So…here's the wedding night. There's nothing described in extensive detail, but there are a few mature subjects discussed. And it is a wedding night. I've changed the rating as a precaution and for possible future vignettes. Still, if you don't want to read anything that has to do with this subject, please feel free to skip it.
If you haven't seen it yet, I've posted another wonderful picture by Biskuits in my profile. It's an E/C scene from "When All is Lost" that I'm sure you'll enjoy.
Thank you all for your wonderful comments. I was happily surprised to see how many people wanted to read these vignettes. And a big thanks to MadLizzy for her help with this difficult chapter. I hope you all enjoy it.
Read and Review!!!
It didn't quite sink in until they'd arrived at the street on which their apartment was located, Maelstrom Drive. A light-hearted jitteriness made her hands shake as she parked and turned off the engine. She was married. Married. Christine glanced to the side and saw him watching her, feeling her face warm as she opened the car door.
They quickly walked to the front entrance of the apartment, a pleasant breeze whipping against her face and causing her dress to sway. It wasn't extremely late, but the sky was darkening, and a few stars dotted the sky. She inhaled, smelling the ocean, and decided that they would have to take a nighttime walk on the beach before summer ended. Joy pervaded her veins, nearly making her dizzy. The winter of sorrow and death seemed distant.
Once they were inside the safety of their home,Christine turned and locked the door, barricading them from the rest of the world. She whirled back around, and they stared at each other. And then she ran forward and embraced him. "We're married!"
Erik didn't reply. After tossing the mask on a nearby table, he pressed his lips against her forehead and tightly wound his arms around her. Her heart pounded in time with his, and she forced herself not to cry, not wanting to become a sobbing mess that evening. Erik always looked a little panicked when she cried, even when she assured him that they were tears of happiness.
After they remained in that position for over a minute, he spoke. "Do you want…the violin? A wedding song, perhaps?"
"No. I'd rather just be with each other." She was selfish and didn't want to share him with his music that night.
"Very well." His voice was hoarse. Still half-embraced, they sat on the sofa together. She looked up at him, finding his expression unreadable. She touched the less mobile corner of his lip. Like the rest of him, it was cold and dry. He looked into her eyes as she continued to caress his face. "You have the ugliest husband in the world. No other woman has the privilege of saying that."
"I love you," she merely replied and kissed him. It was useless to tell him that he wasn't ugly; he would only scoff and tell her that her lies were very sweet. By now, he at least seemed to believe that she did love him, face included, and that she didn't care what the rest of the world thought. She wasn't an aggressive person by any means, but, whenever anyone stared at Erik for longer than necessary, Christine felt the desire to slap them.
He returned the kiss, and she felt a gentle eagerness. Cheeks flushed, she pulled back when the kiss ended and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Are you hungry yet? There's vanilla pudding and fried rice in the fridge." Her voice shook.
"No. I am not hungry."
"Yeah. That doesn't sound very good, does it? I should probably throw the rice out."
"Indeed."
She swallowed, still unable to read his eyes. His fingers were timidly stroking her back up and down, and his breath was unsteady. "You are painfully lovely," he murmured with a hint of longing and a touch of self-loathing.
That was all she needed. Gathering her courage, Christine stood. He looked up at her in surprise, and she tugged on his hand. Erik silently rose to stand beside her, and they walked the short distance to the darkened bedroom. She guided him inside, faced him, and took his hands. "I'll be right back." He merely nodded; she smiled in reassurance.
After pulling a silky light-blue nightgown out of the closet, she walked to the bathroom to change, feeling his eyes always upon her. Goosebumps dotted her arms as she slipped off the dress and put on the gown. She'd been preparing for this night, though, taking care with each detail. A few months ago, she'd left a little container of pills out in plain view. She'd felt too uncomfortable to tell him what they were, but she hadn't wanted them to be some deep secret. Erik never indicated that he was upset by them.
With Raoul, Christine knew that they would have children. She hadn't wanted them as soon as he did (or quite as many), but they were always part of the plan. And she had no doubts in her mind that Raoul would be a good father.
Did she still want children? Well…honestly, yes. Yes, she did. There was something heartwarming and beautiful about a part of her and Erik continuing on…and…well…She certainly didn't want them now—that would be a disaster!--but maybe someday. In ten years, she would only be in her early thirties. And Erik would still be middle-aged. Maybe by then…
She forced the thoughts from her mind, almost embarrassed. They had years and years to consider complicated matters. At the moment, she wanted to focus on the evening.
Ever since she had grasped the concept of a wedding night, Christine had always pictured a husband carrying her into the bedroom and taking control of the situation. But she was in control now, and her hands were still shaking. Looking in the mirror, she fluffed out her hair and straightened her nightgown. After adding a little blush and dabbing some perfume behind her ears, she returned to the bedroom, her heart hammering in her chest.
He was standing exactly where she left him with his arms limply at his sides. For some reason, that brought a fresh tear to her eye; she quickly wiped it away.
And then she approached him.
He could see her trembling as she reentered the bedroom. His hellish life told him that it was out of disgust at what she thought was expected of her. The part of his mind that wanted to hope whispered that she was merely unsure of herself. The voices battled until her kiss silenced them both.
She pulled him close as they stood beside the bed, her arms hooked up around his shoulders. His hands brushed against the soft material of her nightclothes; the texture reminded him of some of the women's colorful garments in India.
It was not lost on him how much these moments had improved over the months. After their first kiss, the dear girl had looked so nauseous that he was certain it would be the last time. And he hadn't blamed her.
But it had not been the last time. She glowed now, no trace of disgust in her eyes. He had a wife. And she actually let him near her. If someone had told him that this would be his fate a year ago, he would have crudely laughed at them. And then killed them for their stupidity.
Christine slowly took his jacket off, and he didn't protest. She hung it on a nearby chair and returned to him. He took her hand and kissed her fingers, detecting soap on them. She smiled. His smile.
It was only when she started on the buttons of his white shirt that his heart stopped. He stared deeply into her eyes, skillfully interpreting every blink, eyebrow movement, and the direction of her gaze. The conclusion was beautiful and damning. She wanted everything. It was not out of obligation. He stepped backward.
She stared at him, one hand still reaching outward. "What--what's wrong?"
He paused and glanced away from her, desperately trying to think. Little voices from the past danced around in his head, some taunting him. And he knew there was only one way that his mind even had a chance at handling the night. "I wish for the lights to be off."
Christine bit her bottom lip and appeared slightly hurt. "But I want to see you…"
"No light," he rasped. "Let me have tonight. It is all so hideous. I do not want light."
"You know I don't care about--"
"I know." He managed to keep his composure. "But if there is light, I will think only of Erik. And I must think of you, too." He forced out the next word. "Please." The light from the dim lamp was starting to blind him.
"All right," she finally conceded, perhaps sensing that his mind had become slightly unstable. "We'll turn it off." She clicked off the lamp. He closed the blinds and curtains to block out moonlight and streetlights, along with the next morning's sunlight. With the darkness came relief, and everything was in focus again. He turned to see Christine standing there with a blank expression; his poor, dear, beautiful wife was completely blind now. But it had to be that way. He ran back to her side and wrapped his arms around her, pressing his lips to her cheek.
She started in surprise, before embracing his maimed, skeletal body. She then stepped back and tugged on his hands, trying to get him to sit on the bed with her. "I can still see your eyes."
He sat. "Do they bother you?"
"No. I love how they glow."
"Ah."
Her fingers found the buttons again. "May I?" she asked.
He paused. "If you wish." Was it possible to want to escape from someone while also desiring to get as close as possible? The warmth in his body contrasted with a bitterness that started on his tongue and seeped into his stomach. It was elation mixed with panic and desire entwined with shame. He didn't understand any of it—just felt it all consuming and crushing him. The darkness still calmed him, though.
Her hands fumbled over the buttons, and he heard her sigh in frustration several times. He allowed his fingers to trail through her hair and brush against her cheek. They wandered down to her fragile neck, and he could feel her quickly beating pulse. Was she afraid? Or…?
Air suddenly grazed his chest, and he nearly flinched backward as she touched his bare skin. The shirt was pushed away and down his arms. She continued to feel him with gentle curiosity.
His back and shoulders were a morbid patchwork quilt of mangled skin. His chest was slightly less grotesque but still contained its share of discoloring and scars. Fortunately, she couldn't see any of it, only feel his frigid death's flesh. He tried not to panic as she ran her hands over his protruding ribs and shoulder bones that were covered only with a thin layer of sallow skin. Blindly, she pressed her lips against his collar bone.
Using all of his willpower, he forced all thoughts of himself away. He didn't want to think about his horrid self any longer…or of the wretched past--only of her. He was nothing. He didn't exist; only she did. There was only Christine now. If he didn't exist for a moment, he couldn't be ugly for that moment. Crushing all thoughts of himself, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her neck and shoulders. She was beautiful, soft, and perfect. And there were no monsters near her that night.
They shared another long, passionate kiss. With her arms still around him, she reclined and pulled him toward her. He continued to concentrate on Christine, her blue eyes…her little nose…her smile…her unmarred flesh. His hands wandered over her skin and nightgown, over her back and down to her waist, the beautiful sensation of touch further blocking himself from his own mind. Their kisses continued as more skin was exposed. She sighed. And he was not there. He was not there! He was not there!
"I love you," she whispered as his hands worked to remove the gown. Her head was on the pillow, and she was staring up at him with little tears in her eyes. Her smile was bright. His smile. "I love you, Erik."
Erik.
"Erik." He softly repeated his name like a curse.
And, to both his horror and relief, he was suddenly there again.
Her heart fell as he moved away and lay on the pillow beside her, disdainfully repeating his name a second time. His eyes had also disappeared. Her hands found his arms, and she traced them upwards, soon realizing that he was covering his face with his fingers. "Erik?" she asked in confusion, gently prying his hands away. The eyes appeared again. He stared up at her, and Christine wished that she could see his expression. "Are you all right?"
"Yes."
She frowned at the clipped answer. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Is there something…hurt?"
"Hurt?"
She inhaled and quickly forced the words out. "I know that when…people are injured badly…sometimes they can't--You can tell me if something's wrong. It won't matter." Her hand rubbed his upper arm, which was about the width of her wrist. "If you can't…well, I just need to know. We'll be fine."
There was a moment of silence. The heaving laugh that escaped his throat startled her. "I would not have allowed you to marry me thinking otherwise if that were so." He laughed again, and there was a mournful quality to the rich sound. "Ah. My wife believes she married a eunuch!" He continued to chuckle.
Her face heated. "I didn't necessarily mean that!"
"There is nothing wrong," he said. "Not in that way."
"It would have been fine if there was," she murmured.
"It would not have been fine. I would not have let you marry me."
"Oh, Erik." She rubbed her palm against his chest. The skin was less damaged than on his back, cold and smooth. At one place, she could even feel his heart beating beneath her hand.
A few minutes passed. "Erik is here. I am here," he murmured, almost thoughtfully. He was staring at the wall.
"You're here," she agreed. "You're my husband."
"And I have a wife now. And she is here. As long as she…as you are here, I can stay. As long as you want me, no matter how ugly I am, I can be here. Only you matter. That is how it is. I see now."
She didn't quite understand what was going on in his mind, but he seemed calm. And content with his strange revelation. After a confusing moment, she leaned over to kiss him again, hoping that the night wasn't about to end. To her delight, he turned on his side and returned her affections. His hand weakly pulled on her nightgown, his eyes more intense. Taking both hands, he pulled again. She softly laughed and removed the garment before he tore it in two. Erik was suddenly still as he stared at her.
She shifted and knew her cheeks were red. "How well can you see me?"
"Perfectly," he rasped.
"That doesn't seem fair."
"It is more than fair, my Christine."
She gave a dissatisfied grunt at the statement. Forcing away her modesty, she scooted closer to him. They remained in a tight embrace, warm skin against icy flesh. His fingers timidly wandered over her, and his chest moved with soft, rapid breaths. Her hand touched his sunken stomach, and he shuddered. "Please," she said. It was no longer about her; they needed this to move forward. "I'm yours."
He was motionless for several more seconds. Then, he turned and moved over her, and she leaned her head back into the pillow. She rested her hands flat on his back and took a deep breath. There were several moments of discomfort, some worse than others, and his protruding skeleton pressed against her skin until he found balance. Still, she managed not to shed tears, knowing that might bring him to another bout of self-hatred.
His long fingers ran over her ribs and stomach, up to her chest. She heard him exhale and softly sigh. A nonsensical syllable escaped his lips, more a song than a word. She winced and tightened her hold on him as he moved above her. Just as she began to feel something other than pressure, something good, it was all over, and he'd quickly shifted back to the side of her.
After taking several deep breaths and quickly wiping an annoying tear off her cheek, she prepared to turn around and tell him that it was just fine…that she loved him and that she was thrilled that they could have what almost every other couple had. And she was proud of him and wanted him more than anything in the world. And no one could separate them now; neither of them would ever be alone again.
Turning on her side, she couldn't see his expression. Before she could speak and reach out to him, though, Christine was yanked forward and immediately enfolded into his arms, her cheek pressed to his chest. "I love you!" He repeated this several times, his voice tear-choked and filled with disbelief. "You are my wife! And you are lovely. And you will never leave. I love you!"
She smiled and wrapped an arm around him, shifting slightly to get comfortable. "I love you, too," she said, kissing his cheek. "Thank you." He may not even have heard her; he was clinging and murmuring in what she guessed was joy and passion. It only confirmed what she had always thought: Erik was like any other man, only repressed and shamed to the point where he believed he wasn't. There was no irreparable physical damage; as always, the most harm had been done to his mind.
"You like your husband," he fondly murmured into her hair, still clutching onto her. It was one of the few times that the happiness in his eyes wasn't guarded.
"I love my husband." She felt renewed peace in her heart, believing they could have everything no matter what anyone else thought.
They silently lay there together, and she pulled the thick covers over them. As with her hair, Erik seemed to have a fondness for soft things, and she'd spent a little extra money on a plushy bedspread and fluffy bath towels. He never said anything about them, but he certainly never complained. She enjoyed seeing him wrapped in comfort.
A car horn startled her right before she fell asleep.
She'd nearly forgotten that they weren't alone in the world.
It was one of the nights that he didn't sleep. He merely lay there, appreciating and loving her for hour after hour. Occasionally, he would touch her face or hair or shoulder, gently enough to keep from waking her. In the early morning hours, she finally opened her eyes, squinting to no avail. "It's so dark," she murmured.
"It is perfect," he replied, pulling her close. Amidst her sudden kisses to his jaw and caresses, he wished for her again. She turned and allowed him the divine privilege.
The epiphany had been so simple and yet so difficult to grasp. He still repulsed himself for many vile reasons, some of his own fault and others not. But as long as she wanted him, as long as she was happy with him, he had reason to be there. And, somehow, he was also able to share a piece of her joy. And, every so often, the joy overtook the self-hatred. And he was happy.
After again drowning in pure bliss, he possessively wrapped his arms around her, and she scooted closer. The possessiveness was of a different nature than the paranoid desire to disembowel any male who glanced at her. It was gentler and trusting, and he merely wished that they could lie there forever, isolated from the rest of the world.
Unfortunately, Christine still rather liked the world. "When can we let in some light?" she asked after awhile, sitting up.
"But this is so much more pleasant."
"That's because you can see!"
"Very well. Let me have a moment." He rearranged himself, the bliss fading slightly. The mask was still in the living area, but he decided it wasn't necessary. The soft rustle of material indicated that she was dressing as well. "You may have your light."
After a second, she clicked on a lamp and blinked several times as her eyes adjusted. She smiled at him and blushed. Then, Christine walked to the window and glanced outside, letting in a few streaks of morning sunlight. A little ray of light managed to make its way through the blinds and landed on his left hand. He glared at it, and she stared with concern as he moved his arm.
"It won't hurt you, Erik."
Her voice was strangely serious, and he guessed that the ever-intrusive Nadir had told the story about the 'deadly sunlight.' He wryly chuckled. "I am aware of that." She closed the curtains and came to sit beside him; the little ray of light disappeared. "But if you ever wish to move to an underground cave, do tell me. I will oblige."
"Maybe someday we could have a basement, if you want." Despite his mangled face, she'd become very adept at reading his expressions. His excitement at the idea of an underground room (with carpeting and draperies and a grand piano…And Christine!) was immediately evident to her. "But only if you promise not to stay down there all the time," she added.
He grudgingly promised, still secretly determined to get her down to his basement on occasion. He would even decorate it for her. Satisfied, she kissed him on the cheek and pulled him to lie back down with her. They remained there for several more hours.
He would do anything for her.
The coming years would prove this, sometimes in the harshest of ways. Whether it was her smile or tears that held the most power over him--he could never quite say.
