Alternatives

Chapter 7:Happiness

November 1884, Paris

"Erik, why did you avoid me for so long?"

"Because you were angry."

"I wasn't. Why would I be?"

"You seemed angry."

"Hmm." She looked at him with confusion, furrowing her brow. "What made you think that?"

"I don't know. Your voice. And...He trailed off. He didn't know how he knew that; he just did.

"And what did you think I was angry about?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. She sat in silence, stubbornly waiting for him to answer. "Maybe because I was... bad."

"Bad?"

"I stole the manager's sweets." Which he saw no problem with, seeing as he was surviving exclusively off of stolen things at that moment. He had nothing that he'd bought, earned, or received other than a set of clothes and one pair of gloves Antoinette gave him when she first brought him home.

"I told you, I wasn't angry about that. And you started avoiding me long before."

"I was bad long before that," he blurted out, not thinking. She was looking at him intently now.

"Don't stare at"

"How long? Tell me honestly. Since when have you been bad?"

"Always. Since always."

She shook her head, looking like she was going to cry. Maybe she finally understood the truth.

"If some other boy – someone who wasn't bad since always – was in your place, do you think I'd be angry with him? That I would have any reasonable cause to be so angry, that he'd have to be afraid and avoid me?"

"No."

"So you were afraid of me simply because you thought I'd realized you're just bad and have always been?"

He didn't want to answer that question. He got up and finished the conversation. She tugged on his shirt lightly, trying to pull him to sit back.

"Wait just a minute, and then you can go. Just listen."

Maybe he could. He was bored without her anyway, and after he left he would have to wait several days before he could speak to her again.

"I think we've had a misunderstanding. But I have an idea how to resolve those in the future."

He nodded.

"Whenever you think I'm angry or something like that, or you're just not sure how I feel, just pretend, or imagine, that instead of you I'm talking to some other boy like I just described. Someone who's not bad. And then you'll know."

"That's stupid. I'm not some other boy." Or a boy in general, he thought. I'm closer to an animal.

"I know you think that, but I don't think that. So just try. If you can't believe it, just pretend you're a normal boy I'm visiting and talking to. I promise you'll never misunderstand me if you do that. Can you try, maybe? You have nothing to lose."

"I could try."

"Thank you." She smiled," „It'll work, I promise."

November 1894, Coney Island

Erik felt so relieved on the day he finally got his arm back that he thought he might break into song and dance as the doctor took the immobilizing cast off of him. He was so beside himself that he barely even noticed that the man was too close to him and touching his shoulder. He wanted to scale a cliff with his bare hands; he had been so trapped in the cast and his head that this small victory overwhelmed him with joy. Seeing as his head was still a mess, having all of his appendages back would have to be enough for now, even if his arm might take some time to regain its previous functionality.