be made for him due to social blockades. He could have either woman of his dreams and he did not understand why he should have such difficulty deciding. In his past life the prospect of anyone loving him was so absurd that…
The steam had begun to clear from the mirror and he saw himself at last. How could he have not rationalized this before? His torpid mind awoke in splendor at the simplicity of it all. Isabelle saw him and had always seen him. Christine never really saw him when he had been at his worst. Isabelle had claimed to be in love with him when he had been at his lowest point in life, his ugliest, inside and out. Christine had… well, that story was obvious.
After shaving he ran his hand along the smooth surface of his chin and felt content in body and spirit. He admired his dress suit and knew that his future would no longer be so unclear. Suddenly he remember what he and Christine had last talked about.—a baby. His mood altered as quickly as before. Another child… another argument with Raoul… another Rosalie…
He doubted he was the father but… anything was possible. All he could do was complete his life as it was now and wait for the birth of the child to see what was to be done. Isabelle knocked at the door and Erik opened with a new feeling. Isabelle looked radiant and kissed him lightly on his shaven cheek and whispered, "I love you," in his ear.
As they enjoyed their private moment, a ring at the door separated them again. Erik squeezed her shoulders and quizzically went to answer the door, not expecting anyone at this early hour. When he opened the door, he could not believe who he saw. All of this life, the arrival of an unexpected visitor in an open doorway had somehow altered his life in a large way. So when he saw the Count de Chagny standing in his doorway with his attire disheveled and disposition defeated, Erik braced himself for the worst.