The Butterfly Pt 05 The Opera

This is part five of our story, and it contains no sex! While it can be read individually, reading previous chapters may help you to get to know Christine and Peter better. We join our story in progress - Christine and Peter engaged in a threesome with Madeline, a mysterious young girl from Peter's past. Though Christine is his wife, it is clear Madeline has a powerful hold over him...

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If the next morning was difficult, the two weeks following were unbearable. After two years of exceptional communication in their marriage, Christine and Peter were barely speaking. Peter was finding excuses to work late or to travel without her. When he was around, he was lost in thought, as if the weight of the world was upon him. Christine made sexual overtures the next day following their tryst with Madeline, but he rebuffed her, explaining that after their Anniversary, and evening with Madeline, he was "fucked out" and needed a bit of time to recover. He left for LA the next day for a four day trip. Normally Christine would use his time away to find a new plaything, and let Peter know all about it after he returned. This time she just didn't feel up to it.

He returned, and they made love his first evening back, but he was distant and distracted, and it was a fairly quiet affair. Madeline had returned to Paris, but she was still very clearly in their bed.

Christine had just about enough of this. Peter was sitting quietly, staring out the window at the New York City skyline, from their condo penthouse uptown. She approached him from behind, and placed her hand on his neck, playing with his ear.

"Darling, you have to talk to me. Tell me what's going on, what you're thinking. If we're going to survive this, we need to clear the air. About Madeline. About everything."

"If we're going to survive this?" he asked.

He looked up at his wife a long time, so sadly, and then turned to gaze back out over the city.

"You know, very little of this was here a couple of hundred years ago. People have come and gone - buildings, lives, lovers, hopes and dreams. No one really survives it, do they? I will love you till the stars go out, my darling. I will. I promise you. I'm sorry that's not enough."

Christine was thunderstruck. Was he leaving her? Telling her it was over? One night with an old flame and they were broken? She took a step back, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Why won't you fight for us?!" she yelled at him. "You'll love me till the end of time, but it's not enough?! What kind of BULLSHIT is this?!"

She was sobbing now, but things were going from bad to worse. He rose.

"I have to go to Paris, to speak to Madeline. I've been thinking about what to say to her since that night. I'm going to ask her to leave us alone, in peace. I hope you believe me. If you don't, I'll understand."

"Peter, you love her, it's so obvious. If you love her, why not be with her? Why be with ME if it's so difficult not to be with HER?!!"

Christine grabbed an ancient vase and hurled it against the wall, nearly pulverizing it. Peter looked at it as though it was a great loss; one of his precious antiques. It probably had belonged in a museum. He seemed to be taking it rather well.

"It's very complicated, my dear. I do love her, and probably always will. But you're my wife now and I love you terribly as well. I married you after only a few months of knowing you, and I did that for a reason. You know I have had a great deal of experience with women and you are truly special; very much one of a kind. And that is saying something in this world. I just need you to trust me right now. I chose you then, Christine, and I choose you now, if you think this is some sort of contest."

Christine was furious with him, not so much because of what he was saying, but how he was saying it. So calm, so rational. He was like a machine sometimes the way he could suppress emotion in difficult times, as if none of this really mattered. Meanwhile her emotions were in overdrive.

"I'm going with you then, if you insist on going. I'm not sending my husband into another woman's arms without a fight."

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea. Madeline can be very emotional. She might not react well to what I have to tell her. She has been known to act drastically in the past when she has felt threatened. It seems to be something of a pattern with her. You have to let me go. I'm best equipped to handle her."

"Then go."

He reached out for his wife, but she pushed him away, and stalked out. She had already made up her mind he wasn't going to get away with this. She wouldn't be left here while he went to his young lover, no matter what excuses he offered. She would be in Paris on her own by early the next day. She and Peter had not traveled there previously, and now she knew why. She was in enemy territory. Still, two years with this man was enough to be able to find him in a big city. She knew the hotel he would be staying at from his credit card. He wasn't exactly trying to cover his tracks. Perhaps he thought she was just furious at him, and out getting fucked for revenge. She strongly considered it, and perhaps would, but right now she had more important things on her agenda. She sat at a cafe across from his hotel, waiting for him to make a move, to go out to see...her, whatever she was to him. When he did, she would be waiting.

Except he walked up behind her, kissed her on the cheek, and sat down at her table, smiling.

"Shit." she said under her breath.

He laughed. "My dear, I was in the city before you arrived, and have already been to see Madeline. She...sends her regards."

"Well, guess I'm caught. So how did things go with your precious Madeline?"

He paused and thought about it a moment. "I'm not going to lie to you. She doesn't think we should be together. She doesn't think you're right for me. She actually likes you quite a bit, but she thinks we're too different for it to work. In fact, she thinks...you'll leave me someday and she doesn't want to see me hurt."

"Well fuck what she thinks, that's what I think."

"I agree with you, and I told her so. She said it would be our choice, yours and mine, and that she wouldn't stand in our way if it's what we wanted. I believe her." He seemed very open and truthful. Christine felt a strong sense of relief but was unwilling to forgive so quickly for everything that he had put her through these past couple weeks.

"So what do we do next?" she asked "Go home? Act as if nothing has happened? I feel like you've kept so much from me and now I just don't know what to think. You haven't explained very much about any of this, and I've tried to give you your space, but Peter, any reasonable woman...any reasonable wife would expect more than this from her husband!"

He sat quietly as if deciding whether to move forward with the conversation, but he just couldn't. Not now, not here, and maybe not ever.

"My love, I've booked us tickets for the opera tonight. Let's spend a few days here and then go home. I don't want to have this discussion now. I just want to go back to being your husband. Can we do that tonight? Just be together?"

She considered this. "Fine, but no sex until you've explained yourself in more detail."

Knowing her the way he did, Peter guessed that he would have her tied up later that night, but didn't push his luck. "Whatever makes you comfortable, dear. Let's go get changed. Would you like to at least move into my hotel room for the rest of our stay?"

She smiled despite herself. He laughed. It was a start.

Christine moved her things to Peter's hotel room and dressed for the opera. As they were about to depart, he produced an antique box and brought it to her.

"My lady, I think it's about time you had these. They have been in my family for some time. I would love to see you wear them tonight."

She was very touched but was still conscious of the fact that he was trying to get back into her good graces. She opened the box and saw the most lovely string of pearls. This kind of thing only happens in the movies, but sometimes life with Peter Walsh was like that. She had gotten used to it a bit, but was still touched.

"Thank you, Peter. Of course I'll wear them. Help me put them on."

She lifted her hair and he moved behind her, close, his breath on her neck as he put them in place. He kissed the back of her neck, and she let her hair back down and smiled. One step at a time, he thought. This could still be okay.

They attended Wagner's The Twilight of the Gods then drank coffee across the street at a small cafe. Around 3:00 AM they started heading back to the hotel. It was dark and the streets were empty, but they were still on Eastern Standard Time and were wide awake. Peter knew the side streets very well.

There was one person that knew them better.

Madeline stepped out in front of the couple silently, not ten feet from them. She wore a black uniform without any markings, her hair tied back in a tight bun, and was nearly invisible against the night.

"Have you told her the truth Pyotr? I told you it would be her choice."

Peter's face went ashen, almost helpless. Christine had never seen him not fully in control of a situation. Who was this girl? He moved forward to put himself in between the two women, but as he did, Madeline smoothly produced a Walther P-22 from behind her back and circled them to the left. She was clearly trained for something. Normal people don't move like that. She leveled the pistol at Christine's face.

"You really love her, don't you? You're terrified she will know the truth, and then she will leave you. Have you even thought about her? What you are taking from this girl? The life she will be forced to live. You have been selfish, and foolish. Shall I end her life now? It will end soon enough as it is. Why prolong what is inevitable?"

"Don't do this," Peter pleaded "You will expose us. We just want to be together, to live our lives..."

"To live your lives as a lie, and deny her the truth! To USE her life and her body in service to your desires! If I didn't know you better, Pyotr, I would think you were a monster."

Christine was frozen, watching this exchange. She felt like she needed to say something in their defense. She was on Peter's side here, wasn't she? She needed to make this girl understand, but she was psychotic.

"He freed me." was all she could manage, quietly shaking. "Why can't you understand?"

Madeline regarded her. "No. I will free you."

She turned the P-22 on Peter, and put three rounds easily in his chest, without any hesitation.

At first, he was only surprised, looking down as three small red dots began to expand on his white shirt. He dropped to his knees, his mouth open, looking first at Madeline, then at his wife. He might have spoken some last words of devotion to her, but instead simply fell forward, his head and face cracking against the pavement.

Christine was horrified. She went quickly to Peter's side to roll him over, but there were no signs of consciousness. Madeline hadn't moved an inch since she fired.

She continued to regard Christine and spoke "Let me give you some advice. Do as he asks."

This did not register. Blind fury overwhelmed her as her husband lay dying in the street, but in this moment all she wanted was to kill the little bitch. She rushed her. Aside from a mixed martial arts workout class, Christine had never trained for anything. Still, she was in excellent physical condition and covered the distance quickly with her adrenalin rush.

Madeline spun around her balletically, tangled her feet with only a small extension of her own right foot, and pistol whipped her in the back of the head, as she tripped forward. There was no malice in the action, only reflex and reaction. She had used exactly the necessary amount of force to end the fight decisively, and nothing more. Christine dropped to her hands and knees in the street and saw stars. Madeline hovered above her, and replaced her weapon in a small holster at her lower back.

"Just remember, that could have been you. I'm sorry for what you have lost. Now live."

With that, she was gone, at one with the shadows. Christine crawled over to her husband's body, fishing in his blazer for his cell phone. She had to call an ambulance, the police, anyone. She pulled it free, when Peter stirred.

"No hospital." he whispered. Then he began coughing hard, blood spattering the pavement.

"You're fucking crazy! You're dying! I'mcallingthegoddamnambulance!!"

He grabbed her wrist with a bloodied hand. It was cold and slippery against her skin. There was blood everywhere. He struggled to his knees, and then to his feet. She rose with him, staring at him in abject horror. He coughed several more times and took the phone from her hand, as she found herself frozen for the second time that evening.

"Just do as I say, woman. I'm in no mood to argue." He buttoned his jacket to conceal his wounds as best he could, raised his collar, and began walking slowly back toward the hotel.