Surprise! No, your eyes do not deceive you, 'tis another update! I've felt badly for the shorter updates and my forgetfulness, so have another segment on me! This one is a pretty big one... Though maybe in ways you might not expect...

Onward!

xvi

Erik was torn. He wanted to reject the notion completely—the very thought of allowing Christine to see any part of his hideousness filling him with revulsion. She was the only one to look at him with fondness, and to lose that, lose her...

He would rather suffer the physical discomfort of an ill-chosen adhesive than have to endure that.

"Why?" he asked at last, needing to know why it was so important to her.

"Because it obviously matters to you."

How could it not matter? His entire body, his face, was the manifestation of the twisted nature of his soul. He lacked in empathy, in compassion, he had no goodness to give to anybody—of that he had been assured since birth. Yet Christine wanted to see it, to study it. Others had asked. Of course they had. Some had even paid for the privilege of looking upon him, only to gasp in delighted horror that such a person could even exist. To revel in their comparative beauty. And he had to endure their looks, their judgment, all the while a burning hatred seared into his heart.

And now Christine wanted to see as well.

Because it mattered to him.

He could not say that it made a great deal of sense to him, but so little about Christine did. Her every action surprised him, her responses never quite what he expected. Was it possible that even in this she could prove so very different?

She was clutching at his arm, her fingers drifting softly over his shirtsleeves and he distantly wondered if the action was for his sake or her own. She had seemed a little frightened by him, which had never been his intention, and he regretted snapping at her.

"What did you do with your other charges? I mean, if you say this mask is new, what did you wear then?"

He could lie, but he was so very weary of it all. The deception—her looking at him with those wide, trusting eyes as he continued to feed her with falsehoods.

So in this at least, he could be honest. "You are my first. I thought I could manage it all, but evidently I have proved wanting."

She blinked at him, her brow furrowing, and he wondered if he had revealed too much. Maybe his story wasn't consistent now and she'd begin to doubt everything. Let her. He would answer her questions as she willed, but not before.

"You've been great, Erik, really. I never would have thought you were lacking in any experience."

He smiled ruefully. "I have made many mistakes, not the least of which was attempting to hide my true appearance." He had done more than that, of course. He had deceived her into coming with him at all. He had made her believe that the specter who plagued her nightmares was another man entirely.

But could he trust her with this?

He wanted to. He wanted to be free from it all. To know if one single person, the woman he loved, could look at him with more than revulsion. Which was why he could not simply give her a photograph and allow her to peruse it at her whim. He needed to see, to be certain of her opinion. Emotions could be schooled, and in all her goodness she could seek to spare him at the expense of her own feelings. And he most certainly would not inflict his face upon her in future when in reality she hated it.

Hated him.

Erik rose from the bed, moving to the desk by the window and began the tedious process of removing his mask. He could tear it from his skin—very nearly wanted to—but that would be a horror on its own and only inflict more damage onto his already inflamed flesh.

Christine sat silently, watching him as he did so, as he carefully loosened the adhesive and pulled away the prosthetic.

Leaving only his papery skin behind.

And then he turned, awaiting her reaction.

He did not know what he expected. A gasp, perhaps, or maybe a scream. He had received both before, though he knew even now that to receive either would wound him more deeply than any previously had managed.

Erik stood, his head held high, even as he wanted to cower and shrink away. Let her see, let her know, but at least he would know what to expect of her in future.

He did not expect for her to come to him, her eyes perhaps a bit wider than usual, but holding no fear, no disgust.

Only tears.

Yet that alone was enough to shatter him.

"Christine," he remarked stiffly, ready to distance himself from her. She was in his bedroom and that would make her eviction more difficult. He did not have the luxury of merely fleeing her presence. "Perhaps you should…"

His words fled when suddenly a force hit his chest, as Christine was once more clinging to him, only this time instead of holding only his arm within her grasp, it was his entire torso. "I'm sorry if people were cruel to you for this. But I won't be. I promise. You aren't a monster, or anything of the sort. And I'm sorry most that they made you believe that."

Erik hadn't the least idea how to respond. He could not even coax his hands into holding her in return, as they remained taut and unresponsive at his sides.

He felt thoroughly overwhelmed.

And though a part of him wanted to clutch her to him, to refuse to let her go in the face of her acceptance, he mostly felt shaken. He needed a moment alone, to regroup, to think.

Because if she could embrace him, had seen and still wanted to be near him…

He was not certain he could ever let her go.

"Christine," he said again, this time not managing to sound as unaffected. "You should return to bed. I must… I must think."

If possible, her grip on him tightened slightly before she relaxed, her head shaking against his chest before she looked up at him. "No. I don't trust you with thinking. You'll probably twist this into something bad, and I won't have it. Not when it concerns me."

He very nearly chuckled at her, at her earnestness, her sweetness, and with a trembling hand—fully unsure of his welcome—he allowed himself to skim the apple of her cheek with his thumb. "You need sleep."

She released a trembling breath, and before he could think that he had been wrong to touch her, she smiled at him softly. "Come walk with me. We didn't get to before, and I want to."

Midnight had long since passed. There was a drizzle in the air, and it surely would be cold. "I am not… dressed properly."

He hoped she would not make him say it. Already he wanted to turn away lest she change her mind and think him too ugly—that perhaps the light was particularly flattering and she did not yet fully comprehend the extent of his appearance.

But she rested her head against his chest so trustingly, and he could not bring himself to move.

If she could but love him… he was quite willing to do anything she asked. Including remain stationary for her to lean against until she desired otherwise.

"It's dark outside," she reminded him. "But if you really have to wear one, you said you had more comfortable options. And before you say it's too cold for me, I'll bundle up too. You'll see. It'll be fun." She peered up at him, her eyes so very beautiful. "Please?"

Apparently he could deny her nothing.

Christine didn't want to give him any reason to refuse, so perhaps she bundled a bit too thoroughly. She'd chosen a red scarf to match her Wellies, and tucked her umbrella into her raincoat pocket. She'd forsaken her nightgown for a thick sweater and leggings, and already she was a bit overheated in the comfort of the hotel room.

But she knew this was needed. Every glimpse into Erik's true nature was like seeing a chasm of loneliness and pain, and to leave someone alone with such thoughts, even with what comfort and acceptance she'd sought to give him... before long he would make it some twisted things. And she couldn't stand that thought.

His face was not what she had expected. She wished she could say that he most assuredly did not look like a corpse, but there was something apt in the description—though she would never, ever admit it to him. It would explain how his nose seemed to have been lost, the sunken quality of his eyes and cheeks. Though in reality, she was rather certain that with time, his skin would look much better than it had in that moment. If the flesh covering his hands was any indication, it would smooth and pale instead of appearing so red and inflamed. It made her want to dig out a cream from her suitcase in an attempt to soothe it. To suggest it could be explained by a burn didn't seem very accurate, but perhaps she hadn't seen enough of the third degree variety to know for certain. He was... unfortunate to look at. He didn't fill her with revulsion, something she had silently steeled herself toward, but he made her sad. Not for his appearance alone, but for all that it must have cost him. He was a damaged soul, bruised and angry, and all she wanted to do was hold him until all the rest melted away.

But he hadn't responded very positively to that attempt, so perhaps a nighttime walk with her would improve his spirits.

There was a gentle knock and upon her answer, Erik opened the door. This mask was of the nude variety, but there was little mistaking that it was indeed one. He had a hat upon his head, and his shoulders were slightly hunched, and his eyes darted frequently back toward his bedroom.

"Ready?" she asked as cheerfully as she could manage. It really was too warm with her layers, so she unwound her scarf, leaving it to hang free about her neck. Better.

Erik grimaced. "If I must be."

She frowned, briefly reconsidering. But her instincts told her that to allow it would only hurt him more, so instead she held out her hand and smiled, hoping he would accept her invitation and they could be on their way.

And something in her warmed when he did so.

Erik had not been mistaken about the chill in the air. Christine thought it marvelous, but she was grateful that he had warned her. Erik was a silent partner beside her, and they rambled through the darkened streets, no true direction in mind.

Until the smell of salt hit her, and then the unmistakable sound of waves.

She'd seen the coast as they'd driven, of course she had, but she hadn't realized that the hotel was so close to the beach.

The moon was full, its reflection on the water providing enough light to see by. It was beautiful, dark and perhaps a bit stormy, but powerful.

Erik squeezed her hand more firmly. "You are not going near it. Not when it is so dark."

Christine glanced up at him before nodding. "No, you're right. That would be dangerous." A little ways off was a bench, not dissimilar to the one they had found before, and she tugged until he followed her toward it. "I just want to sit for a little while, then we can go back. I won't go near the water. Promise."

Erik grunted, but since he did not try to dissuade her overly much, she thought that was acceptance enough.

This beach was more sand than rock, and she was glad of her footwear as it kept it all from reaching her socks. She glanced down at Erik's feet, but she couldn't quite make out the nature of his shoes. She hoped he wouldn't be bothered.

A particularly large gust of wind came suddenly as they neared the bench, and to her great surprise, she watched as her scarf was suddenly taken from her neck and spiraled toward the water's edge. She gasped, lurching forward and about to run after it, when a hand clamped down upon her shoulder.

"You promised," he reminded her.

"But, Papa gave me that scarf!"

She stood powerlessly as it landed on the sand, a wave coming and beginning to sweep it out toward the sea. She wouldn't reach it in time. Her heart ached just to think it.

But though she was about to accept that it was lost, assure him that she remembered her promise and would suffer its absence—never mind that it had been a favorite. Never mind that her papa had bought it for her along with her Wellies. She had complained about the rain, that everything was so dreary and black when the skies were overcast. And then one day he had brought home two boxes, telling her with some amusement that she could open them.

"How can you be sad when you're wearing red?" he'd asked her.

And she hadn't been. Couldn't be. Not when he loved her so much.

Why was she always so careless with the things he had given her? The things that were his?

But suddenly Erik was gone from her side, his long legs taking him toward the ocean's edge.

Christine took a few steps forward, praying that he wouldn't make any foolhardy attempt at its rescue. He didn't like the water, he'd told her that, and she'd wanted him to feel better by coming out here—not frighten him and get him soaked because she hadn't tied her scarf properly.

She halted well before the waves reached the sand, and she watched with horror as Erik waded a little ways into the water. "Erik, please, it's all right! It isn't worth it!"

He stood, turning back toward her. "But it is yours." He took another step out toward the sea, and tears welled in her eyes as she pictured him being swept away. She'd be helpless to save him. He was too big, the water too rough, and he was the one with a phone to call for help. "Please, just come back! You're more important to me."

Erik stilled. "I am?"

She very nearly stamped her foot, so anxious was she that he remove himself from the waves. "Yes! Now come back!"

He obeyed, wading back toward her. He would be wet now, and there would be no sitting on the bench, gazing out into the dark. She would insist they return to the hotel and he change into some pajamas, and might even tuck him into bed for good measure.

Foolish man.

But when he drew closer, she finally took notice of a sodden bit of red clutched within his grasp, and quite ridiculously a sob caught in her throat as she recognized it. "You saved it," she murmured disbelievingly.

"It mattered to you," he answered simply.

And knowing with absolute certainty that it was true, she closed the distance between them, her hands reaching up to his neck and pulling him downward. "You matter more. But thank you."

And before she could think better of it, before she could conjure all the reasons it was wrong and silly and so utterly unlike herself…

She kissed him.

There was no mistaking when his arms wrapped around her in return, her wet scarf pressing against her back.

And when his lips so tentatively moved against hers, she knew there was nothing wrong about it. Nothing at all. Not when it was with him.

Sooo... who supposed we were going to go from unmasking to midnight strolls to kissing?! And who's proud of Erik for taking it off himself and showing her of his own accord. And it looks like somebody else got to be the hero of her scarf this time!

Until next time, I'd love to hear your thoughts!