AU: When Christine moves to a new town on the outskirts of London she comes across a new opportunity. A woman is offering singing lessons. The only problem is she is the mother of the school jerk: Erik.
Christine POV
I had been at this new school for a few weeks now, but the only thing I had really learnt was that I hated him. It was winter when I joined, the middle of the term, and most of the people had been welcoming. The building itself was especially welcoming, because there was no better feeling than walking into the warmth of the expansive school house after what seemed like a ten mile trek through arctic conditions, wiping your feet on the mat and hiding away from the cold London wind. However, that first day, which is always the worst day of school life, I met him. He was facing half away from me, his tall, broad frame much more filled out than the people surrounding him. He was making jokes with them and they all laughed loudly, desperate for his attention. I started to approach him, only to ask for directions when he turned to face me properly. A white mask covered half of his face, looking oddly archaic against his tanned skin. There was no denying the part of his face that was unmasked was gorgeous, but the other half… A fire? An acid attack? Whatever had happened behind the porcelain, he wanted to hide it, and out of the basic human instinct I found within myself, I wanted to see it.
By the time I had come close enough to speak to him, he was already facing me, like he was expecting me, like I was the worst predator known to mankind. His eyes, I can never forget the look he gave me! His eyes were menacing and calculating, and suddenly I wanted to run. There were about 12 pairs of eyes on me, and I didn't recognise any of them. Nonetheless, I held my head high and asked: "Could you direct me to the music block please?"
I thought I saw a glint of something in his eyes when I said the words, but then they were replaced by the dull, uninterested orbs I had seen moments before. His mouth curved up into a malevolent smile, and at last he spoke.
"I could, my dear, but I don't think you'll fit in there. You see, I look at you, and I cannot tell whether you are a pianist, singer or violinist. That is integral, is it not? Having an identity?" There was a pause and his groupies snickered, and I took in the luster of his voice. Dark, sweet and seductive, it was the voice of a god, no question, the sentence itself, not so much sweet and seductive, but definitely dark. He ended the silence with an abrupt "go away." So off I went, without telling him I not only sang, but also played piano and the violin.
Needless to say that first encounter was enough to give me the foundations of a full-blown hatred for this boy. I found it hard to contemplate that it only took less than a minute for me to dislike someone, someone whose name was a mystery to me, much like his masked face. His face. Glorious where charted, but alchemistic where uncharted. I learned his name later that day, Erik. I had overheard some younger girls of about 12 or 13 talking about the rich boy with the mask. No wonder he was such an arse, he was rich and probably spoilt rotten. I had measured him up all wrong, thinking he would be kind and gentle, but let's not forget that he misjudged me incorrectly too, and I was determined to make him judge a book by it's contents, not it's cover.
After a week of scheming, I was ready to set my plan into motion. At lunch, I went into the music block (I plucked up the courage to ask for directions at the main desk) and picked a room. It was Erik's favourite, I could tell without actually knowing, because it was vast, with enough room to accommodate his groupies and the impressive, glossy-black grand piano was beyond beautiful. I sat on the stool, gliding my fingers over the keys. My piano at home was a lot older than this one, made of a pale-ish coloured wood and riddled with scratches and dents. After a moment of admiring the instrument I warmed up and began to sing.
Think of me
Think of me fondly
When we've said goodbye.
Remember me, ev'ry so often
Promise me you'll try
On that day
That not so distant day
When you are far away and free
If you ever find a moment,
Spare a thought for me.
As I played the brief instrumental I felt a presence in the block, and I knew that it was Erik coming to play. I heard him stop outside the door, cursing under his breath when the instrumental was coming to an end, so I carried on louder.
And though it's clear
Though it was always clear
That this was never meant to be
If you happen to remember
Stop and think of me
Think of August
When the world was green
Don't think about the way things might have been
Think of me
Think of me waking
Silent and resigned
Think of me
Trying to hard
To put you from my mind
Just think of me
Please say you'll think of me
What ever else you choose to do
There will never be a day
When I won't think of you!
After another instrumental, I started to play the male part on the piano. Suddenly I heard the most amazing voice, and it was Erik's. It was outstanding, enticing, incredible! It seemed to drift through the walls, and my plan was slowly dissolving. Something about him was irresistible, and I hated it. I listened intently, though not showing any sort of emotion. When he'd finished his part I finished off the song:
Flowers fade
The fruits of summer fade
They have their seasons
So do we
But please promise me that sometimes
You will think…
Of…
I started the cadenza, it was pitch-perfect, and I myself was blown away. It was far more extravagant than anything I'd ever been able to achieve before. Something was nagging me; I thought it might've been Erik's presence…
Me.
I ended the song with a triumphant smile, still not paying any attention to the boy outside, but that didn't stop him coming in anyway.
"Not bad." He purred. I just scoffed, how dare he be so passive, as if he hadn't insulted me in front of his stupid friends. "It wasn't an insult" he smirked.
"Well it wasn't a compliment either." I snarled back. This made him laugh; and what a sweet, attractive laugh it was, everything about him was so… musical.
"Trust me, it was a compliment. However, no-one's perfect and I know someone who can help you… If you want to be helped that is." He had slipped onto the stool next to me, facing away from the keys, his strong arms so dangerously close to mine. My heart was beginning to race.
"Please tell me it's not you." I huffed. Please let it be him, the small annoying part of my brain whispered.
"Nope, unfortunately for you. But I am very close to her - the teacher - she taught me." He was smiling. I just nodded. "So, do you want her details?"
"Y-yes please." I stammered. Was I really trusting Erik with this? Singing was so important to me, if he used my passion as the essence of one of his stupid mind games, I wouldn't ever be able to come back to school.
"Do you have a pen?" he asked. I reached into my blazer pocket and pulled out a simple black biro. He took it, muttering a small thank-you. Then he did something extraordinary, so much so my heart nearly exploded, he grabbed my hand. Not in an aggressive way, but gently, and I thought he had gone completely mental, when he starting to write down the teacher's address and contact details on my hand. He was hardly suppressing a smile and stupidly I decided to ask what was so funny.
"Your heart, my dear, I can feel it beating in your wrist" he said softly, concentrating on writing the information carefully on the dorsum of my left hand. If my hand had been free, I would've used it to face-palm myself. I was a raging idiot, and I could feel my face beginning to flush, making his smile widen.
When he finally finished writing I pulled my hand away quickly, refraining from wiping the uncomfortable feeling from my hand. He didn't move though, he just looked at me. Just when I thought he was going to apologise for the first day the bell rang, indicating that lunch was now over.
Yet another week had passed and I was at the home of the singing teacher Erik had directed me to. Her name was Antoinette Giry. I was here to talk with her about how much lessons would cost, and I was feeling pessimistic. If Erik could afford to have her teach him, and he could sing like that, she must be expensive.
I knocked on the door, shivering from the cold, and the nerves that were unnecessarily rising from within me. I waited for over 1 minute, but that can't be blamed, with a house this big it must take ages to walk to the front door. The door opened, revealing a tall, respectable woman with wrinkles that implied a happy but stressful life. She beckoned me in from the cold, and she introduced herself.
"I am going to cut to the chase." She said. Her voice was like a melody on its own, a French accent seeping through her articulation. Without her having to force enthusiasm she could make a sentence sound so much better than it actually was. "I charge £120 a term. That's 6 half-hour lessons, once a week." Oh, my, gosh. There was no way my father or I could afford that. I felt so extremely embarrassed. Ms. Giry could see the disappointment in my face and took my hands in hers.
"I have a proposition for you. My cleaner left for maternity leave yesterday and I am in dire need of a temporary replacement, if you are interested, I will be willing to let you have my services, if you clean this house for me. No other charges necessary. You will be required to work for the equivalent of what you would pay me, so that will be 5 hours a week. £4 an hour."
Stunned. I was stunned; the offer was too good to refuse! I pretended to mull over the options, to make it look like I was making an educated decision, before practically crying out a 'yes!'
"Okay then Miss Daaé, you will begin next week. Are you available to work on Wednesday? Your lesson will take place first, and then you can do your cleaning afterwards. Does that sound ok?"
"Yes Ms. Giry, that is beyond okay! Thank you so much!" I smiled and started to leave, thanking her again as I left her marvelous living room. As I made my way to the door, I bumped into someone. A tall someone, with broad shoulders and piercing blue eyes that gleamed into mine. A white mask covered half of his sculpted angel face. Erik Giry. Erik was my singing teacher's son!
**End of Chapter 1**