Chapter 24: The Caviling Continues

[featuring "The Hunger Strike" and "Cracking Under Pressure"]

Against his will, the Girys volunteered Gustave as tribute to alert his tempestuous father that dinner was served. The boy timidly knocked on the study door and winced at his father's harsh reply.

"WHO IS IT AND WHAT DO YOU WANT!" Erik roared from the other side of the door.

"It's me," Gustave squeaked, "and it's dinner time." He cowered in fear when his father stomped to the door and whipped it open.

"Thank you, Gustave," Erik spoke calmly to his son, "but I am not hungry."

"But you have to!" Gustave insisted. "Mother says dinner is the one meal we always have to eat together."

Erik sighed. Christine often gave into her husband's whims and let him skip breakfast and lunch, but she was adamant they eat dinner together as a family every night. Apparently, it was called "bonding".

Erik reluctantly followed his son into the dining room and took his seat at the head of the table in between Madame Giry and Gustave. Meg walked into the room and sat beside her mother, but the seat across from Erik remained empty.

"Where's Christine?" he growled. "It's her idea that everyone be present for dinner."

"I'm afraid she refused to come down," said Meg regretfully, though she wasn't regretful at all.

She'd gone to fetch Christine from her boudoir and found the woman a tearstained mess, sobbing about how she'd have to get a second divorce. Christine had said it in an accusatory manner toward Meg, but the ex-dancer was unaffected. She'd be very happy to see Erik and Christine divorced.

"She what?" Erik spat.

"She refused to come down," Meg repeated with a shrug.

Erik was fuming. He could be composing, but instead he was being forced to bond with his family. He was making an effort, but Christine couldn't even follow the rules she'd put in place.

"Perhaps, I should bring her something," Madame Giry suggested. "She skipped lunch too-"

"No," Erik snapped. "People survive without food for longer than a few hours. If she wants to have a little hunger strike, that's fine by me."

Madame Giry nodded, and the room descended into tense silence. Erik's wrath could be provoked by a single word, and no one wanted to take their chances.

Madame Giry carried a bowl of soup upstairs to Christine's room. She made no effort to be stealthy about it, because she was the one person Erik feared, even if he denied it. In her boudoir, Christine was dressed for bed, attempting to read a book, but the novel was uninteresting, and she refused to venture down to the library to pick another.

Though Madame Giry was annoyed by Christine's habit of "putting on airs" these days, Christine was still one of her girls, and the ex-ballet mistress' stern heart softened at seeing the young woman so upset.

"Here. I thought you might be hungry," said Madame Giry as she extended the bowl of soup to Christine.

"Oh...thank you," Christine replied weakly. She accepted the bowl, but made no move to eat it.

"Please eat," Madame Giry encouraged.

"But I have no spoon," Christine whimpered. She'd wasted the day's energy on crying, but she still had a few tears to shed on the minor inconvenience.

"Oh...here." Madame Giry offered the proper utensil. "Now eat. A woman in your condition can't go hungry."

"My condition?" Christine's head shot up, a blush crawling across her face. "How did you know?"

"You forget I'm a mother," Madame Giry said warmly. "And I've seen quite a few women in a similar state." She sighed thinking of the young ballerinas who got a bit too caught up with the aristocratic men they met in the dancers' lounge.

"Oh, I suppose that's true." Christine smiled as she absentmindedly placed her hands on her stomach, just as she'd been doing all day. Her actions had not gone unnoticed by Madame Giry earlier.

"Is that what you were trying to tell Erik this morning?" the older woman asked.

"Yes." Christine sniffled. "But I suppose he won't care considering we're at the part of the marriage where we hate each other, as you said."

"Christine, I was being sarcastic…" Madame Giry muttered. The innocent Christine had always had a problem comprehending the ex-ballet mistress' sarcasm.

"I know," Christine replied. "But still, he hasn't come to see me yet, so his affections for me are obviously not what they once were." This sort of argument was untypical for them. Wasn't Erik worried that she didn't emerge from her room all day? Didn't it bother him that she was furious with him?

"You should've seen him earlier, Christine. Don't tell him I said this, but we all heard him sobbing in his study about how he's a terrible husband."

"Oh, poor Erik!" Christine sniffled again. "Don't tell him I said this, but he's not a terrible husband at all!"

"My lips are sealed," Madame Giry promised. "After you finish your soup, get some sleep, Christine. You two can work it out in the morning."

Christine nodded sadly and reached for the spoon so she could eat her soup.

After the tensely silent dinner, Erik returned to his study, but he was unable to work. Instead, he sat with his arms crossed and scowled at the ceiling. When he'd finished properly cursing his damned wife, his head fell against his desk.

"I should've never brought her to America!" he whimpered. "She'd be so much happier without me!"

After Erik finished sobbing about how he was a terrible husband, he wandered aimlessly out of his study and dragged his heavy feet up the foyer. He stood on the landing of the bifurcated staircase, wondering whether he should bid Christine goodnight and beseech her forgiveness; but Erik ultimately decided to go toward the opposite wing of the house. Though he was willing to damage his pride behind closed doors, he was not ready to swallow his pride and apologize to Christine for losing his temper. Not yet, anyway.

Erik paced around his chambers, unable to sleep. He and Christine had spent nights apart in their separate bedrooms, but that was because he'd stayed up late working. Most nights Christine would come wandering into his chambers via the loggia, begging him to come to bed and hold her, and they'd fall asleep in each other's arms. Most men might think such initiative in a woman to be an act of insolence, but Erik couldn't care less. Christine could beg for anything, and he'd give in to his wife's every demand like the man he was.

This was different though. Erik didn't know what was holding him back when all he wanted was to get on his knees and beg her forgiveness, but he wasn't going to do it this time. Christine claimed to hate it when he treated her like the goddess she was, and if that was the case, Erik wasn't going to grovel. It wasn't going to happen.

After a sleepless night, Erik trudged downstairs to the breakfast room and found Gustave and the Girys waiting to eat. Still, Christine refused to make an appearance.

"Where is she?" Erik snarled.

"She felt unwell," replied Madame Giry.

"Lies…" Erik muttered stubbornly. "I'm not eating a bite until she comes."

"Suit yourself," said Madame Giry as she and the others dug into the meal.

Erik sat with his arms crossed, glaring at his plate, but the food did not tempt him. He only came down to breakfast to see Christine, but she insisted on being ornery. When the Girys and Gustave silently finished and left the room, a maid came in to finish clearing the tables.

"Are you done, sir?" she timidly asked the moody master,

"No," Erik snapped. "Thank you," he added. He was in a terrible mood, but that didn't give him an excuse to insult the help.

The maid nodded and politely mumbled a reply before grabbing a stack of dishes and scurrying to the kitchen. Erik shook with anger and took a bite of his untouched breakfast. It was freezing cold and wholly unappetizing. He slammed his fists on the table.

"That's it!" he screamed to the empty breakfast room.

Erik rose from the table, upsetting his chair in the process, and stomped up the grand bifurcated staircase in the foyer. He tore down the hallway in the direction of Christine's chambers. The door to her boudoir swung open as Erik stormed into her bedroom where Madame Giry was giving her a light breakfast.

"What the hell is going on here!" Erik roared. "Why are you locking yourself in your room and refusing to come out!"

"You're one to complain about locking oneself away," Christine spat.

Madame Giry held a hand up to Erik to prevent him from speaking.

"Erik, your wife is ill," she said.

"Ill? She's just being stubborn."

"Erik, she's greener than you were on the boat ride from Paris." Madame Giry smirked, and Christine joined in the smugness; she'd had to comfort her new husband through many bouts of seasickness during their journey to America. What a way to start their marriage!

When Erik more closely examined his wife, his gruff demeanor melted away. Christine was indeed a sickly green. He stumbled to her bedside and sank to his knees, clasping her limp hand to his beating chest.

"My angel…" he whispered. "Have I done this to you?"

"Well, technically yes…" Christine teased. A look of horror washed over Erik's face. "Madame Giry," Christine continued. "Thank you again for sneaking breakfast up to me. If you don't mind, I'd like to speak to my husband alone for a moment."

"Of course," the ex-ballet mistress replied. Erik nervously watched her exit the room before turning back to his wife.

"I'm so sorry!" Erik cried as he fervently pressed her hand to his lips. "Christine, please forgive me for my terrible temper!"

"You are forgiven on one condition. You must forgive me as well." Christine smiled and weakly leaned over to place a kiss on Erik's cheek.

"Of course, Christine," Erik answered swiftly. He struggled to remember what she'd done to anger him in the first place. "Ah yes, you wanted to tell me something, did you not?"

"Yes, I did. Erik, sit with me for a bit. I'm feeling so unwell."

"Shall I send for a doctor?" Erik asked as he climbed into the bed and sat beside his wife, lightly stroking her pale cheek.

"No, I think I am alright at present." Christine lifted Erik's hands and pressed them to her stomach. She smiled down at his touch before meeting his gaze with starry eyes.

"Oh...you have a stomach ache?" he asked confusedly.

Christine sighed."No, Erik. Mine is a uniquely feminine ailment," she said smiling down again at his hands on her stomach.

"Oh." The unmasked side of his face turned a shade of deep red from the tips of his ears to the back of his neck.

Christine rolled her eyes. "No, Erik. Not like that," she said shortly. "Erik, do you remember that wonderfully romantic night we had a few weeks ago?"

"I do." He smirked and pulled his wife closer before his eyes widened with shock. "My god!" he screamed. "Christine, are you…"

"Yes, I am," she said proudly. "Erik, I'm expecting."

A gleefully giddy smile spread across Erik's face. "I'm going to be a father!" he shouted. "Well, I'm already a father, but I'm going to be a father again!" He kissed Christine excitedly. "This was what you were trying to tell me yesterday? Oh! And I cast you away!" Erik bemoaned. "Please forgive-"

"I already did, remember?" Christine kissed him again, and held him close. "You can make it up to me by sitting with me for a bit. I didn't sleep a wink last night, and I'm terribly exhausted."

Erik deserved a much worse punishment than that, but he was content to sit with his wife. She rested her head against his chest, and within minutes, the reconciled couple fell asleep in each others' arms.