Chapter 12. April, 1887. Monday, three days after the wedding.

At home, with shaking fingers she put on her prettiest, most diaphanous and see-through robe…without anything on underneath it. She'd been told that men loved to look at unclothed women; well, she'd put it to the test. While she wouldn't be completely undressed, this would be as close to it as she could bear, and he'd certainly be able to see her body; this garment left nothing to the imagination when there was no nightgown or undergarment beneath it. She had no idea what else to do.

So, now she must get him out of his room; she had a scheme for how to do this as well. She went out to the parlour, propped the door open, and stationed herself at the spot where her voice would carry the best. She felt dreadfully exposed, and couldn't help futilely wrapping the gown closed and holding it there with her arms, before she could continue with her plan. Singing without accompaniment was not easy for her, but that was just as well, this time. She began to sing Marguerite's Jewel Song from Faust, which she knew was one of the ones Erik liked most to hear her perform. However, while she would normally have strived with every cell of her body to gain his approval by singing it as perfectly as she possibly could, now she did not! Now she wobbled, missed notes, made sure her pitch was off. It hurt, actually, to sing this way, but perhaps…perhaps…

Yes! The music issuing from the other room stopped abruptly, and there was a waiting, pulsating silence. Christine gamely had another go, this time reaching for a note and making her voice squeak and crack till she caused her own ears to ache. Another couple of seconds, and…

Success. There was a slamming noise from out in the hallway; his bedroom door. Then a glowering Angel of Music flew into the parlour, seized her by the shoulders and roared, "What the hell are you doing, Christine?"

"Making you come out of that room!" snapped Christine, too angry herself to cringe before his fury as she would normally have done. "How else was I supposed to do it?"

Erik paused, glaring at her through the eyeholes of the black mask he had resumed, and then shook her till her hair flew around her face. "How dare you do that to your voice? Do you realise the harm you could have do – "

He stopped in the middle of a word, suddenly noticing her attire…or rather, lack thereof. The dressing gown was now hanging completely open down the front. He was holding her at arms' length already, and now his burning eyes slid over her, first incredulously, then slowly, gradually, with dawning lust. She watched, immensely gratified. He couldn't ignore her, after all! She'd make him capitulate!

He raised his eyes to hers, and she saw that they held a mixture of rage and desire. Would it prove a fatal one?

"What a display," he sneered. "Your skills are consummate indeed. Tell me, how many other men has this worked on?"

Rage bloomed in her own heart now, and she wrenched free and slapped him across the face as hard as she could. He put a hand to his cheek, shocked. The thin material of his mask could not have afforded him much protection. Good.

"Don't you dare say such things to me!" she screamed. "Don't you dare! I never had a lover before you, never! And it did hurt me, it did! I only said it didn't so that I wouldn't hurt your feelings, and this is how you treat me in return! I'm your wife now, and you promised before God and man to be my husband! You begged me on your knees for the right to love me, and is this how you do it? I should have known you wouldn't keep your promise! You make dreadful, unfounded, cruel accusations, and you shut yourself away from me for days! What if I'd drowned in the lake? It'd be all your fault, you monster!"

That word seemed to goad him, as none other had. He grabbed her with hands that hurt, yanked her against him and hissed, "Monster, am I? We'll see just how monstrous Erik can be! He has done many bad things, but he has never taken a woman against her will, till now!" The visible part of his face was livid with rage, his eyes as wild as they had been on their wedding night, his teeth bared. She didn't think she'd seen him quite this angry at any other time. "But it can't be a violation if it's you, can it, dear wife? If we're going to start accusing each other of not living up to our marriage vows, well, it's my right to have you whenever I choose, and you can't refuse me without sinning before God! You're my property now, damn it, and so I shall take you, right here on the parlour floor, and we'll just see whether your protestations of innocence are true or not!"

He kissed her with lips that bruised, clutching awkwardly at her face with one hand while the other roamed freely about her body, grasping and squeezing painfully. She struggled, rained down blows on him, but he took no notice. She might as well have been beating a marble sculpture, but he wasn't a carved stone angel, was he, he was a man whose cold flesh now blazed with a fire that threatened to burn them both to cinders! She slapped him again, with fingers curved into claws that raked red lines down his jaw. He ripped her dressing gown from her shoulders and tossed it aside. His own followed as he used one hand to hold her fast against him and the other to struggle out of the garment. He bore her kicking down onto the carpet as she fought, biting him on the lip as he kissed her again. He jerked away, swore, and dipped his head like a striking snake to try again. She snatched his mask away and flung it across the room, meeting his eyes in a furious challenge; he snarled and tangled his fingers in her hair to make her head arch back. He bit her neck, hard, and she cried out and scissored her legs about his narrow hips, not sure whether she sought to hurt him or to arouse him. He growled, lowering his mouth to her bare breasts where his lips tugged and his teeth nipped at her.

"Mine," he asserted, dragging his mouth along her flesh, seeming to brand her with its feverish heat. "Mine, mine, and I'll make you see it!"

She didn't know whether she wanted him to do this or not. Oh, she'd meant to induce him to take her again, but not like this! Adrenaline was running rampant through her veins, and flaming lines of sensation raced from his mouth on her nipple down between her legs, making her hips jerk and curve toward him. Was she winning the battle? Was he? It was impossible to tell. She wrenched his head away from her breast and pulled his mouth to hers. His tongue entered her, seeking to claim her. She met it with her own, pushing right back, only to have him growl again in the back of his throat and try to take control once more. He was mightily aroused. So was she, although she didn't fully realise it. She knew only that she wanted to touch him, even as she struggled, as they thrashed to and fro across the floor like a pair of animals, kissing, biting, gripping hard enough to leave bruises. She wrestled with his braces till she could shove them down, ripped his shirt out of his trousers, set her nails in his back and tore.

He jerked her hands away and gathered both her wrists into one of his hands, stretching her arms out over her head, and twist as she might, she could not break his iron grip. She lay exposed beneath him, helpless and vulnerable. He was fumbling with his clothing, and then he shoved it aside, spread her thighs with his knee, and entered her clumsily.

She screamed. It did hurt, but not that much; she'd retained just enough presence of mind to recall that she must act as though he were injuring her dreadfully. She hadn't planned for this to happen this way, but now that it was, she must seize the opportunity to fix this horrible misunderstanding between them. He pulled back and then drove forward again; she screeched like a banshee, and managed to make tears come to her eyes. She rolled her hips, half resisting and half goading him on. He appeared to take it as the latter, and redoubled his assault. She tossed her head, cried out some more, screwed up her face in apparent pain. Through half-lidded eyes, she was aware of him watching her intently as he thrust, and had the muddled thought that this was the performance of her life. Damn him to hell! She'd lied to protect his feelings, and now she had to lie again to clear up the resulting disaster! Her throat began to burn, and yet it was cathartic, really, this freedom to scream out her frustration. Oh, yes, it was!

Her body bucked under him, nearly lifting his up along with hers. He used his free hand to slam one of her thighs flat, and moved even deeper in her. The change in position did something; unbidden, electric tingles began to race through her body. Was this the enjoyment she was supposed to be feeling? It would have to happen now, when she had to pretend to suffer cruelly throughout! She moaned in apparent pain again, as, contrarily, she began to want him to keep on. With every thrust, he was rubbing…touching…brushing against some part of her that ached for more.

She began to realise that this could in fact be pleasurable, thrilling even. She bit his heaving shoulder, sinking her teeth in hard. Her body clutched at his, demanding its own release; and she couldn't let him know it! It must, it must seem as though she were still being hurt by this! And she was, sort of, but paradoxically she was enjoying it, even if the unbelievable irony of being unable to tell him that she hungered for his touch, when the knowledge of that could have pleased him above all else, tugged at her mind relentlessly.

In any case, the whole business was swiftly reaching its end. He was gasping, his body tensing in anticipation. He thrust even harder, and she remembered to howl even as it made her toes curl; once more, twice, and it was all over, with a hoarse cry from Erik and one last ear-splitting shriek from Christine. He collapsed on her, as he had done before, seemingly boneless.

Christine lay there, silent, her arms and legs outstretched, quivering with this strange desire that had not been expected but which now was driving her nearly mad with its going unsatisfied. It was all she could do not to arch up against him, desperate for some contact.

Later, she told herself. Later we can do something about…this. He'll want me again, surely, and then we'll…we'll try… Her mind faltered, fluttered away. It was too much, just now.

Erik stirred above her, groaned, and then raised himself up and drew away from her. She winced deliberately, and pasted a grimace across her face as they separated.

He propped himself on one elbow again, and put his hand on her cheek. She raised her eyes to look at him.

"You really were a virgin," he said, and it wasn't much of a question.

"I was," she said quietly. "I only told you it didn't hurt because I thought you'd be upset if you knew it had. But it did, it really did. I bit my lip so hard it bled. I had to wipe it on the pillowcase so you wouldn't see."

He was silent for a moment. "I would have been upset," he affirmed. "But I was expecting it. I knew it was supposed to; I wasn't even sure I'd be able to bring myself to touch you, knowing that it must end in hurting you. But then I could not control myself at all, not one bit, and I was appalled afterward by that."

She wondered suddenly if his explosive outburst had been as much because he was ashamed of his own behaviour, as because he suspected her of being unchaste. She didn't dare ask.

"I couldn't control myself just now either," he continued. "I can not believe I just did that to you. I have spent my life determined that I'd never force a woman, and just because I was in a temper, I broke that vow. And to have you be the one who had to suffer my lust – "

She saw the self-loathing begin to twist his already misshapen features, and rushed to stop this new problem in its tracks by saying, "It wasn't force. You spoke the truth; I am your wife, and it's my duty to allow you your rights. You can't force me, by definition."

"That is not the point!" he snapped. "I don't give a damn whether the law allows me to take you whenever I want. That does not make it right. I did not ever want to do this. And I do not want you accepting me out of…compulsion." He spoke the last word as though it disgusted him to the core.

"Erik, it's all right, really," Christine insisted, frightened that this would set him off again. "I – I wanted you to, so you would see I was telling the truth." There. It was honesty, but not completely. Enough, perhaps, to soothe his fears?

"But... but I hurt you," he continued. "I mean – beyond the – I was violent and out of control. Look, you have bruises."

"So do you," she said with a smile. "I think I gave as good as I got. Look, here... and here, and here." She touched the scratches on his jaw and throat, the long red lines down his back, the bite mark on his shoulder.

"No…I did hurt you. You are bleeding."

Christine glanced down in the direction of his gaze, and saw a bit of blood on her inner thigh. "Well…I suppose that's because…I'm not used to this." She had a moment's resentful wondering why she could not have bled noticeably to begin with, and saved all the trouble; stammering, she added hastily, "And this was rougher-I mean, faster than-you didn't wait to-" There was no good way to say any of it. "It was different this time." There, that was the very best she could manage.

There was a tense moment of silence, and then he exhaled a long breath and replied, "I suppose so."

A rush of relief flooded through her veins, bringing a tingling euphoria. He believed her.

Erik ran his hand over her cheek again, and then through her hair. "I really didn't force you?" he asked plaintively, and she sensed how much he wanted to be reassured. He sounded like a small boy.

"You really didn't," she echoed, then recalled something. "You saw how I was dressed… or, not dressed… when this started. Does that not tell you that I wanted this? You are my husband, and I am your wife." She searched his face worriedly with her eyes, praying that that would be enough. It seemed it was, for he sighed and lay down again, put his head against her shoulder. She let her breath out slowly, relieved.

O-O-O

That had been the last time, thought Christine, sponging her back, that her husband had not attempted to see to her pleasure.

O-O-O O-O-O