Paladin86
Erik felt drained of energy, as though he'd spent the entire day revealing his past. Yet, he felt as though he hadn't told Sophia anything at all. Everything he'd wanted to say was still lodged in his throat, while everything he couldn't tell her sat heavily in his stomach. When he'd first met her, he was fairly certain she'd give him a migraine. Now he was convinced it was going to be an ulcer.
"I don't think you understand what I'm saying," he said under his breath. "What I am…what I've been. If you did…"
You'd be gone, flying so fast from my side and never looking back, he wanted to say. Anyone with any sense at all would run from him. They always had, they always would.
"It's getting cold. If you'd like to come inside a moment, I'll make tea."
Tea didn't seem strong enough a beverage. Whiskey and scotch mixed together, if possible, seemed like the perfect elixir.
"Sophia."
She looked at him and blinked, which made him wonder if she could see him in the dark. He wanted to make her blind to him, but not to what was on the outside. She'd tolerated his physical appearance, which he'd never thought possible of another human being. But if she were to see him on the inside? That would drive her away. Looking back, it appalled him and he wished he could crawl from his skin and start over. Morosely, he realized that even a snake still lived with itself underneath. Only the surface was left behind. It wasn't enough for him.
"You've gone pale," she said under her breath. She walked toward him and lifted her hand to his face. Her fingers brushed past his cheek, then settled against his flesh. "It's so dark and quiet here. I'm not one for quiet…in case you didn't know."
She laughed at herself as her hand warmed his cheek. The way her palm fit against his face was perfect, as though she was designed to be at his side, to always be near him.
His heart ached and he hesitated to put his arms around her. She was too innocent and undeserving of his past.
"You still feel cold."
He looked down at her face but didn't answer. She'd never understand how cold he felt.
"Come with me." Her hand grasped his. "There should still be food in the kitchen. It will only take a moment for me to warm it for you..."
She squeezed his hand as though she thought it would bring him comfort. "You need a good, warm meal and a nice cup of tea. I'll sit you down and take care of you."
She offered what he longed to have, if even for only an hour more. Without argument he followed, allowed her to take his hand and lead him inside. If anything it would give him one more memory of her, one more glimpse of her face to hold forever.
That was all she would be soon enough: A memory, another shattered piece in his fractured life.
ooOoo
Citrine had returned home for the evening, which disappointed Sophia. She wanted someone to talk to and preferred Citrine's presence to her aunt's. It saddened her, this rift between Erik and Aunt Anne. As a child, Sophia had thought of her aunt as a second mother. She'd learned to sew and catch fish with her bare hands, which her mother had found utterly repulsive. But now the memories seemed distant, and the woman who had taken the guest room felt more like a stranger to Sophia than family.
From the doorway Sophia studied Erik as he sat in the armchair. Fidelio stood with his chin resting on Erik's knee. Each time he blinked, the sprigs of hair that formed his brow line twitched. She wondered if the wolfhound was aware of his comic appearance. If he was, then she was positive he was doing everything in his canine power to lighten his master's dismal mood.
"He's either completely in love with you or you spilled food on yourself," Sophia said as she walked into the parlor.
Erik glanced at her. In one heartbeat he seemed pleased to find her in the room, but in the next he looked disappointed. "I don't know."
"It was…never mind." Clearly he was in no mood for lighthearted conversation. "Do you want him to stay or should I coax him toward the door?"
"He's fine."
"It appears he's the only one." She fidgeted a moment before she tapped her foot on the ground. His mood grated on her nerves and she wondered if he was still in love with the soprano.
When he'd first expressed his feelings for this Christine, Sophia had found herself intrigued. But now that they were back inside the Manor and his mood seemed stagnant, she was worried. The heroes in her book never dwelled on their lost loves. They soldiered on and braved their futures. Why did he insist on dwelling?
As much as she wanted to ask him, she couldn't bring herself to say the words. She'd never had trouble voicing her opinions—which everyone knew. But this was entirely different. This fueled emotions in her that she didn't much care for. Jealousy, as her mother would have told her, was unbecoming of a woman.
Erik glanced at her, then the clock. "It's late. I shouldn't keep you much longer."
"Yes, it is late, but your food should be heated soon." She clasped her hands and decided to play coy and see if he would invite her to stay a while longer. "I'll bring it to you if you promise to put the dirty dish and silverware into water when you've finished."
"I'd rather have a drink than supper."
She frowned, disappointed with his answer. "Tea?"
"Bourbon."
"Half a glass?"
"Full." He looked away when he answered.
Her tongue moved along the inside of her cheek. "The perfect companion to depression," she said under her breath as she turned on her heel and marched into the kitchen. If she stayed with him it would be to make certain he didn't drink himself to death.
"Move out of my way," Erik grumbled.
She reached the kitchen door just as she felt the whole house rattle. Glancing back, she saw Erik against the wall, apparently run over by Fidelio.
"May I forgo the drink and have your company instead?" he asked as he stared at Fidelio, who wagged his tail as though he were delighted by the smashing game.
"Who are you inviting? Me or your dog?"
He looked at her sharply, which only furthered her irritation. "I meant you."
"Yet you haven't the fortitude to look me in the eye when you speak to me?"
He continued to stare at her, his lips parted. "I'll have tea instead," he answered quietly.
She shifted her weight. "This is your home. You may enjoy whatever libation you wish."
He stared at her, his gaze filled with confusion. "I have reconsidered."
"Suit yourself," she sighed.
"Sophia—"
"It's your home. You may do as you wish and your drink yourself into a stupor."
His jaw twitched. "Then return home and I'll serve myself."
Her cheeks burned but she forced herself to nod. "Enjoy the remainder of your evening."
His lips parted but he didn't speak. Exhaling, he turned away and placed his hands on his hips. "Good night," he said quietly.
Arms folded, she turned away from him and pursed her lips. It was none of her business if he had loved another woman, but it certainly felt like she should know if he still loved the singer.
"If you're still in—"
"Sophia?" her aunt called out.
She whipped around, her mouth still agape. Both of them froze, their eyes fixed on one another as her aunt's cane tapped the floor.
"Ye-yes?"
"Why are you shouting?" Aunt Anne questioned.
"I'm not shouting."
"Most certainly you are shouting. I could hear you quite clearly down the hall. Noise carries in this place." Her aunt peered into the kitchen and looked Erik over. "She needs her rest. Why do you keep her chained to the kitchen at such hours?"
"She's not chained anywhere," he said through his teeth. He glanced at Sophia, the hopelessness she'd seen in his gaze returning to his eyes. "She is free to leave whenever she would like."
Sophia felt her heart stutter. Did he want her to leave? Did he wish for the singer to take her place?
"You should be at home in bed," her aunt said sternly. "Monsieur Belmont…come with me."
"Excuse me?" Erik and Sophia said in unison.
"You, to bed. You, to the parlor. And leave that dog outside where he belongs."
"I'll take the dog with me," Sophia huffed, which didn't sound nearly as triumphant as she had hoped.
She lingered a moment, hoping someone would stop her from leaving. In silence she watched as Erik and Aunt Anne stared at one another briefly before her aunt lowered her gaze and stepped aside as though waiting for Erik to pass.
"After you, Madame," he mumbled.
Aunt Anne's only response was the tap of her cane against the floor.