When Heven Does Not Hurt 3

3.

Erik was dreaming. He stood from Christine's bed and wandered into the hallway on wobbling legs.

Christine.

She was in the kitchen, preparing some kind of stew. Her golden hair was tied up gently to the top of her lovely skull. He approached her silently, reaching for her with his horrible fingers. His thoughts drifted to the kisses she had given him, and to the ones she had allowed to give to her.

It is merely a dream, Erik, he reminded himself. Christine is with her viscount. She will never know.

He snatched at her waist, pulling her flush against him. She cried out, jumping slightly in the air. Erik growled.

"Even in Erik's dreams Christine fears him. No matter how Erik adores Christine she still shuns him like the animal he is. Like he deserves. She will never love him, never! Oh, woe to Erik!"

He pushed her further against him, closing off all means of escape. Curls touched his face, smelling strongly of the flower sent that had once permeated her veil. The smell was much stronger than that of the veil which had clung to the soft fabric for only so long before it faded with time and the constant fondling of his dead fingers. "Oh, Christine," he sighed. Tears began to seep from his eyes, each one making a watery track along his sunken cheeks.

"Erik, I came back to you. Don't you remember?" Christine stuttered, her voice dipping between fear and indignation.

"That was a dream, just as this is a dream."

Erik's hand rose upwards, trying to make contact with the contour of her cheek. He shook wildly.

A bubble in the pot burst, flinging droplets of scalding water onto the exposed skin of Erik's hand. He tensed, realizing that pain could not be felt in dreams and that Christine was still entrapped in his arms.

"Erik is sorry!" he cried, throwing himself away from her with brutal force. "He is stupid. Erik did not mean to hurt his Christine… I mean… Christine. Not Erik's Christine. Never mind. He did not mean to harm her, it was just that Erik thought that he was in one of his dreams, and in Erik's dreams Christine welcomes his attentions."

Christine blushed wildly at his brazen comment. When he realized the weight of his words Erik dropped to his knees.

"Not that way. Erik would never, ever, do that to his Christine, even in sleep. He merely gives her gifts and he and Christine go on walks together in the moon light. Christine does not scream or cry at Erik's face. She kisses it! Right here," he rasped, pointing to his forehead where her lips had once graced his face and her tears had redeemed him. Erik glanced at her feverishly and saw that she look horrified. "Forgive Erik!"

"I forgive you," she said. He looked up at her through squinted yellow eyes. A smile graced her face, her eyes alight and the hair on her head like a golden halo.

He reached out to her, expecting only rejection, but he met with her arms. They wrapped gracefully around his shoulders, clutching his body to hers. The embrace shocked him to the core.

Christine forgives me! She is touching me as if I were a real man. As if I was her friend. Oh, how Erik loves her!

He sobbed for a while; his face buried hi her dress before she untangled his fingers from the fabric of her skirt and lifted his head between her palms.

"Come Erik, sit on the couch and I will make some tea," Christine said.

"Will you tell Erik why you came back, Christine?" he questioned, his eyes boring into hers. She sighed.

"Yes, Erik. Sit and I will tell you of the last two weeks and how I lived without my angel."