Closing the remaining gap between us, he glared solely into my eyes, and I fought to cling to my faltering strength with clawed fingertips. No. He would not shatter me, would not decipher me, would not pick apart the nuances he favored from those he didn’t, would not construct a new Christine to his liking. Not again.
“You look at me and seek a heart you perceive nonexistent,” I blamed and glared back. “But you forget that hearts can feel hate as passionately as love. Look for hate, and maybe you’ll find it.”
He gave a grating chuckle, so close that its reverberation played on my skin and made me shiver. “Hate? I cannot find even hatred in your little guise. Give me hatred, Christine. Give me anything that constitutes passion, and I will be satisfied. Hate me to your core, but show me! Because all I see are walls inside, an inability to feel. You don’t want to feel, and you can spout words of hate and rage at me all you like, but not a single emotion you’ve given is more than a façade. You’ve disconnected your heart from the world, and that is why I won’t accept anything you wish to put before me. Hatred, love for a worthless peacock, music in your voice. All of it is hollow and dead.”
“I hate you,” I hissed and was certain I meant it no matter his assessment.
“No,” he replied, shaking a doubtful head. “You don’t.”
His arrogance infuriated me. He was so convinced he was right that hope twinkled in his mismatched stare as if he was but waiting for me to fall and embrace him, to be his when I refused even the idea.
“You left,” I bid again. It was my excuse and reason and equally reminded the heart hidden somewhere inside why walls were a necessity.
“And did you pray I’d never return?” he questioned, and before I could interpret his intent, he caught my shoulders in pinching hands and dragged me closer than I wished to go.
“Stop,” I pleaded and tried to squirm free.
“Did you beg for my presence even once, Christine? One wish from your lips that I would come back to you?”
To my horror, his arms wove about my struggling body and forced me against him, and in spite of every sensation I sought to hold from cresting, I lost a soft cry and felt yanked beneath a tidal wave I didn’t want to feel. No. No more feeling anything for this man. No, …he’d use every emotion to destroy me all over again if I let him.
“My God, how can you keep up these pretenses even in my arms?” he demanded, clutching me flush to his torso. “Do you not feel how perfect and right this is? …You are mine. I feel it; why can’t you?”
His. The word left a bitter taste in my mouth even though I had yet to speak it. And his evidently meant he’d leave at inopportune times and inflict hurt at his choosing.
“I’m not yours,” I shrieked in indignation and struggled with more vigor. “Let me go, Erik!”
But my arms were pinned in his grasp, and I could do little more than wriggle tense muscles and gasp shallow breaths that left me dizzy. He would destroy me…
“No,” I muttered and felt tears threatening to break through the dam.
“Yes, Christine. Oh God, how I’ve ached for this!” Every word was husky and breathed against my ear, encouraging the tears to rim my eyes and blur moon-glow and its silhouettes.
“No…”
Ignoring my half-hearted protests, he released one arm, but before I could gather conviction and dart, he lifted the edge of his mask from his misshapen lips. My eyes grew wide as they fixed on the abnormal contours I’d only recalled in dreams, and in my hazed distraction, the hand at my lower back forced me upward until those distorted lips were upon mine.
His kiss was harsh and branding, possessively fierce the same as it had been that last night. I contemplated for one second that perhaps he did not know gentle could exist in the realm of kisses, ignorant to the shades and variations of such an intimacy. I’d grown experienced in his absence, but there were not other kisses and ventures in my head, only an urging to show him what a kiss could truly mean. I hated myself with the thought because it meant that I felt something and that was unacceptable.
I couldn’t breathe. His mouth was firm against mine, his body so crushing that I felt suffocated. …Suffocated in his love; wasn’t that our very relationship put into phrase? I tried to shrink back, but he moaned deep in his chest and pushed his hips against mine, proclaiming his wanting so vividly that I shook all over as cascades of sensation attacked my unprepared body.
My body wanted, but my heart shouted a desperate no and begged me to get free.
His tongue plunged between my lips, and for a second, I was so astonished that I quit all struggles. He seemed urgent to taste, devouring voracious as if he longed to cover every taste bud in my flavor.
Another delirious moan, and it was beautiful as it tickled my eardrums. The sound, the timbre of something laden in such arousal, the knowledge that such a guttural instinct meant he wanted me. …And if I forgot all else but his misshapen lips, soft against mine even amidst a hard kiss that flattened their swollen shapes, this was ecstasy, craved and shaking me to my core. But…that was if I forgot, and I didn’t want to forget.
Recovering scant wits, I acted. I bit his lip, not hard enough to be a valid injury, but it rattled him and the spell of desire he was lost within. As he jerked away, I broke free and recoiled, glaring at him in spite.
“Don’t touch me!” I commanded and suffered residual shudders that would not cease. It was too much. He was the reason I’d burrowed my heart and sealed it in iron, and he was also the reason it beat violently in its cage and ached for freedom to beat for him.
Erik’s mismatched eyes flared in fire, and I fisted my small hands against my chest and considered myself a decent threat right back. But he touched his bit lip, glaring blamefully, and quickly put his mask back in place.
“I am not yours,” I insisted before adamancy could fade. “I will never be yours again. I am the Vicomte’s. We are engaged.” It was the cruelest weapon in my arsenal, and I heaved it at him, knowing the damage it would cause before I even said it. I watched the word swing through the air and strike straight to the mark, debilitating his fury and exposing the hurt beneath.
“Engaged…?”
“No one knows yet,” I felt compelled to add in my quick-rising grief.
“Indeed… Then let me be the first to congratulate you,” he sarcastically retorted. “I know how rare an occurrence it is for a Vicomte to marry an opera tart. …Rare, no, nonexistent. Vicomtes don’t marry opera tarts.”
“Raoul loves me.”
“You? Or is it just your pretty face? Your desirous body maybe? I cannot reason your boy is ignorant enough to perceive marriage as the only way into your bed, …but I could be wrong.”
“How dare you?” I snapped, but I knew we both did not mean our anger, not on this point. He was hurt. I’d attacked with words, and he was attacking back. “Raoul is a good man. We knew each other in childhood.”
“And that makes him worthy of your hand?”
“No, his heart does. He is honorable and noble; he’s never taken a life because it stood in his way.” More accusation…
“Oh, go on, Christine. List me more stellar attributes. Don’t forget that he is also handsome, flawless, never mistaken for the devil out to steal your soul, a prime candidate for every blessing God could offer a single person.” His bitterness made me cringe. I’d never intended to speak a word against his face; that was too low for me. “But,” he went on and leaned close, “don’t you dare lie and tell me that you love him.”
“I…I do.”
“Love is impossible for one with an un-beating heart,” he accused and grabbed the wrists of my fisted hands, jerking me close even as I fought to hold my ground. “And your heart, my love, is a vindictive void right now. Oh, I will take the blame. I did this; I made you cold and killed you inside. I murdered your heart. The crime is fitting, wouldn’t you say? I made this cold-hearted diva before me who can feel nothing, not even the music. Now I have to fix you.”
“No,” I insisted and twisted in his hold. “Leave me be. I told you that I am not yours.”
He scoffed disbelief. “Say what you like, but until the end of the season, you are legally mine by contract signed in your own hand. I cannot risk destroying the production, so I suppose I will take the challenge.”
“What challenge?” I retorted, narrowing my glare when his grip would not loosen. “Let go. You’re hurting me.”
“And God forbid I leave marks. If the dearest Vicomte sees, he might assume a monster touched your precious skin and tarnished your innocence. He can’t have that, not when he’ll expect a pure virgin on his wedding night.”
“Stop,” I commanded, but his anger was ground out in hurt and made me stop battling and allow his hold. “Erik, you left.” It was my greatest argument. “And I couldn’t wait for you forever. You are not allowed to put guilt upon me for not wanting to be alone anymore.”
Tears appeared again with my admission, and as it struck him and made anger fizzle out of existence, he dropped my wrists and turned away from my stare. “Get out. Go to your supper with the Vicomte.”
“And you won’t even tell me why you left or where you went?” I pleaded and gave him one chance to amend things. A chance he didn’t take.
“It is none of your concern,” he replied, desolate and solemn.
“But, Erik-”
“It had nothing to do with you, and I am disinclined to share. Assume more crimes; it’s what I’m best at. Isn’t that so? I murder and damage; I take everything good and taint it in blackness. Think that if it justifies your broken heart. I don’t care.” I didn’t believe him for a single word. “But the opera, Christine, that means something to us both. And whatever it takes, I expect you to meet your potential. Hate me if you must. For, as you said, hate is as tied to the heart as love. Hate, but feel, damn you. Find your passion for the music and sing. I will not tolerate mediocrity from you when I know better than anyone what you are capable of. Hate me, or love your Vicomte,” he spat, “but do it with your heart.”
I wanted to find an argument, anything to keep his attention, but he was already escaping into the shadows. I couldn’t see him beyond the dimness of moonlight, and I wondered if he left entirely or if he lingered, watching me like a ghost.
An absurd terror built that he would vanish again for years at a time, and it was such a surprising sense of fear because it tapped deep inside against the heart I’d kept caged. Evidently, fear could touch the heart as well, and when this particular swell was bound to love, it was no wonder. I felt… And that terrified me just as much as losing him again.
Chapter Fifteen
Erik~
Running an opera was not as easy as I’d imagined it would be. Maybe it was because I was determined to have my hands in every facet from finances to management to production details. The stage director did not favor my intrusion, but I didn’t care, reminding who was in charge and paid for his services.
More interactions, more confrontations, but I was not about to do things halfway. I’d put myself and my mask right into their faces. The hell if I’d back down when I’d been making these decisions for years before as the Ghost. Oddly enough, I’d had a bigger say when I’d threatened with accidents and haunted them. Now as a mortal man with straightforward demands, I had to deal with protests and contradictory opinions. I contemplated resurrecting the Ghost and his notes and insisting my mortal hands were tied, but…too many of the cast had drawn connections already between me and their missing spirit. I wasn’t sure playing the role would prove to earn me much fright value anymore.
I wanted to spy every rehearsal hidden in Box 5, but other tasks in my new office had me in and out of eavesdropping range. A ghost with an office? It was humorous in its way, or it would have been if this venture into the living world earned me what I was truly after. But…thus far, Christine seemed eager to avoid my presence as much as she could, rushing out of the opera house the instant the cast was released, never lingering alone in her dressing room, always observant to the shadowed corners around her. I would have taken it badly if not for the reality that she was afraid to be alone with me. I knew it without doubt. Ah yes, because she had a fiancé to worry about betraying, the pompous Vicomte who had wisely taken my hints and stayed away from the theatre. Foolish fop! I would make sure he lost in the end, but for now…curse it all! I had an opera to run! What had I gotten myself into?
The stage director Reyer had just called an end to rehearsal, and as I lingered like a warning in the theatre, ignoring the constant wide eyes my cast dared to throw in my direction, I noted that Christine paused one breath on the stage, holding my gaze in hers.
She was so beautiful: hope, salvation, and ecstasy in one body, and I wanted her to the depths of my being. Why could she not see that all I’d done had been for her? Even leaving Paris all those months ago had roots in a need to become a better man for her love. But she still looked and saw the same one that had deceived her and covered his crimes. Not even separation had rebuilt trust. She’d claimed hatred, but I didn’t see evidence of that. I didn’t see anything in blue eyes but denial. But if the denial was directed toward me or her heart, I had yet to learn.
Before I could request her company as too many others still hovered near, she darted for the wings and away, …running from me probably with a Vicomte eager to absorb every smile and laugh she’d grant him instead.
Heaving a vile curse that observing ballerinas gasped to overhear, I fled their wretched world and embraced the shadows of the underground. This plan was not working. I needed more. I’d vowed not to stand back and wait for her heart; well, it was time to put it into action.
Before I even entered my home, I felt a presence, and for the moment of a single held breath, I thought it might be Christine. …Oh God, maybe as I’d cursed her, she’d been coming along this path, coming to me. Maybe she was proving she was mine always…
But disappointment was a lance to the gut when I opened the door with anticipation only to have it suspend mid-air and crash back down. “Daroga… Make yourself at home.”
He was seated upon my couch, freshly-brewed tea laid out on the end table and cup in hand, and he merely shrugged as if his intrusion meant little. “I wasn’t sure how long you’d be. …If you were giving any lessons after rehearsal’s end.”
He was fishing for information about Christine that I was hesitant to share. I instead snapped, “You know I appreciate that you rescued me from torture and accompanied me from Persia, all liberties which were my due since I was only in Persia again because of you, but I deem your gratitude excessive. Get out of my house.”
With a light chuckle, he shook his dark head and contended, “As soon as I conclude all is right with you and an angry mob won’t be chasing you down and dubbing you their previous ghost. An opera house, Erik? You used the shah’s stolen riches to buy an opera company?”
I gave an idle shrug and reluctantly joined him, pouring myself a cup of tea as I muttered, “It seemed a feasible investment. I perceived you’d commend me. Instead of pitching accidents and threats to have my way, I now can employ my commands with a clean conscience and legality on my side.”
But the daroga eyed me suspiciously, intuitively reading what I hadn’t said. “And is this purchase about owning an opera house or owning a certain young mademoiselle?”
“Owning her voice. I have a contract,” I snidely remarked with a smirk. “Legally, the voice is mine until season’s end.”
“Ah, I see. So she was not as enthusiastic with your return as you’d hoped.”
“If enthusiasm now includes hostility and a newly named fiancé whom I incidentally threw out of my theatre and probably lost his family’s generous patronage leading to eventual bankruptcy, then yes, enthusiasm to the utmost degree.”
“Erik…” The daroga shook a somber head. “I tried to pose once before that maybe this particular girl is not capable of giving you what you want. She is young and innocent.”<
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“And I am an infection as toxic as the plague,” I added for him with a cold glare. “Yes, you made such peace for your conscience more than once now, but you forget that she loves me. Beneath every obstacle she wants to put between us, including her noble fiancé, she loves me.”
Doubt never hidden, he inquired, “Did you tell the young lady why you left her all this time? At least give yourself excuse and a quest equally as noble as her other suitor?”
I chuckled into my teacup and swallowed before I replied, “And you truly consider tales of torture in the shah’s dungeon will have her embracing me with open arms?”
“Women favor such fairytale triumphs of good versus evil.”
“It’s never that black and white. You forget that to tell this story, I’d have to include that I was the evil in our first round in Persia, hence why I was wanted for torture. My sacrifice wasn’t noble so much as repenting my evil deeds. It’s difficult to argue that one is the good hero when one has also been the evil villain.”
“Repenting graduates you to hero,” the daroga decided. “And I can vouch for that when I was the one to gain by your sacrifice. You saved my wife and child. Tell your young lady that.”
But I shook my head and insisted, “You don’t know Christine, daroga. She’s going through a selfish phase right now. I daresay such details won’t make an impression upon her.”
“I disagree, but…handle it your way, Erik.”
“I have walls to break through with her first. I did it once with music as my key. I will do it again the same. She doesn’t need to know the rest of the story.”
But the daroga silently observed my masked face as he sipped his tea, and I shifted uncomfortably to be so analyzed. “Is this because you think she can’t accept your past…or your more recent present? That is it, isn’t it, Erik? You don’t want to tell her of the torture because you consider it a humiliation.”
Humiliation, degradation, repulsive, a horror, but I was not prepared to admit it aloud and shrugged off his surmised conclusion as if it meant little. “Christine likes heroes with flawless faces and physiques. If I have neither of those things to give her, I have to find something to be the equivalent. She loves the music. I will give her that. Being in charge of the opera means she can be my diva as long as she wishes. It isn’t much, but for now…it will suffice.”
Scripted in Love's Scars Page 16
