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For the rest of the evening, I wander aimlessly, cleaning the drawing room where Erik's compositions are scattered. I pick them up carefully, knowing that if I smear them, he will be very, very unhappy.
I have become quite the maid around here. I never before realized that when Erik is not here, there is so little to do here. There are no acquaintances you can invite over for tea; there are no adventures or no places you can explore; there are no changes in any way, shape, or form.
As I pass his bedroom, I see music strewn around in that room as well, but I know better than to touch anything in Erik's room.
Out of the confinement of my own room, I feel much calmer. I want to wait patiently for my husband to return, but—he said he may be gone a long time. When I am quite exhausted, I opt to sleep on the couch in the drawing room rather than go back into my small room.
When I wake, I am disoriented; I do not know where I am or how long I have been sleeping—Erik forgot to leave me with his pocket watch again. I sit up carefully on the couch. I had been half expecting to be back in my own bed, courtesy of Erik, who would have put me in there as soon as he arrived home. I come to the conclusion that he is still not here.
Wait one moment. How long have I been sleeping?
I panic over the most trivial things, including time. Have I only been sleeping for a couple of minutes? Is it perhaps morning? Could it be next afternoon? Heavy sleeper that I was, I could not figure out how rested I felt, not with my anxiety coming in forceful waves against my heart.
Erik is not back.
I have the strangest sense of déjà vu as I walk around the little apartment, calling for him. This is ridiculous; if I have only been asleep for a short while, then of course he wouldn't be back.
Is it nighttime? Is it morning? What did I do?
I have already cleaned! I have already sung! I have read every book on Erik's shelves, including the ones I couldn't understand!
I needed to get out. Not out, in the sense of, away from Erik, but someplace freer. Someplace where I could open windows and see the time of day.
I have mastered the art of boredom.
Hours go by? Minutes? Possibly days? I talk aloud, simply for the sake of hearing noises in this dungeon.
"I wonder where you are, Erik." I say quietly. "I wonder what it is about me that you do not trust. Is it fear of me running away? I don't think so. What are you afraid of? What frightens a man who holds the universe of darkness in his very hand? I wish you'd been granted love earlier, Erik, by someone better than me. But I'm here now, and I will live up to my duties. No woman will ever love you but me, you understand? Oh, how horrible! Do you want any other woman besides me? No, of course not, so perhaps it is not so horrible in the end. You have me, right? That's all you've ever wanted."
I sound like I'm trying to convince myself. I imagine Erik's reaction if I ever became brave enough to tell him all my innermost thoughts in person. Would he laugh and say, "Nonsense! No need to worry about Erik. Erik has you, and that's all he needs!"? Or would he begin to cry and shake, begging me to stop treating him so—kindly?
I am interrupted when the door slams.
Such wonderful relief floods through me. Yes, I love him and I'm glad he's home. Without Erik, it is not Erik's home and I want out. But Erik is back and I am Erik's; hence, I belong in Erik's home.
Don't be angry again, I think to myself.
"Damnit!" I hear very quietly, and my heart sinks. I wish he was happy… why can't I make him happy? The lights have been neglected, but they still cast enough light for me to see Erik's shadow as he relights them. "Fool!" he murmurs again.
"Who, Raoul?" I ask as quietly as I can, and as soon as it's out, I wish that I could take it back.
He doesn't even seem to notice. He turns, his mask still on. "What are you doing out here?" he demands. "Why aren't you in bed?"
"Oh, so it is nighttime, then?" I ask.
He looks as though I am mocking him, and his yellow eyes grow even angrier.
It's a shame I didn't notice the second he came in, or I would have escaped to my room already.
Erik is furious.
I blink rapidly. "Is… is everything alright?"
He doesn't sound furious… he sounds quite sane and calculating, as though he is really thinking about his words. His eyes tell a different story, however, and if anyone's voice can be deceiving, it would be Erik's.
"Splendid, darling." he says. "Now tell me, why aren't you in your room? You shouldn't be out here. You could have very easily gotten away."
I narrow my eyes. "Erik, you tell me what is going on right this instant!"
For a moment, he looks surprised. He recovers quickly. "What could possibly be going on?"
"You lock me in my room all day without a word of explanation! Then you read something in a foreign language without telling me what is says, and then disappear again! Now I've been alone forever and you were gone so long, and I was… worried." I drop my voice to a definite whisper at the end.
He gives me a look that is either condescending or exasperated—or maybe both. "Christine, I've only been gone for an hour."
I wrinkle my nose. "Will you just tell me what time it is! Do you have any idea how strange it is for me not knowing?"
"Dates, times," Erik says airily. "It's wonderful to think I have not crushed all of the curiosity out of you—"
"Erik!"
"Calmest, my little love. It is only eight."
I fall onto the couch with an overdramatic sigh. Erik's bony hand lays on my shoulder and tries to guide me up. Pulling away from him, I see a fleeting image of his crumpled face under his mask in my head. I moan as the guilt washes through me and I turn to put my arms around him, show him some love like a proper wife, but he is a few steps ahead of me already, trying to pull me into my room.
"I did it explain it to you." he says suddenly. "I told you that there was someone outside. I had to lock you in for your safety. Do you remember?"
Yes. He did explain.
I already feel too trudged down to apologize, so I reach for his hand. He is, however, in the chair next to my bed, gesturing me to lay down. "Perhaps you would like me to sing to you tonight?"
I look sadly around at my room. "Back in here again." I sigh heavily.
"Christine, Christine!" Erik moans, and I look over in shock at him. "Forgive Erik! He does not want to be your captor. It was so very wrong of him to lock you up! He is just so afraid. Afraid of losing you. Yes, Erik is afraid! And are you afraid of Erik?"
I shake my head. I climb into my bed. "Come closer, where I can hear you better."
He slides onto the floor and kneels next to my bed. I reach out and grip his hands very tightly, as if I am trying to squeeze some warmth into them.
"Nothing to be afraid of." I tell him in a motherly voice, taking off his mask and putting in on the table next to me.
He kisses me and his hands feel too pushy, too grasping, so I pull away. He turns repentant instantly.
"I apologize." he mutters darkly. I look at him, unable to not admire the way he is asking forgiveness, when I couldn't even bring myself to look at him after I had pulled away in the main room. I sit still for a moment and then lean back into him, pressing myself against him.
"What are you doing?" he asks, and I can hear his surprise… and his apprehension. I have never been the one to voluntarily push myself so eagerly against him. Usually he is the one pulling me to him; something I do not object, but still—it is different when I realize that I was the first to act upon it.
"Wives shouldn't pull away from their husbands." I whisper, my fingers curling uneasily around his back.
Erik tries to lean away. Too bad that I had already suspected that leaning away would be his next course of action, and my fingers are laced tightly behind his back, acting as a net to catch him.
"Oh, no, Christine. Wives pull away from their husbands when their husbands are being improper."
The words 'husband' and 'improper' are not two words one generally hear together in a non-derogatory sense.
"Proper?" I repeat slowly. "I did a lot of thinking today." I add.
"About?"
I am caught off-guard. I thought he would reply with some sarcastic comment; I didn't think I would actually have to explain. I am silent.
"Us." I say finally.
"You are a good wife." he says, and I wonder if he can read minds. I really would not be surprised.
"Really?" I ask miserably.
"Oh, yes! Dare you doubt it?"
"No, but you doubt my love for you."
He brings his hands to my neck and begins kissing me again, the way he did that one day in the drawing room, the way he did on the couch.
Yes, I turn coward again, my body language clearly requesting that he stop, whispering refusals just as before. Once married, husbands should be permitted to do anything to their wives, but I have Erik's word that he will do nothing until I initiate it, and I trust Erik's word more than anything else.
Erik will never come to me. I must go to him.
Now? No! I am not ready. I am not ready to be that good of a wife yet. Heaven help me, I am a hypocrite! I want to be a good wife, and this is what I do?
Erik, Erik, tell me what to do!
It happened so fast that it was very surreal; one moment, I was thinking of guilt, and then I was acting on it—I reached up and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.
You see, I just needed him to know that I was supposed to be his wife. Isn't that what he wanted? I had tried to be his student, and he had wanted more… Was I ready to give it to him?
Erik was up and on the other side of the room so fast that I believed he was nothing more than a blur. I sit up, my head spinning and I think I am about to be sick.
"You—" he growls. "How dare you…You ridiculous child, you rotten girl—"
I hang my head.
Acting on guilt? Not love?
He is whispering curses at me, and I hear tears in his voice. I am cruel. He is crueler. He straightens up with difficulty and leaves my room, slamming the door.
I screw up my eyes and cover my ears when I hear his organ start. I do not want to hear it now, I do not want to hear it ever.
His mask is still lying on the floor.
I knew that I would never forget this night. A loss of trust between us, or a deeper knowledge of the truth?
It is the last time I will cry for many months.