Between Mirrors and Roses (A Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction) ✓

33: Long Days and Lingering Doubts

"On the contrary," I said. "You are the epitome of grace and elegance." That received a glare. "All right, it was not as good as it could have been, but a valiant first attempt."

"You don't have to be so sweet all the time," she said. "I've forgiven you."

I stepped closer until I was directly in front of her. "It was not a lie. You look ravishing in my cape." I brushed a gentle hand against her side. "Though this nightgown is bothersome. I would prefer if it were removed."

"Mmm." She half-closed her eyes and leaned up to me. "That might take a little persuading."

Back in her room, wrapped in nothing but the cape, she kissed me until I forgot everything but her. "Yes," I told her, "this is much better than sleeping."

Many of our days ended this way: in her bed or mine, tangled in the sheets and one another. Whenever I stopped to think, I knew that we were racing against a ticking clock. We could only carry on like this for so long; eventually, Christine was bound to bear a child.

A child.

It was far too late to wonder if I wanted one at all, but wonder I did. 

What did I need with a child? My quiet life with Christine, though flawed by my vices, had no place for another time-consuming person. We were happy, and I had no desire to upset the precarious peace between us with a noisy, messy baby who would only steal her from me.

And that was assuming the baby was happy and healthy. There was always the dreaded possibility that, though to my knowledge I had no relatives resembling me, I would pass on my deformity to a helpless, unsuspecting child. How could I bring a person into the world knowing the kind of life it would lead? The senseless hate and ridicule it would face? Letting it live would be a cruelty and nothing more.

The world didn't need another monster.

I never shared those thoughts with Christine. She needn't know my twisted, worry-fueled schemes.

When I was honest with myself, I knew that I could never in any lifetime harm her child—for it would clearly be hers more than mine. Our unborn, un-conceived baby would grow inside her and depend on her after it came into the world. Even if the thing was as hideous as I, I knew she would love it as tenderly as she loved me, and her love might let it have the life I was denied the moment my mother beheld my face.

Besides, anything that was even partially Christine had to be good.

...

As we lay in bed one night, Christine's arm across my chest and head resting delicately on my shoulder, she voiced a question that I had dreaded hearing. "When is your birthday?"

I ran my fingers in light circles on her arm to buy some time before I had to answer. "My birthdays were not the happiest of occasions," I said, "when they were even celebrated. I ceased the practice long ago."

She propped herself up to better talk to me. "Why don't we start over? Pick a day, and we will start celebrating. We can replace the bad memories with better ones."

Could it work as she imagined, or would it be a yearly reminder of the childhood I wished to forget? Since Christine had come into my life, the world had seemed a different place. Perhaps this would be the symbol of how much I had changed: a new birthday for a new person. "All right," I conceded. "When would you like it to be?"

"It's your day. When do you want it to be?"

"Soon." Let us get it over with and be finished.

She gave me a kiss that made the whole damnable conversation worth it. "Sometime next week. We will do whatever you like for the whole day."

My word, perhaps birthdays weren't such a frightful idea after all. My sleepy mind raced with possibilities. "I think I would like to take you to an opera. We have never gone out in society as a couple, and I should like to make it up to you."