Chapter Eighteen: Thoughts and Foreshadowing part II
Floating, falling,
sweet intoxication!
Touch me, trust me
savour each sensation
Erik looked at the violin case sitting in the corner of his small cabin. No longer a dark black, the case had been covered in dust that had collected over the year. He sighed wearily. What was to happen now? He did not know how to feel about the previous night nor the parting he left Christine with today.
What is wrong with you? He thought bitterly to himself. For a year now you have wanted to kiss her, hold her, and tell her how much you loved her, at the very least when you depart. Why can you not bring yourself to tell her the truth? She knows it in her heart, as much as you know she feels the same way. He picked up his tea and brought it to his lips. He could still see the shock on her face when she saw him, still smell the crisp scent of citrus on her hair, still felt her stir beside him in her sleep as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear while she slumbered. He had never been able to do anything of that sort, but last night he couldn't help himself as she lay there innocent and sweet.
God! he thought violently, if there is one out there, why do you mock me so!
He slammed the small teacup down on the table and watched the scolding tea spill everywhere from his carelessness. The hot beverage was almost soothing to his hand as he tried to tame the frustration that was boiling inside him. For almost a year now he had been quiet, calm and above all, he had controlled his temper. Nothing was too much to ask for Christine, if she asked him to go the end of the earth for her, he would. So if controlling his temper so she was safe from his presence was all he had to do, he managed to do so quite well.
Looking back over to the violin he found himself itching for the bow. Itching to play something to expel all the energy he had left over from Christine's visit. For that was what she was, a luminous orb of beautiful innocent energy, like light. Whenever she was around him she charged his weary soul with the electricity he needed and he was able to go on, survive.
Slowly he walked over to the forgotten instrument that was calling out to his hands, to his soul and mind. His fingers were burning from desire as he opened the case carefully. It had been almost a year since he had done almost anything musically other then sing to himself when he was lonesome. Sometimes he caught himself composing in the depths of his mind, however when he went to go see what it truly would sound like by playing it, he remembered he had no organ in his small little home.
But now, now things were different, he could play, he could play all he wanted, for Christine knew he was alive, and would not come looking for the haunting melodies to fill her void. She would know it was only her Erik up in the forest thinking of her, and only her as he played melodies from the opera's she starred in or they practiced together. He would do this to try and remember her voice, her sweet airy, uplifting aria's she would perform. Her smile when she knew she did well, and the innocent modesty she had never truly knowing how wonderful she was.
Taking the bow in his hand and picking up the instrument in the other he was just about to strum a chord when he heard a frightful smash of glass in the distance.
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