Beneath the Porcelain Mask

20. Nothing To Be Done Except Run Away

"Now we know Erik is not a ghost, one can speak to him and force him to answer!"

Christine shook her head. "No, no! There is nothing to be done with Erik except to run away!"

~ Raoul and Christine.

~ Gaston Leroux, The Phantom of the Opera.

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"Are those my slippers?"

Erik frowned at his new footwear.

"I found them in the library," he said, returning to the cup of watery, milkless tea he was making. I huffed and closed the kitchen door behind me.

"Those are my best mink ones!" I cried. He grunted a nonchalant reply and I scowled. "I want them back by the end of the day!"

He leaned against the worktop and sighed. "Nikki?"

"Another thing!" I continued, flopping down at the table and untying my hair from its bun. "Christine and Beatrice are such children! They played the most cunning trick on Jeremy and me last night! You wouldn't mind giving them a bit of a fright, would you? Also, there's a wine shortage now, so if we're going to have a proper New Year's Masquerade, that's the first thing that needs—"

"Nikki."

I looked over at him from untangling my hair from a mask tie, setting the mask on the table. "Erik."

He didn't laugh, just turned around to face me, his horrible, maskless face twisted into what looked like a deep, tired frown. "Listen to me carefully. And promise not to fly into a rage."

My heart clenched. Nothing good could come of this now he'd said that, it never did. I folded my arms and watched him pensively.

He said nothing for a moment, just watched as I masked my nerves with nonchalance. Then he drew a deep breath, clenched his hands, leaned back against the worktop, and said:

"Don Juan Triumphant is finished."

He might as well have slapped me.

My heart stopped, and for a moment I was worried it might never start again. I stared at his ugly face, searching for the joke, the lie, the trick he was trying to play. But Erik remained cold and sombre, holding my gaze with all the sincerity in the world.

My entire self seemed to shatter within me and I gripped the table in horror.

"No..." I muttered, standing from my chair, my nose stinging with tears. They gathered in my eyes, trickling down my cheeks before I could stop them. "Erik—"

"I know what you're going to say," he said, holding up a hand to silence me. I bit my lip and turned away, holding back a sob but sniffing all the same.

Don't cry, Nikita. Never cry.

"And nothing is going talk me out of our bargain. You knew it would only buy me a bit more time to come to my senses, which it didn't."

"You can't," I snapped, though it was quiet and broken in my voice as I hunched over the table. The sob broke through my throat and I gripped the cloth tighter. He couldn't... he couldn't! I wouldn't let him! If I had to break my oath to save him, then damn it, I'd shatter it into a million pieces!

"Nikki—"

"No!" I shouted, pushing myself away from the table to face him. He stood only a few feet away, hand reached towards my shoulder as if he'd made to comfort me. My hands curled into iron fists and I slammed one onto the table with such force, the vibrations rushed through the floorboards beneath my feet. "You can't, Erik! I won't let you keep that oath! What happened to 'Erik never keeps his word'? 'Oaths are made to trap fools!' No, you never meant to keep it! It doesn't count!"