Journal,
Last night was interesting, as that was when I put my little plan into action. I say 'plan', but that sounds a little too devious, like 'plot'. Really it was nothing of the sort.
"Erik,"
"Yes, my darling," he answered, looking up from his newspaper and smiling from behind the mask. He extended his palm to her, silently inviting her to join him. Readily, she complied.
Christine moved to stand behind his chair. She rested her hands on his shoulders and kissed the top of his head, looking over his shoulder in the process.
"What are you reading?" she asked.
"Ah, this? Nothing of importance." Actually, he had been reading the papers more often recently, hoping to catch a note about Comte Raoul de Chagny rejoining the navy or leaving the country. He had planned nothing further against the boy, but still, it would make him feel better to know he was half a world away.
He set the paper aside and stood, gently urging Christine in front of him. He placed on hand on her hip and let the other run lazy lines up and down her side.
Christine smiled at this. Ever since their night spent in the utmost sort of familiarity, he seemed more comfortable in expressing his affection to her. Occasionally, while she bustled about the kitchen or reached up to retrieve a book in the library, he would venture to rest a possessive hand against her stomach or the curve of her hip.
It sometimes amazes me how the extreme of frustration can result in the loss of modesty. I, for example, am about to write about sex. While I am blushing furiously even as I write this, I have realized how silly it is of me to be so terribly modest within the secrecy of my own journal. After all, it is not as if I can talk of such things openly--and where else can I turn to sort out my thoughts?
"Are you alright?" he asked suddenly, backing away from her with narrowing eyes. He took both of her hands and proceeded to look over her as if searching for some visible illness. "Do you need to sit down?"
"I'm fine, Erik," she assured him. Ever since that night, Erik had been especially concerned about her.
He was aware that he had hurt her. Though she tried to hide it, he heard her soft cry and saw the tears welling up in her eyes. His own sense of self-loathing had increased tenfold at the reminder that his love for her always seemed to cause her pain. He would not have been able to continue then, had her reassuring smile not urged him on.
When he led her to the sofa anyway, she silently refused to sit on the cushion beside him, preferring to sit at his feet with her head resting on his knee--a mutually understood request for him to play with her hair. When she felt his cool hands rake through her hair she sighed and closed her eyes.
"You seem tired, Christine. Perhaps you should rest."
Christine looked up with incredulous eyes and an amused mouth. "Erik," she asked, "how many hours do you sleep each day? On average."
"Three… perhaps four," he answered cautiously, "Why do you ask?"
"And you have lived this way for your whole life?"
"Most of it, yes. What does it matter?"
"Well," she smirked, "If you have survived your entire life on a few hours of sleep each night, what makes you think that I need a nap every four minutes? I am not an invalid, you know."
He chuckled. "I know, and I'd do well not to forget it. Still, I worry about you. Especially after…"
"I know," she interrupted. "But I'm fine, honestly. Anyway, there is something I've been meaning to talk to you about..." she trailed off, unsure how to continue.
"Why, Christine! I don't ever think I've seen you blush so much. What ever could you want to talk about?"
She stood, now bright red. "Never mind…" she muttered from behind her hands, peeking through her fingers in embarrassment. "I--I can't say." she finally choked out before fleeing from the room.
Christine, you coward, she thought. That didn't go well at all.
You see, it occurred to me that the concept of sex and marriage is a strange one. A woman lives her entire life reminded that such activities are absolutely off-limits. Then, because two words are spoken to a priest, everything changes. Suddenly, what was forbidden is now mandatory! Perhaps I am alone in this. Perhaps every other woman is better than I, but I find it a struggle to change twenty years of thinking overnight. No wonder it had been awkward for us!
Erik decided to indulge her a while longer. Obviously the girl was embarrassed about something, but he figured she would come around eventually and tell him what was on her mind. I must be getting old, he thought sardonically. There was a time when he would have stormed into her chamber and demanded she talk to him. I'm losing my touch, he sighed. It wasn't, he realized, necessarily a bad change.
However, when supper time came and she was still avoiding him, he found himself growing annoyed. When he pounded on her door, insisting she come out and eat, she slipped under his arm, her form nearly blurring as she darted to the table.
Dinner was a silent and awkward affair, as neither one of them ate. Erik's eyes bored into Christine and she took interest in anything and everything that kept her from looking her seething husband in the eye, all the while blushing and biting her lower lip.
I am suddenly reminded of a strange conversation I had one night with Mamma Valerius. While not normally a drinker, she had her moments, and inebriation seemed to have the effect of enlightening the dear woman about the absurdities of life.
"I'm home, Mamma," Christine called, hanging up her shawl and releasing her hair from its pigtails.
"Come--come in here, Christine," Mamma replied, hiccupping. "Come see your Mamma V in the kitchen."
Christine winced. She had hoped to sneak up to her room quietly. Closing her eyes, she wished that Mamma would not be cross with her for coming in so late.
Mamma was seated at the kitchen table, her face bright red and her eyes glittering. Drat! Christine thought, she must be furious! She braced herself for the upcoming lecture. What were you thinking, staying out so late? You worried us half to death! And what about your poor father? You know he's not well… why would you add more stress to his poor heart?
"Here, here, Christine," she beckoned, shaking a nearby chair a little more violently than she intended. The noise seemed to startle the old woman and she patted the table top instead. "Come sit by me."
"You missed dinner," she accused, pointing a bony finger at Christine and scowling.
Her face brightened again almost instantaneously. "But--" she hiccupped again, "But, I have saved you some cookies!"
Mamma rose from the table, knocking down a chair, and shuffled to the kitchen, returning with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk.
Christine found herself equally disturbed and amused by the glazed look in Mamma Valerius' eye. Still, she had the feeling that the old woman would be highly embarrassed at having been seen in such a state. She made the prudent decision to make a hasty exit and save them both a bit of dignity.
"Thank you, Mamma," she said cheerfully, "I am so very tired though; I think I will take these up to my room." She picked up the cookies and milk from the table and made to leave.
Alas, it could not be so easy.
"Christine, do you know what happens between a man and a woman?" Mamma asked as if the sudden turn was only natural in a conversation.
Christine gulped. "Of course I do, Mamma," she replied flippantly.
Actually, this was a lie. As she was only thirteen--and a naïve thirteen at that--Christine hadn't the slightest idea what happened between men and women. At some point she had asked where babies came from; she had received some answer about storks or cabbages or some other strange thing but had never thought to question it.
However, she did have enough sense to realize that this was not the conversation she wanted to be having right now.
"Very well," Mamma said uncertainly. "But, just remember that you must only sleep with your husband because it is dirty and evil. We should only subject things that are dirty and evil to the ones we love the most. What the devil kind of sense is that, I ask you!"
Then she broke out in the oddest bout of giddy laughter Christine had ever seen. Not that it mattered, Christine was so uncomfortable, not only by the rude language but also by the fact that Mamma was saying it. She eyed the door longingly.
Then she heard a thump and the laughter stopped abruptly. Mamma had fallen asleep right there at the table.
Whispering a prayer of thanks, she quickly exited the room.
I hadn't known what she was talking about, at the time. But now, I see that she may have had a point.
"Well, Christine?"
"Well what?"
"Are you going to tell me?"
"Tell you what"
"Tell me what has had you acting so strangely today."
"Strangely?"
"Don't play innocent with me. You have been darting around… avoiding my gaze… not to mention blushing and… giggling. Yes, giggling. Don't think I haven't heard you. "
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. And what are you doing in my bedroom?"
"No more games, Christine--and it's our bedroom now, my dear. You are going to tell me or I am going to make you tell me."
"You wouldn't dare! Right, then… I suppose you would. Well, you see, I have been thinking… that is, something has been bothering me… well, not bothering me per se… but I was wondering if I could… if you would let me--"
"Out with it, Christine! No more of this insufferable feminine modesty. It's irritating and I haven't the patience for it. I swear I won't report you to the social-propriety police for speaking candidly to your own husband in your own home. Now, out with it! You want me to let you… what?"
"Let me touch you?"
At any rate, I think the problem may be well on its way to being solved. I have--rather, had--never seen a man unclothed before. Odd, I know, what with spending so much time with performers, but it is the truth. Erik is not a kind man, by any stretch of the word, but I believe that he loves me and he patiently indulged my curiosity. Not that it seemed a great sacrifice on his part.
If she wasn't so nervous, she would have found this infinitely amusing. Here they were, completely undressed, sitting on opposite sides of the bed with their backs to each other, each afraid to turn around.
"Are you sure about this?"
Christine smiled. "Are you?" she asked.
"No… but… continue…"
Taking her cue, she turned and faced him, taking in the sight of his back in the dim light. She could make out lightly raised scars and this ribs and spine jutting out from his impossibly thin frame. If she did not know him so well, she might be tempted to think him frail. But she knew that was only a trick of the eyes. Even his skeletal form, when fully clothed and towering over her, radiated power and strength. She figured it was just one of the many idiosyncrasies that made her husband so interesting.
She ran her hands over his back, gently massaging his shoulders and willing them both to relax. Eventually, it worked and Erik found himself on his back, staring in uncomfortable wonder as his wife explored him.
She was truly a sight to behold, Erik marveled. Her unbound hair fell gloriously over her shoulders and her fevered skin seemed to glow in the low light. Slowly and methodically, she examined him… sometimes with loving caresses and sometimes with an almost clinical curiosity. Erik was patient, though it took every ounce of his strength to be so. She needs this, he told himself, forcing himself not to surge forward and turn the tables.
Apparently satisfied with the curious foreplay which had left them both panting, she rose up and pressed her cheek to his chest. She loved his chest, she decided. His hands… his lips… they were all so cold. But his chest remained warm and she could hear--even feel--his heart beating.
When she pressed a gentle kiss over his heart, Erik had had enough. With a growl from him and a squeal from her, he flipped them over.
"Be ready, little one," he hissed, losing all hint of his previous apprehension.
Still, it helped. Everything seems, somehow, less terrifying--less foreign.
Erik was in awe of the little woman in his arms. She was so beautiful and so perfect and so undeniably his. Somehow the heavens had smiled upon him for once in his life and the sweet angel had actually married him.
However did this happen? he wondered.
The answer, though, struck him painfully.
How quickly you have forgotten, you fool! his conscience spat back at him, You forced her to marry you! She is not here of her own will, you blackmailed her into staying with you. You threatened and frightened her.
But she looks so happy! It was hard at first… but she seems so content.
Can you blame her for trying to make the best of a horrible situation? Believe me, she doesn't want you in the slightest… not for real, anyway.
Suddenly, Erik could no longer stand to look at her. Every moment in the same room with her was a painful reminder of what he had done. He needed to leave… to find refuge in his music, which had always been his and had never rejected him.
Christine frowned when he left the bed. Have I done something wrong? She wondered.
She pondered this for some time and debated whether or not to go after him. She waited to hear if he had gone to his music room… the elegant strains of his compositions usually gave her a good idea of his mood.
When over an hour of silence had passed, she got up and dressed, determined to seek him out.
With all the new experiences and such, it was actually what happened afterwards that is most important.
Erik glared at the keyboard; he had been sitting at the piano for over an hour but he seemed completely unable to play. Once again, he placed his hands over the keys and thought about what to play, but again nothing happened. It was as if his fingers refused to press down on the keys.
"Euterpe, do you despise me too?" he sighed. It was decided--even music had rejected him.
In his despair, he vaguely registered a light knock on the door followed by the soft creak of the hinges as it opened.
"Erik?" Christine said, setting her lamp upon the table. It barely gave off enough illumination to see by, but she could make out the dark silhouette of her husband, hunched over the piano.
For a long moment, neither spoke and Christine wondered if she should say something else to break the silence.
Before she could finish the thought, though, Erik spoke up.
"I am not a good man, Christine," he said in slow, measured words. She started to protest but he stopped her with a motion of his hand. He turned slightly so his back was not to her but he still did not look in her eyes.
"It is true, we both know it. I am not a good man and it is unlikely that I ever will be."
He took a shuddering breath before he continued. "But… when I met you… Oh Christine, it was the first time I felt like a man at all. It is nothing you said or did… it was just you. Something about you made me feel like less of an abomination or a… freak… and more like a real man. A normal man just like everybody else. Suddenly, all those things I had resigned myself against long ago seemed… well, possible… For the first time, I thought that I could have a wife and a house and a life just like any other man. I never thought I cared for such things… but when I met you I wanted it… I wanted it all so badly that I would do anything to have it."
He sighed again, his thin shoulders rising in a dejected way that made Christine want to run up and hold him. She resisted, though, instinctively knowing somehow that such a gesture would not be appreciated.
He gave another long pause, as if the words he wished to say refused to leave his mouth. When he spoke, his smooth voice was strained and tense.
"I have done you a great wrong, Christine. I took away you choice and stole your life. I am too ashamed even to ask for your forgiveness… but I will tell you this--if you wish to leave, I will not stop you. If you wish to go back to that… boy… I give you that option. Or, if you have decided that you don't want him… I can give you enough money to live comfortably on your own. You can go anywhere, Christine, and I will trouble you no longer."
Yes, I confessed my feelings. I know it hasn't been long since I realized them myself, but once I had admitted it in my own mind, every second of keeping it to myself seemed like an eternity. It took me so long to come to the conclusion… why should I wait to share it.
"Some gentleman you are," she scoffed, though not unkindly, "You take me against my will and as soon as I fall in love with you, you send me away!"
I suppose, if I am honest, that I am the slightest bit disappointed with my delivery. I had planned some romantic setting with just the right preface to do justice to those three words. But, eloquent as always, I ended up just blurting it out in the most un-romantic fashion.
"What did you say?" Erik whispered. His eyes were wide and glowing in the darkness.
"You heard me," she answered softly.
"Say it again."
"I love you."
Then again, Erik did not seem to mind. I believe my revelation did have the desired effect, after all.
Just then, Erik began to cry. They were not the loud tears that he had wept so many times in anger and frustration. It was not the horrible sound that had frightened Christine so many months ago.
Actually, it was scarcely a sound at all. The only thing she heard was his ragged breathing as she watched his back and shoulders tremble in broken shudders. She lay a hand on his head, stroking his baby-fine hair. He seemed more vulnerable to her then than ever before.
Then came the side of Erik that she recognized. He dropped to his knees and clutched at her robe like a lifeline, kissing the hem. He panted and whispered words of desperate affection--the type of words that once repulsed and terrified Christine but now made her smile.
"None of that," she chided, pulling at his arms and forcing him to stand. "You have no business there on the floor--and don't argue with me because it won't get you anywhere."
When he was on his feet and looking down at her once again, he looked at her in wonder. He reached out as if to touch her but his hands merely hovered in the air around her.
"Are you real?" he breathed.
"Come back to bed with me," she answered, prepared to prove it.
Life is promising for us. I never thought I would say that. The cynical side of me says that this is some bad omen of things to come… that life simply cannot be this good. I try to shush those feelings.
Erik lay, once again, curled up with his wife with a stupid grin on his face as he stared , through the darkness, up at the ceiling.
Whether it be the emotion of the moment or the old adage that practice makes perfect, he could not say. Somehow, though, he had managed to please his wife as much as she pleased him. It was a good feeling.
A couple of times he'd had to check and make sure his heart was still beating. He was sure Christine would kill him soon if she kept surprising him like this. Still, he hoped she would.
He looked down on her, snuggled against his bare chest, drooling slightly. In her sleep, she tightened her grip on him and sighed.
"mine…" she murmured.
Just then, Erik started to laugh. She was sounding more like him every day.
Perhaps I just cannot allow myself to be truly happy. I think my husband must be rubbing off on me.
Well, until something interesting comes about,
Christine
A/N: Not done yet, but soon. Thanks for hanging in there... I had a super gi-huge-ic research project on Handel's Messiah. You know how it is... real life and all. Anyway, I'll try to do better.
