September 14th – 15th 1892: Erik
I pulled my hand back at her words, but it wasn't fast enough. For one moment my bare fingertips had touched her velvety soft skin at a spot that I didn't even dare look at under normal circumstances, and as far as I was concerned, that had already been too much. In combination with the kiss we had shared, that one moment confused all my senses. And given the fact that this beautiful woman was lying next to me on the bed, it gave my instinct the chance to say what it wanted.
It was very hard to fight the sensations that were racing through my body. I had to use all my willpower to get out a normal sentence instead of the muddle that was inside my head.
"Christine… why do you want that all of a sudden? I mean… the last subject you and I talked about was that Philippe doesn't have to come to me until this afternoon, so that he can catch up on a little sleep… and now you're here and want to…" I didn't finish my sentence, suddenly anxious that I might have misunderstood her. What if she hadn't meant making love at all and I'd make a fool of myself by saying it aloud?
"…make love to you, yes," she whispered, as if she had read my mind. If one didn't look too closely at her flushed cheeks, one could have though she didn't have a problem with saying it. The mere words made a shiver run down my spine. So I had understood it correctly.
"Why?" I repeated. "What made you change your mind? Did you have… you know, one or two glasses of wine too much?" I sniffed, but couldn't smell more than hint of alcohol in her breath.
"I'm not drunk," she replied indignantly.
I gave her an apologetic smile.
"What is it then?" I persisted. "You can't just come in, pounce on me like a wild cat and expect me to agree with it."
"I didn't ´pounce on´ you," she corrected me. "I only lay down next to you and kissed you because you were crying. I wanted to comfort you." She brought her lips to mine again, and at once I forgot what I had planned to say – an effect that had doubtlessly been intended.
For a moment I lost myself in the kiss, but then reason pushed itself to the front of my mind again. Pulling back my head I argued:
"I'm afraid that doesn't make any sense. Just a minute ago you told me you had come here with the intention to make love to me. But at that time you couldn't have known you'd find me crying.".
Christine muttered a swearword under her breath, then she pleaded:
"Can't we just do it?". She seized my hands and placed them on her chest. It was the most pathetic attempt of a seduction I had ever experienced, which of course didn't mean a lot in my case.
I sat up and gestured at her to do the same. If we needed to do anything, it was getting a little space between us. She complied reluctantly.
"I won't do as much as touch you before you tell me the truth about what is going on," I said, underlining my statement by folding my arms in front of my chest. If I held them like this, she wouldn't be able to snatch them again and put them on some part of her body.
"I don't know what to tell you," she admitted in a small voice. "You won't understand…"
"I understand very much," I assured her in a more gentle voice. "Why don't you start from the beginning? What has happened since you left the opera?"
Christine leaned against the headboard, her legs crossed at the ankles. Fortunately the skirt was long enough to hide anything that could have been a temptation for me. She seemed to need a few moments to find the right words, then she began.
"Raoul knows that we kissed. He noticed something in our behaviour – the way we look at each other, he said."
I couldn't help being just a little impressed. Apparently the Vicomte was not as ignorant as I had thought. But that positive feeling quickly gave way to a suspicion.
"How did he react?" I asked. "He didn't… beat you, did he?" I leaned forwards to examine her face, yet I couldn't see any telltale signs. Of course that didn't mean anything. He could have hit her on places other than her face.
"No, he didn't do that," she replied. "He was calm… very calm."
"He refused to talk about it?" I wanted to know. From experience I was aware of the fact that a certain kind of silence was just as bad as insults.
She gave me an ironic little smile.
"Oh, we did talk about it," she answered. "It was… weird…"
"Weird?" I muttered, suppressing the urge to seize her by the shoulders and shake her till the complete reply fell out of her mouth. Her way of stopping after every other sentence was slightly irritating. Yet since I didn't want to intimidate her, I merely said:
"You can tell me anything. You know I'm quite the expert on weird things.".
"Raoul wasn't angry," Christine murmured, looking down at her hands. It sounded as if that fact surprised her as much as it surprised me. "He asked what kissing you felt like and whether there was something he could change about himself, so that I'd enjoy kissing him just as much as I enjoy kissing you…" Realising what she had admitted she bit her lip.
"Is that true?" I wanted to know. "Do you enjoy kissing me more than him?" I couldn't tear my gaze away from her perfect white teeth nibbling at her full bottom lip, wishing it were me doing that.
She shrugged.
"I don't know," she said. "I never compared the two of you." That wasn't exactly a flattering answer, but at least it obviously was the truth. A lie would have sounded nicer.
"But why does your husband think it then?" I asked.
"He knows it wasn't the first time that we kissed," she whispered. "He thinks it's the only explanation why I keep doing it. He said that maybe we married too soon and I miss something only you can give me."
I remained silent as I took in her words. The Vicomte's apparent jealousy made me almost a little proud. There he was in his big mansion, blessed with beauty, youth and wealth, and still he thought I had something he hadn't, a special talent I used to make Christine come to me. The problem was that none such thing existed in me. The only talent I could think of was my voice, and I clearly didn't use it to improve my kissing techniques. That wouldn't even have been possible.
"What do you think about it?" I asked cautiously, seizing her hand and holding it in mine. "What makes you return to me again and again?"
"It's as if there was a… a bond between us that… pulls me back to you…" she replied hesitantly, now glancing down at both of our hands.
"Could that bond possibly be called… love?" I whispered hoarsely, hardly daring to utter such a question.
She gave a deep sigh.
"The longer I think about it, the more certain I get that I don't even know what love feels like," she breathed. "When I'm with Raoul, I think I love him. And when I'm with you, I think I love you. But that can't be right, can it? I can't love two men at the same time…"
I did not reply, for I had barely heard her last sentences. My mind was still clinging to what she had said before. It had only been a short utterance, a fleeting moment, and yet… it was closer to a declaration of love than I'd ever get. I couldn't just let this moment pass. I had to store it away in my head, so that I'd remember it forever.
"Erik?" Christine squeezed my hand lightly. "What do you say to all that?"
"The topic of love isn't something I know too much about," I replied, pulling myself out of the land of my imagination forcefully. There was no time for dreaming now. "The only person I've ever loved in the way you're talking about is you. However, I don't think it's possible to love two people with exactly the same intensity. If it was, monogamy would have ceased to exist a long time ago."
My last remark should have been a joke, but she didn't even smile. On the contrary: She seemed to be close to tears.
"Why do I feel something others don't? Am I insane? Perverse?" she muttered. Placing my other hand under her chin I made her lift her head, so that she had to look at me.
"You are none of those things," I told her firmly. "You just don't want to disappoint either of us. That's why you pretend to love both of us equally."
"What a nice way of expressing it," she said, squeezing my hand again. I smiled at her. Maybe everything would be all right between us after a good conversation. For a few moments we sat there, listening to the grandfather clock in the living room announcing that it was midnight.
"But how do you suggest I should find out whom I love?" Christine then wanted to know. "Do you also want me to make love to you, just like Raoul?"
I inhaled sharply as all the positive feelings I had had before vanished.
"He… told you to make love to me?" I repeated incredulously, fighting back the lump in my throat. "That's the only reason why you're here?