He returned with the soup and a glass of water shortly thereafter, unlocking the wooden door. As he waltzed into Christine's room, he couldn't help but be concerned by her blank stare. As he moved to her side, he cocked his head to peer at her from a different angle.
"My dear?" He questioned as she started, her reverie shattered. He smiled timidly, offering her the glass of water first to assuage her thirst.
She grasped the proffered beverage, sipping it slowly as Erik instructed despite her wish to swallow it in one large gulp.
"I know you must be quite ravenous," he stated, eyes shifting around the room after handing her the broth. She nodded in appreciation but said nothing as she sat the bowl in her lap.
Eyes downcast, she began to sip the broth, her appetite diminishing as she tasted the vileness. Erik gave an impish grin as he saw her slightly puckered expression, "I apologize for the foul taste," she looked up at him questioningly, "it's to help you heal. There are a number of herbs in it."
She nodded, took another sip, and then grimaced before placing her spoon down in the bowl, "I am no longer hungry," she stated petulantly, finally breaking her silence.
"You must finish it, dear. It will help your body fight off the remnants of disease," he urged. Upon noticing her stubbornness arise, he added sternly, "You will not eat anything else until you have eaten this soup."
She narrowed her eyes to scour his, searching for a trace of relent. Sighing, she picked up the spoon once more.
In between bites, she asked, "What is today, and what is the time?"
"It is Thursday, November 2nd, and the hour is," he paused to glance at his pocket watch, "seven o'clock in the evening."
"The year, Monsi-Erik?" she asked, attempting to hide her gnawing fear.
"1878," he stated, "You are seventeen as of three weeks ago."
Seventeen years of her life gone. For minutes all that could be heard was the metallic clangor of her spoon against the base of the intricately designed bowl. When finished, she smiled a polite smile and handed him the emptied dish. She could not bring herself to thank him.
"I shall retire to my room now," he stated, "You are doubtless exhausted as well. Simply call for me if you have any troubles," he bowed out of the room, "Goodnight, Christine."
How very peculiar he is, she thought, how did I come to love him? How stubborn and angry he was! She blushed a maiden's blush at her inner-outburst before sighing as she felt her tense muscles relax under the weight of exhaustion, giving way to sleep.
In the room adjacent to hers, Erik sat on his organ bench, elbows pressed on a few of the ebony sharp and flat keys, head in shaking hands. Should not I be with her? Why am I not holding my rights as her husband and resting within the same bed? When did the Phantom of the Opera become so abstemious?
His conscience answered his rhetorical questions despite his wishes. Because the emotion of guilt is not foreign to even you, Erik.
He growled, hands curling into claws as he deeply dug them into the keys of the organ, conjuring a rancid sound that punctured room.
"Guilt? Guilt is for dying men," he growled aloud, standing abruptly and stalking to a large mahogany cabinet that was mounted on the wall.
And are not you dying? the voice questioned, laughing dryly.
His upper lip pulled back to bare his teeth in a snarl as he thrashed open the cabinet door, causing a few glass bottles to fall and shatter on the floor, "I know I am dying!" he shouted, "Moreover, would death not be preferable to this? This nightmare?"
Hearing nothing in reply, he angrily grasped the one drug his body yearned for: morphine.
Christine's heart leaped as a shaft of light scalded her sleeping eyes.
"E-Erik?" she deliriously asked, alert now that she was aware of who stood in her door frame. An undercurrent of danger that permeated the room caused her to subconsciously shrink back into the bed frame.
"I am your husband, and I am going to share your bed with you," he confidently said, more to himself it seemed, as it appeared he held no regard for her opinion on the matter. Noticing her eyes widen, he growled as he tore back the coverlet on the opposite side of her bed, "Do not fear me," he spat, "I wouldn't dream of tarnishing you in your condition."
If possible, her eyes widened further as her pallor became a sickly white. Her forehead became clammy, and she stiffened at the sudden onslaught of her husband's frightening actions.
Erik lowered himself to the mattress as it groaned under his weight before maneuvering to the very edge of the bed, turning himself on his side as not to face her. Christine's heartbeat continued to thunder in apprehension. Silence.
"Erik?" she whispered. He offered no reply, albeit his quivering shoulders. Her eyebrows creased her forehead as her heart rate steadied in the oppressive silence. Seconds, minutes, and then an hour passed where not a word was spoken. Broken breathing was an indicator for both that the other was still conscious.
Christine stared at her hands in the sparse light offered by the cracked door. They were stained with shades of grey, but the gold band on her finger shone a sparkling white. She frowned ruefully before glancing over at Erik's form, immobile, in the very corner of the bed.
The bed creaked as she tentatively reached out her hand towards her husband.
"Erik…" she breathed a shuddering breath, "please speak to me." She was afraid to say anything further.
"What is there to say?" he retorted caustically in a deep tenor.
"Perhaps you could enlighten me as to why you are so upset?" she questioned, slightly wounded by his stinging comment.
He whirled around, eyes scintillating with unshed tears, "Why would I be upset, darling? I am sharing a bed with my beloved wife!"
She cowered beneath the coverlet.
"Ah! Perhaps that is why! My own wife, my living bride, is frightened of me! Is there not a soul in this world that isn't? A soul that would redeem me? Someone who is strong enough to withstand the horror of my face…" he paused in reflection, "But, ah, you have forgotten it, haven't you? Or is it engrained into your skull?" laughing humorlessly, "It's behind your very eyes right now, isn't it? Beating you senseless with its abhorrence! That's why you're quivering, isn't it, Christine? Why you're so frightened! Why, a monster for a husband! One that must steal into your bed! You must hate your Erik! Hate him with all your soulless body!" he cackled maniacally at this, "A soulless angel. How very fitting for my wife!" he paused, eyes gleaming, "Well, dearest, sleep now! Rest well, and when you wake I promise to be the very first thing your shining eyes set sight on!"
A/N: Thanks again to all my awesome reviewers! The reviews make my day! :)