Paladin11
Erik hardly realized that Philippe Dupree was still standing in his bedchamber. He had turned his back toward the door and stood staring at his hand, ignoring the small cuts along his palm and fingers.
He was still imagining Sophia's gentle touch as she examined the wounds. The longer he stared at his outstretched hand the more he memorized each moment, each passing heartbeat in which he held his breath and watched her touch him.
Voluntarily.
He hadn't asked, hadn't begged, and hadn't made demands. He had been reluctant to allow her into the room, into his private quarters. But she had come willingly. To him.
She hadn't recoiled, hadn't stared at the mask. She had treated him as though he were human. She had done what no one else had ever attempted.
His insides felt strangely warm. The cuts to his hands no longer smarted, and the anger he had felt forever mounting inside seemed to diminish the longer he stood staring at his hand.
Just as quickly as he felt something pleasant inside it was gone, brushed aside by the familiar cold he had lived with all his life.
Erik knew the feeling that had come unbidden. He knew it and he hated it.
But still it lingered.
"My God."
"So you see, Monsieur…pardon me?" Philippe asked.
Erik glanced at his butler over his shoulder. "You may leave."
"Sir, with all due respect, I must ask for your assistance in keeping my sister under control. Now, I realize that this is not your duty, but I feel she is becoming…"
"I said you may leave," Erik replied as he flexed his fingers. He spun on his heel and glared at Philippe, daring him to say another word.
"As you wish, sir," Philippe muttered as he saw himself out the door.
Erik sat at his desk and placed both of his hands on the table. He remained stock still for a long time and studied the back of his trembling hands, feeling a tidal wave of anger building inside of him, the familiar wall of rage that encased him. With as much patience as he could muster he removed the mask, lifted his eyes, and stared into the mirror.
Any warmth that he had felt turned to ice. The trembling turned to violent shaking, to agony so intense that he doubled over onto the desk and struggled to breathe.
Yet he stared back at those eyes, at those hallow, unfeeling eyes. He dared himself to search that terrible face, to examine those wicked scars, the uneven flesh, the face of the devil.
This was what that poor girl didn't see, what she didn't know. This is what would have made her turn away in fear. This is what could have sent her screaming from the room, praying for her soul as she escaped him.
"No," he whispered, attempting to convince himself. No, he could not fall again. He could not tolerate false affection, sympathy, charity. He could not relive the disaster he had created with Christine.
"You deserve nothing," he said to his reflection.
Once he could no longer tolerate his self-inflicted torment, he allowed himself the mask and stood again, brushing off his sleeves and straightening his back. The anger he felt always at his heels had not left him but it had trailed behind, allowing him a moment of peace. Sometimes there was a whirlwind of blinding anger, sometimes he stood in the eye of the storm. Erik wasn't sure where he stood anymore.
He knew for certain that he could no longer see this woman. In any part of the Manor. Ever. The lessons would have to stop, he would have to ask someone else to bring his tea, and he would have to ask her to leave.
Guilt curled inside his gut as he thought of releasing her on account of her bad eye. In the back of his mind, Erik heard what Philippe had said, that his sister was promised to another. It was her last chance, whatever that meant.
No, he thought, he knew what that meant. It was an end to his foolish endeavors, to his flippant desires. There was no desire. There couldn't be. He would want and she would recoil in disgust once she saw what lay behind the mask. She would retch at the truth. He was an employer, not a suitor. He had hoped to be a teacher but that was a dangerous title, one he could not obey.
As much as he attempted to convince himself that he cared nothing for this girl, he still couldn't rid himself of her soft touch, the phantom warmth still clinging to his wounded hand, and the wounded man who had turned his back on the mirror.
-o-
"Perhaps you should sit," Citrine said once Sophia stood in the center of the kitchen, staring blankly at the steam rising from a pot on the stove. She took Sophia by the hand when she didn't respond and tugged her into a chair. "Stand like that all day and you'll become a statue," she teased.
"Pardon me?" Sophia asked.
Citrine giggled. "Does he have a name?"
The insinuation jolted Sophia from her daydream and she twisted in her chair, watching the new cook as she smiled over her shoulder.
"All good daydreams have names," Citrine said.
Sophia hadn't expected to like Citrine. The first day the new cook had arrived, Sophia attempted to find as many things wrong with her as possible: starting with her long, red hair and ending with her easy laugh.
It was impossible not to enjoy Citrine's company, and after several days Sophia found she thought of Citrine as a sister rather than a replacement. They would sit together in the kitchen and laugh as they peeled vegetables or prepared dessert.
"Sophia, you have me worried," Citrine said as she gripped Sophia's hand.
"I'm concerned," Sophia said. She forced a smile to mask her daydream.
"About what?" Citrine questioned.
Sophia pursed her lips and thought a moment. She wasn't sure why she was concerned, but she had felt something unexplainable when she looked into the new master's eyes. The expression on his face when she looked from his hand to his eyes was unlike anything she had seen before. He stared at her as though he had no idea how to react.
She had started to question him before he pulled his hand away. When he turned it had been like a whip snap jarring her from a daydream.
"Sophia?" Citrine questioned as she sat beside her. She tapped on Sophia's shoulder. "Are you certain you're fine?"
"I'll be fine," Sophia answered. She took a deep breath and turned to Citrine. "Now give me something to do."