My vision trembled, and my legs gave out from under me. My head spun with nausea. Erik caught me and brought me over to the sofa, then knelt down beside me. My heart pounded madly in my chest. I hardly knew myself. My breaths were labored and panicked.
"Christine," he said gently, taking hold of one of my hands, "I didn't mean to frighten you. I only meant to comfort you."
I stared at him, my terror dissipating. Comfort me? In what way was that meant to be comforting?
"You poor thing," he whispered, glancing down at my neck.
He removed his hand from mine like I had turned red-hot, and he rose. Then he turned around so I couldn't see his face.
His breaths caught from tears. I found that my heart did not respond to these as quickly as it had before. It took quite some time to feel it throb. Why should I care if the man who had violated me was crying? But I did care, and it bewildered me how much I cared for this man who had done, in others' eyes, unforgivable harm to me.
"Why do you cry?" I asked, to know if the cause was indeed the bruises on my neck, or perhaps his distress at what possibly still grew within me.
His weighted breaths ceased for a moment, replaced with sniffling. Then he replied pitifully, "This isn't what I wanted."
"You have everything you could ever want," I retorted, surprised at my own daring.
"No... no, whatever I wanted before hasn't contented me. Not even having you here has given me any peace... I thought last night would solve it, the one last thing that would content me... but it was a moment. A spark of light in the darkness, quickly extinguished. It was not what I sought so desperately."
"You want my love."
"I just want to live, Christine," he told me, his voice quavering. He remained turned away. "I have lived a life of running. Always searching, always failing, and always being despised once my uses had run dry... I want to live in a house with a wife who will not despise me, but even that I cannot manage! You are carrying another's child, and you were harmed last night from one of my dreams. I will never have you as mine, in the way that I want you to be, when I taught you, with your bright eyes and infinite kindness. Your kindness now has a capacity, and you'll always be frightened beneath whatever smile you wear for my benefit."
"Don't give me anything to fear, then," I offered.
"The phantom is dead. You have nothing to fear save this new knowledge of a child that is not mine. You thought I was going to try to be rid of it, didn't you?"
"I assumed so... and why would you not do that?"
"Your health."
"I should have just confessed-"
"No," he told me firmly. "I would have torn this place apart had you done so."
"What do you mean?"
"I denied it at first. It could have been a coincidence, after all. Even you know there is a likelihood you were wrong all along. Then you offered me your bed, and I knew my suspicions were true. But I didn't care then. I had never been with a woman before, certainly not one I loved, not my wife... and I thought it would be better to do so now than try to convince you later, as you chose on your own this time, and I couldn't fathom causing you distress."
"You didn't think that caused me distress? To let you use me?"
"Do not speak about what happened last night ever again," he said sharply. "It does not exist."
"You can't simply make things you don't like nonexistent-"
"Certainly," he replied, with full confidence. "You don't want it to exist either, so," he made a motion with his hands like a magician making something vanish.
"But what are you going to do with me now that you know?"
"Nothing different... though, if you did not miscarry, we will need to take a visit to Paris."
"Why would we do that? Y-you're not going to try to be rid of it, a-are you?"
"No. I wouldn't risk your health. I said that before."
"Then why?"
"There are some things best left unknown until they occur, my angel... But I will ask, do you want this child?"
I started sobbing. "No, n-no, I can't have a child. I-I'm not ready."
"I'm certain you've lost it," he told me, reaching out to comfort me, but quickly pulling away. "And if you did not, then you likely never had one in the first place... But if you are so opposed to having a child, why were you foolish enough to make one?"
"I... I didn't t-try to."
"Didn't you prevent that occurrence?"
"I-I did, but... I-I can't say."
His features darkened. "Let's not discuss this now. You are to pretend nothing has happened since yesterday. Revert to how it was."
"It's not so simple-"
"And there is nothing inside you anymore. Until we have evidence on the contrary- which I will observe, not you- only then will we have another discussion on the matter."
"How can you speak to me like this?" I demanded weakly, sitting up. "You act like I can just make my feelings vanish."
"If you try hard enough."
I stared at him in disbelief, then I tilted my head. "Can you do that, then?"
"I do it quite often," he remarked emotionlessly. "It is far less painful than the alternative."
"I don't think it's good to forget things like that, to bottle up emotions-"
"What else am I supposed to do?" he demanded. "Now pretend it is yesterday."
"Yesterday I was in agony."
"Then the day before that."
"I am miserable here-"
"Because you forbid yourself to be happy!" he cried.
My lower lip quivered. "I feel very sad whenever I talk to you and realize how little you know about happiness."
I rose and started upstairs. He did not pursue me, and in fact, it sounded quite like he was crying again. He did regret his actions, it seemed, but telling me so was impossible for him. He must feel trapped in his own mind, but I hadn't the heart to free him anymore, not after what he had done to me the previous night. I could still feel pity for him, but not act on it.
How could he expect me simply to forget, though? I had bruises on my neck for memory, and the feeling he had left from last night, this disgusting feeling. I quite wanted a bath. Yes, I wanted a bath to relax my muscles and remove the feeling of him from me. I had not dared ask before, but now I could think of nothing else.
I went back down the stairs, running the palm of my hand along the cool railing. Erik was fidgeting with something before the fire and staring deeply into the flames.
"I want a bath," I informed him.
He turned around. Something glinted in his hand, and I realized it was his gold wedding ring.
"A bath..." he repeated. "Certainly. Wait here."
"Thank you," I added belatedly as he left.
He nodded, continuing towards the kitchen. I lied down on the sofa, my head on the side of it. I stared into the flames as Erik had done, perusing their contents, as if they held something for me. There was nothing.
I suddenly realized how exhausted my mind was. The past two days had kept me in a state of terror, having to plan for the worst and fear for it. Now, for the most part, I didn't have to fear. I couldn't bring myself to also hope that I had miscarried, as that meant something had died within me. Rather, I hoped that I had been wrong all along.
I watched Erik prepare my bath. It took some time, but it seemed neither of us noticed. As the water began to rise, he started singing, quietly, but with all the emotion required of an opera piece. It was a duet. I recognized it plainly and realized he must be trying to have me sing with him.
I remained silent when my part came, and he ceased entirely.
"You will not even permit me your voice?" he said.
"I have no desire to sing," I replied.
"Come now. You must be feeling something you can express only through music."
I turned to him. "Do you sometimes feel like you can only express yourself through music?"
He chuckled bitterly, "But no one can hear. Even if they did, music is a language few understand."
"I understand it."
He glanced over at me. "You do. Better than many of the finest composers. You can turn even their worthless noise into music. The only time I find any of them bearable is when they are issuing from your lips."
"Does it ever upset you that you are so above them, that you cannot enjoy them as others do, without tearing them apart?"
"No. I enjoy tearing them apart."
"That is what I feared..." I whispered.
He finished preparing my bath, then left, shutting the doors behind him. I peeled off my dress and hastened to roll down my stockings. As I removed my chemise, I found a few brown spots, but I removed it from my gaze before I could think too deeply on the likely cause.
I slipped into the bath and found it soothed me instantly, wrapping me up in warmth. I let my limbs float along the surface. The soap had the same sweet scent as before, and I rubbed it over every inch of me. The water turned pale from it.
As I lay there, in the water whose warmth was beginning to fade, my hands found my stomach. I pressed my fingertips to it, rubbing the surface.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I can only hope I am speaking to no one now, and that you are not there, nor ever were."
I stepped out of the bath and wrung my hair out with a towel. Though I had not thought of it before, I realized that I had to put the same dress on as earlier. I had nothing else to wear, though, save a new chemise.
"Erik?" I called.
There was no reply.
"Erik? Could you get something for me?"
Footsteps approached, followed by a voice. "Is there something you need?"
"A new chemise, a-and stockings, I think."
The footsteps went away. I wrapped myself in a towel and curled up on the sofa, considering if I should shut myself away in my room the rest of the day. I didn't want to speak with Erik anymore.
There came a knock at the door. I went to answer it, holding my towel tightly about myself. I only opened the door enough to permit the transfer of my stockings (striped ones) and chemise before shutting it.
I pulled both on, then slipped back into my dress. Then I glanced over at my old chemise, considering whether I should tell Erik about the dried blood on them. It could mean nothing, but likely not.
I had no desire to tell him. He had no right to know yet, so I took it upstairs to place with the rest of my laundry. Then I shut the door to my room, and decided to remain there for as long as Erik would permit me, if not longer.
Figaro chirped from the corner, and I went to open the door to his cage. He glided down to the floor and waddled over to me. I brushed his breast with my finger to help him onto it. He hopped up and chirped.
"You've been so quiet recently," I told him. "Are you cold up here, perhaps?"
He climbed up my arm to my shoulder, chirping all the while.
"Do you want some more seed?" I asked, dipping my hand into the bag beside his cage.
He ruffled his feathers and ceased chirping. I let him eat out of my hand, finding the action very calming. His tongue seemed to pick up the seed along with his beak, tickling me- not until I laughed, though. I could smile, but not laugh. Not for some time, I feared.
Erik knocked on my door. I ignored him.
"Do you want dinner now?" he asked.
I stroked Figaro.
"Christine?"
"I'm not hungry," I replied.
He opened the door. His features softened around his mask at seeing me with my bird.
"Are you feeling better?" he asked.
"Yes, but not well," I replied, keeping my attention on Figaro.
"Are you going to stay up here with only him for company, then?"
"I think that would be good for my health."
"Yes," he replied, his gaze trailing down to my neck. His jaw tightened. "I'll bring you up some soup, then."
"I'm really not hungry-"
"I insist you eat something. I'll bring up a small bowl is all."
I sighed, "All right..."
He turned to leave, but hesitated, glancing back at me.
"Do you want to go to the beach tomorrow?" he asked.
"The beach?"
"We'll have to leave early, and it will be too cold to swim, but it might do you some good."
"I might not have the motivation... the day after, though, I think."
"The day after, then..." He glanced at my neck again, unable to avoid his glaring mistake. "Does it hurt?"
"A little, when I turn my head too suddenly or swallow large things... When will it heal?"
"A couple weeks," he said faintly. "I-I'll go make your soup."
I turned my attention back to Figaro, whom I placed atop my head. He clung to my curls. I went to find something else to occupy myself. I wanted to create something, be it poor sketches or a scarf. Too much had been destroyed of late.
I found myself drawn to the mirror of my vanity table. What did Erik see that I had tried to avoid looking at myself all day?
The bruises were about my neck like a necklace, darker in some places and paler in others. They were striking and quite evident. Erik couldn't take me out in public looking like that unless he bought me a dress with a very high neck. Even he ought to know that.
The sight was awful, and I turned away.
...
I couldn't sleep that night. I tossed and turned, curled up and opened, but to no avail. It was likely because of the bed. Memory turned the mattress to needles, the pillows to rocks. I didn't want to leave my room, though, to sleep on the sofa, because I didn't want to see Erik again until the morning, if then.
As I began to give up on even shutting my eyes, I heard Erik begin a piece, one of his own that he had been struggling with for a time. He repeated a few notes, varied them, then settled for one and moved on to the next. This occurred repetitiously, until at last he started at the beginning and played it through. The emotion of the piece was two at once: joy and sorrow. Each wove through the other, with sorrow becoming the melody and overwhelming joy, until joy did the same. Then they would be two melodies dipping in and out of each other, like a needle and thread, creating an almost haunting sound.
I found myself drawn to my door, and I pressed my ear against it to further experience the music. I shut my eyes, my hand pressed against the cool wood. The vibrations were inside it.
His genius was harrowing sometimes, what he could do to me with it. What I was feeling was purely his doing. I was being pulled in two different directions by his music, sometimes torn in two. At one moment I was distraught, another overwhelmed by happiness.
It ceased with a note. Not a chord, a note, and it brought nothing to completion. Perhaps he intended to continue it, perhaps he wanted an unsettling effect. The latter was certainly plausible with Erik.
I heard the bench scrape against the floor. The sound echoed through the still house. I turned back to my bed, but memory now forbade me to re-enter it.
I curled up on the carpet at the foot of my bed instead. It was cold, but far more bearable.
Then I began to cry. Everything had gone even more horribly wrong than I had expected. I had nothing left of my own like I had tried to keep from him, as I had needed to sacrifice it for my possible child. In the end, it had all been for naught.
Erik's footsteps echoed down the hallway. I tried to cry more quietly so he wouldn't hear, but I also needed to breathe and not drown. He stopped outside my door.
"Christine?" he whispered. "Why aren't you asleep?"
I continued crying weakly, all curled up on the floor.
He pushed open the door and came towards me, gingerly. He then kneeled down beside me.
"You must be so tired," he told me. "Why aren't you in bed?"
I shook my head. "I can't sleep t-there."
He glanced up at it, his face falling further. "I forgot, I promised to get you another... You can sleep in my bed- without me, of course."
"I want to sleep downstairs."
"On the sofa?"
I nodded, spilling a few tears that had gathered in my eyes. He reached out to brush them away, and I shivered.
"I'll bring you blankets, then," he informed me, rising. He went out into the hall.
I gathered myself up as best I could, then went downstairs, my arms wrapped about myself. I curled up on the striped sofa, hugging myself for warmth. The fireplace was glowing with red embers.
Erik's footsteps issued from the stairs. He had a pile of blankets in his arms, and upon entering the room, he proceeded to place them over me with great care. I pitied him now more than ever, though it made no sense even to me.
"Are you warm?" he asked, looking at me.
I nodded. "B-but... a pillow might be nice, I think-"
He turned around to take one from an armchair, then placed it beneath my head. He almost smiled at caring for me. Normally I would give some sort of gentle expression in return, but I found myself incapable.
"Goodnight," he told me.
"Goodnight," I whispered in reply.
I turned over and shut my eyes.
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This chapter is rather... uneventful. It's like they're back to square one, though more like -100. Good going, Erik.
I had to get a Captive chapter up, first. I was stuck for a while on it. Please review if you have not! No one is reviewing. If it stinks, PM me so I can change it. It's concerning me how few reviews it is getting.
Also, if I go silent for some time, I am going through a really difficult time at the moment, so it might just be due to that. I hope this will be an outlet, though, to help me de-stress.