Ch 6

Erik had always dreaded sunrise. In shadows he was safe from ridicule and cruel eyes, from the leers of strangers. But by daylight each blemish was visible, each fault magnified. In the comfort of darkness there was deception. By day there was only truth, and Erik hated looking in the mirror and seeing the truth.

Throughout the night he tossed and turned and thought about that dreadful young woman he found huddled by the building. Each time he closed his eyes he saw her crouched up against the building, shivering and crying.

When he finally fell asleep, Christine filled his dreams. He remembered the taste of her lips, the warmth of her touch. It was the first time he had experienced compassion, the first time anyone had touched him, and accepted him. She had given him something he had craved for years, something that he was grateful to experience…but longed to feel again.

In his dreams she had accepted his proposal and proudly donned his ring and the wedding dress. She had been happy with him. She had touched her cheek to his and held him close. Everything he had ever wanted came to him in those moments, and everything he had ever hoped for slipped away as he turned over in bed and saw the first light of dawn.

After hours of tossing and turning and attempting to ignore the growing light, Erik rose from bed and stretched. He glanced over his shoulder and saw his reflection in the floor-length mirror staring back at him.

For the majority of his life Erik had avoided mirrors. He only felt brave enough to meet his own green eyes when the mask was in place, though since he had just risen from bed he had not yet covered his deformity.

Everything inside of him told him to look away, to cover the bad side of his face with his hand and reach for the mask, but he couldn't do it. Years had passed since he had seen himself by the light of day. He had aged, his hair thinner than it had been before, his face taut from stress.

More than the deformity, he was drawn to his own haunted visage. He barely recognized himself, this pathetic, trembling creature slowly inching toward the mirror. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the right side of his face, at the flesh so marred it looked like something from the butcher's floor.

It looked worse than he had expected.

In hopes of ensnaring Christine he had taken to wearing the mask constantly. He thought it would be best to be prepared should she come to him. She would never have to see the bad side of his face again no matter how uncomfortable the mask made him. He would have suffered an eternity to make her happy, to keep her with him.

Erik stared back at his horrible face and grimaced. There was a tender spot beneath his right eye where the mask had rubbed against his cheek bone. The skin was inflamed, red and itchy. Throughout the night he had scratched at it until it bled.

The longer he stared the more his self-hatred simmered. There was nothing in him that would ever be considered redeeming or forgivable. This, he thought as he stared into his own eyes, was the vessel of a demon heading straight into hell.

"Damn you for everything you've ever done," he muttered to himself.

A tap at the door startled him. He instinctively covered his face with his hand despite knowing the door was locked.

"Monsieur Erik, Madame Eree would like to know if you will join us for breakfast?" he heard Sophia question from the hallway.

That damn girl again, he thought.

He reached for his mask and walked to the door, his free hand running through his thin, light brown hair.

"No," he answered as he unlocked the door. He gripped the doorknob, bracing himself to be seen in daylight, dreading her reaction to the mask. "I wish to dine alone."

Erik looked away as he opened the door. He waited for her to gasp but she said nothing. She barely looked at him as she walked through the door and placed a tray with a carafe on the desk.

"You wish to remain undisturbed?" she asked with her back to him.

"For the moment."

"Are you expecting someone? Perhaps a guest will join you?" she ventured. The spoon tapped against the rim of the cup as she swirled lumps of sugar into his coffee.

He walked away and turned his back to her. "No. Why would there be a guest? Why should I expect anyone?" he growled.

"Friends, perhaps," she offered as she took a half-step back.

What friends? He wanted to snarl but the thought was too painful to earn his voice. He glanced over his shoulder and watched her as she worked.

"I prefer my privacy," he said at last.

"Then I suppose I am bothering you now?" she asked.

"No," he answered quickly. Too quickly. "Not entirely."

She smiled as she looked over her shoulder at him and nodded. "Good. I would hate to entirely bother you, Monsieur."

He nodded uncomfortably, uncertain of how he felt being in the room with her.

"Your mask," she said before pouring cream into the coffee. "It is crooked."

Erik instantly placed his hands over his face and moved away from her, panic filling him as he thought about what she may have seen. He groped along his hairline until the covering was back in place.

"Monsieur Erik, I do not mean to impose, but perhaps it would be more comfortable to leave your face uncovered."

"Experience has taught me differently," he answered as he turned to face her. He stared at her with his eyes as hard and cold as stone.

Sophia stood to the side and stared straight ahead. "I thought about what you asked last night, about the piano. I think I would like to learn to play," she said. "Does your offer still stand?—Do not nod, Monsieur Erik. I cannot see you. The….the condition I have…."

"My offer still stands," he answered before she finished. He didn't intend to stare but it was impossible. If she was telling the truth—and by the pained look in her eyes he was certain that she was—then she could not see anything with her left eye.

"Good. I was afraid I had lost my opportunity to enjoy music," she said with a slight smile.

"If you honestly want to learn music then I will give you lessons, but you must understand something, Mademoiselle. I only teach serious students."

Once he finished speaking, Erik wished he could swallow his tongue. He looked away briefly before staring at her again. She looked taken aback by his words.

"Serious? Oh, I only wished to learn a few songs. I-I don't want to perform for anyone."

"I suppose I could make an exception," he said gruffly, his hands clenched into fists. He wanted to share his love of music, to interact with another human being in the only way he knew how to. Music was the only thing he knew, the only thing he still loved that would never desert him. If she agreed…he could share something, something he had only shared with…

"May I have my first lesson tonight, then?"

"I…well…I suppose," Erik stammered.

"Tonight," she confirmed. "I will meet you in the parlor an hour past supper."

"Tonight…" he repeated her words, acutely aware of what was happening. He could barely believe he had asked—and that she had agreed. "…after supper."

She smiled, her eyes still staring straight ahead. "I will bring your lunch later. If you need anything there is always someone in the kitchen."

He didn't move a muscle as he watched her leave, his fallen mask held in both hands.