Life has become an endless game of tempers and affection. He loves me, he yells at me, he loves me, he yells at me. I can't handle it. I can't. So I lock myself up in my room, hiding from his exhausting games, tired of this unfortunate dilemma that I have placed myself in.
I end up staying in my room for three days straight, coming out only to eat by myself. Every night, Erik says, "Goodnight, Christine.", and every night I ignore him.
But while I am in my room, I have begun to think. I am trying to realize what barriers I have crossed and what choices have influenced these. I come up with this conclusion:
I am a girl who has the capacity to make her choices like a woman, but instead chooses them like a child. I wear my heart on my sleeve and show off my emotions too easily, yet I am always attempting to hide them. Erik is right; I only think in the moment and not in the moment after. I must learn to appreciate the consequences. Every word I speak to him is like a move on a chessboard- I ought to be able to see several moves ahead. I am not sure if this is an accurate analogy; I have never been good at chess.
Figuring out myself is not nearly as complicated as figuring out Erik. One moment, I care deeply for him, and the next I despise him. How is this the way it should be? My tremendous lack of knowledge about marriage in general contrasts sharply with the idea that Erik and I are not fit to be compared to any sort of common knowledge at all.
I begin to realize how two people should act to each other when they are married, and I wonder if for a moment, it would be possible to forget our history and become a proper husband and wife.
How can I force myself to pretend to fall in love with him? How can I have sweet dreams about a man who looks like death while I am mourning over Raoul every night?
The strange thing is, whenever I am with Erik, I forget entirely about Raoul.
I had to be the one to make this work. I knew Erik; his faults, his weaknesses, his strengths. He would never be the one to pull us together. He needs guidance to make his decisions as well. Must I be the adult here?
The most horrible confession of all is that I am not doing a single bit of this growth because of any positive motivation. I am simply tired of being stressed and unhappy; tired of pretending to adapt to this surreal environment. If I pretend that we are normal for a long enough length of time, perhaps I will truly come to believe it.
He is in his room, sitting at his organ. He turns, looking rather surprised to see me behind the shadows of the edge of his mask.
"You surface!" he says expectantly, holding out both of his hands in a display of surrender. "How is your foot?"
I do not pay attention to him.
"Then you must allow me to love you, Erik."
"Erik," I begin in a very steady voice. "I-well, I-"
He stares at me and I finally go up to him and lay my hand on his shoulder. He twitches involunarily and instantly looks away from my face.
"It is much better, thank you." I reply as lightly as I can, ignoring his downwards expression and his trembling hands, which are trying to claw me away. I keep my hand there and pray that he does not notice how much I am shaking. "I am quite thirsty, however. Could we have some tea together?"
Erik looks as though he might never speak again. I wonder briefly if he has gone into shock. I see his eyes scrambling for words as he brings his fingers up and touches the tips of my fingers very hesitatingly.
"Tea?" he repeats foggily.
"Yes, tea." I hop up. "Come, come, I will make it, but you must show me where some things are."
Throughout the rest of our time together, I am gentle, quiet, and sweet, and he returns it to me as well. How easy it seems, as if I am not torn between loathing and adoring him?
"Good night, Erik," I say sweetly, when I have grown tired. He stares at me in awe.
"Good night, Christine." I hear him say very softly as I go to my room.
I feel very peaceful as I snuggle deep within my bedcovers. We did not exchange one unpleasant word! I am rather happy and refreshed, and I wonder if he will come in my room tonight and ask for a kiss. That gets me a little nervous, but he never comes and I drift off to sleep.
The next day, I greet him with a somewhat less-forced cheery, "Good morning" and a soft pat against his gloved hand. He takes me on a walk around the lake and tells me a story as I clutch onto his arm.
Every day, it grows easier for me to show simple affection to him. He is oddly silent most of the time, though sometimes I catch him staring avidly at me until I meet his eyes, and he looks away. Because of it, I have grown very relaxed around him. Perhaps the lack of human contact was affecting me more strongly than I thought.
"Erik loves you," he tells me one evening as we sit on the couch together as I embroider and he simply watches me.
"I know that, Erik," I say softly. "You are very kind to me." I say no more.
"As you've been kind to me." he says back. "Why have you been so… kind… to me this past week?"
"I am trying to make this marriage work."
Erik thinks, leaning back and exhaling. I suddenly want to climb into his lap so he can sing to me, but I don't think he would appreciate it. I feel silly for thinking such a thing. Why would I want to climb into Erik's lap?
"That is good of you," he says finally. He reaches out and touches my face with his hand, still looking a little frightened that I might pull away. "But you were angry at me one day, and then you came out of your room and you were—like this."
"Like what?" I ask innocently.
"Like this," he repeats, slowly running his finger down my face. His whole hand reminds me of death- as if being touched by a skeleton. But I do not cringe or turn away, and as his hand travels down to the corners of my lips, I find I cannot stop staring at his golden eyes and my lips part very gently...
He stops, pulling his hands away. I release a sigh. "I should not have brought up R- I should not have behaved the way I did. I did not mean to upset you. I should not have brought up things that were cruel."
"It was my fault, not yours," he mutters. "Why do you always apologize when Erik is so ashamed of himself? Sometimes my temper makes me forget who I am, Christine. You could never imagine."
He leaves me with that cryptic remark and I suddenly feel so unhappy in that moment, thinking of my poor Erik, unable to control his temper and lashing out at the only person he loves.
With a rush of confident resolve (or insanity) I climb over and lay my head on his shoulder. He is so very thin, and I can feel his muscles tighten beneath me. I put my hand on his own, pretending that this is very easy and natural.
"I love you" Erik repeats weakly. I squeeze his fingers.
He still reminds me of death, but it does not bother me quite so much anymore.
The next morning, he vanishes for an hour or so (I lock the door) and then returns with good news.
"I have a surprise for you, wife," he says proudly. "Would you like to go see Faust tonight?"
I allow my mind to process this. "Here? Upstairs?"
He nods vigorously, taking my hands in his cold ones. "I will show you to very 'special seats', if you understand."
I frown. "Where?"
"In the rafters, my darling! No one ever sees Erik when he goes up there. It is a perfect place for us to sit and enjoy a lovely view! Consider it a gift from me to you."
"Can't we—can't we just sit in the normal seats?"
"May I kiss your fingers?" he asks, ignoring me. "May I please kiss your fingers?"
Still wrapping my mind around this whole conversation, I stutter, "Of course," without thinking and he slowly brings my fingers up to his mouth and bestows a small kiss on each one of them. It is oddly comforting.
"Tonight?" I ask, allowing myself to grow excited. He knows that is my favorite show and the significance it holds for me. I haven't seen it for ages and it would be a nice change to see it rather than be performing it. I wonder how well the opera company is coping with all their scandals before my absence.
Erik smiles at me. It's reassuring to know that he can. It's hard to tell under the mask, but I can tell by the creases on the side of his mouth and the lift of his upper face. "Tonight is the last performance, my little angel. We shall go up at quarter to seven."
I clap my hands like a little girl and throw my arms around his neck.
He freezes, and I almost pull away on instinct, unfamiliar with this close human interaction, but I struggle internally and close my eyes as I keep my arms looped around him, determined to not pull away. After a second, he puts his arms tentatively around my waist and I feel butterflies. I press against him, confused. Was I supposed to feel like this? What had I felt when I hugged Raoul? I couldn't even remember.
Leaning against Erik feels—nice. He is taller than Raoul, so that I can lean my head on his shoulder, but he's not so tall that I cannot look into his face. He is still so very cold and I decide that is what bothers me most about physical affection towards him, even more so than his face, yet I am getting used to that as well.
He holds me for a minute, his grasp peaceful and serene, unlike his desperate groping in the drawing room last week. I feel very content.
After several long moments, he pushes me away. "Would you like to go sing?" Without waiting for an answer, he turns from me and goes into the drawing room. Rubbing my arms to restore heat to them, I follow him inside.
He plays flawlessly on the piano as I sing. I travel to another world where I can think again.
Erik loves me.
Yes, he really does. I have tried to tell myself that I am just an obsession to him, and infatuation with the idea of me, but I am learning. I think of how brave he was, hugging me in the main room, when a month ago I couldn't even imagine him touching me. Am I encouraging him? Most importantly, should I stop? My head had been swirling when he hugged me. Why?
"Christine?"
I blink.
Erik is looking at me, frowning slightly. "Christine, I asked if you were well."
"Why would I not be?"
"You—you stopped singing in the middle of the phrase."
I blush crimson at the displeasure in his voice. "I'm so sorry. I was thinking. Let's start over."
Stepping back into position as he watches me a little longer than necessary, I nod to him and then he turns back to the piano.
I sing all the way through the aria, all the way to the duet, feeling goose bumps on my arms as I hear my Angel's voice join me.