Wilting Roses
In one moment, she understood.
As the Phantom's eyes bore into hers', commanding, asking, begging her to make her choice—to be his bride or send Raoul to his grave—she understood.
She went towards him slowly, compassion in her eyes. Christine saw him flinch, surprise written plainly over his face.
"Pitiful creature of darkness . . .What kind of life have you known . . .? God give me courage to show you you are not alone . . ." she softly sang, losing herself in his bright eyes. Before she allowed her rational brain take control, she plunged her lips onto his. Beneath her, she felt the Phantom's lips warm to her own, kissing her back.
Erik could hardly dare to believe it. This was not reality, certainly not. This—this was a dream, a fantasy. He kissed her back fiercely, his sadly misshapen lips caressing her soft ones. He put into that kiss every ounce of feeling he knew: his desperation, his insanity, his frustration, his passion, and he poured into that kiss his love. Forcing his emotions across, willing Christine to understand, he kissed his only salvation.
What is this? Raoul struggled meekly against the rope wound around his neck. She has gone mad—insane! Her desolation and confusion has finally gotten their iron grip on her. Christine was driven, pushed off the cliff of hopelessness.
"Christine!"he cried, horrified. Inside, his heart was crumbling to pieces, watching his love kiss that grotesque monster. "Christine!" he cried again. Please, he begged the heavens silently, let my voice awaken her from this mirage, this nightmare!
Faintly before, now growing louder, the threatening shouts of the maddened mob reached its place inside the Phantom's home. They were coming closer, their jeers and cries no less than violent.
Raoul watched as Chrstine continued to kiss that murderer. The angry noises of the approaching mob pounded in his ears, drumming, telling him that there was hope for his fiancée and him.
Christine reeled, stumbling, as the Phantom abruptly withdrew from the kiss. Her breath came in short gasps. She looked at her Angel with question, but he refused to meet her eyes.
Instead, he turned away from her, facing Raoul. Holding a candle over his head, the Phantom freed Raoul, his cool exterior revealing no emotion. His voice, however, betrayed him more than his frantic determination to stay unfeeling.
"Take her - forget me- forget all of this . . .Leave me alone - forget all you've seen . . .Go now - don't let them find you! Take the boat - leave me here - go now,
don't wait . . . Just take her and go - before it's too late . . .Go . . .Go now - go now and leave me!" he cried, pushing the couple away from him. He clutched his mask, stopping the tears revolting to break free.
Why? Why? What? Why is he doing this?
Christine's brows furrowed and she hardly felt the possessive grasp Raoul held on her wrist, tugging her firmly away.
"We must run! Run before that monster changes his decision," Raoul whispered in her ear urgently, nervously looking back. He tugged Chrstine's wrist to his chest, pulling her away from that darkness—towards the Summer she's always said she wanted. A sudden glint caught his eyes. A gold band, wrapped snugly around his Christine's ring finger!
"What is this?" he demanded harshly. It was not suppose to come out so coldly. However, it was too late to take back now…
"He gave it to" Christine started to respond, looking past her shoulder, to where she knew where he dwelt.
"Return it," Raoul commanded her flatly, suddenly stopping their hasty retreat.
"What?" Christine asked, yanking her arm from Raoul's grasp. She held her hand against her chest tightly, refusing to let go.
"My love," Raoul coaxed, more gentle, but still with a tinge of impatience, "it is a wedding ring! Return it quickly; we are losing time!" Raoul gave her an encouraging push. "Go on! Quickly now!"
She glanced down at the sad little ring she held so dearly, so possessively.
"Go!" Raoul shouted.
It was true. This was a wedding ring. How can she wear this token of the Phantom's when she was to become Raoul's?
"Wait for me here, Raoul," Christine said faintly, her feet carrying her back to the Phantom.
The dark passageway back to the Phantom's lair is dark, unlit by torches. Christine paused and looked back to Raoul, but the darkness reined and she could no longer see his assuring face. Feeling abandoned, her fingers felt the walls, letting the sturdy stones guide her back to her Angel. It was funny, ironic, almost, how this scene was playing out. She was going back to the Phantom only to say her last goodbye.
Erik stood alone in his dark house. Everywhere—darkness enveloping him, strangling him, suffocating him. The black that he once treasured above everything suddenly seemed threatening. He stood and faced the hall that Christine had gone through. Even though it was unlit, the passage seemed to hold light for Erik, just knowing that her feet had touched the stones only minutes ago. Suddenly, a stir. Erik tensed.
Christine ran through the passage, bursting through the Phantom's lair. She slipped off his wedding ring from her finger. Lightly running up to him, she bit her lip and wordlessly gave him the ring. She was making the right choice—she had to be.
Erik choked back a sob as his fingers felt the ring he had carefully constructed for Christine. He looked down at the gold ring. It glinted in the low candlelight of the room. He had made this ring with a dream, a dream that one day, Christine would wear it around her finger. The dream was shattered now, much like everything else. Christine was turning away again, going back to her Raoul. No…
"Christine! I love you!" Erik cried. His arms stretched out for the angel he knew could never possess. Hot tears ran down his cheek, seemingly trying to comfort him with their whispering touch. Oh Christine…
Christine heard. Her heart leapt, choking her with misery. She would look back. One more look would not hurt…just one more look. However, just as her head started to turn, someone pulled her towards them.
"Come, Christine," Raoul said gently.
"I—I just…" Christine started to say, trying to look back.
Raoul wordlessly pulled Christine towards him and they escaped into the night.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
The night air was frigid as the odd couple stumbled out the back door of the Paris Opera House.
Christine could hear shouts, wrathful, enraged shouts from the front of the theater. Everywhere was a chaos of shouts and screams. Paris was in an uproar. Christine's steps started to falter as she heard the horrid notes in the night. They were all looking for the Phantom…all of them.
"Christine, we must not stop. My coach is waiting for us. We must flee…" Raoul said urgently, tugging his bride after him.
"Raoul," Christine said. Her feet refused to move and Raoul had no choice but to stop, too.
"My love!" Raoul pleaded, looking towards where his carriage awaited, "We must…"
Christine appeared to have not heard him, "Raoul," she said softly as if speaking to herself rather than her fiancée, "Do you think the Phantom will be well? Will they kill him, do you think?"
Raoul looked at Christine unbelievingly. He chuckled, "Christine, why do you care? That monster deserves a million deaths…How many people did he kill? How many lives has he taken?"
Christine's eyes glinted in the night, "How can you say that, Raoul? Have you no heart? The Phantom…oh, I wish…" She stopped speaking.
"Christine, stop speaking this nonsense. Come with me, Christine, come with me to light and summers and…no more night, Christine, no more night," Raoul coaxed, cupping Christine's cheek gently in his hand.
Christine looked back to the looming structure of the Paris Opera House. She had been there so long—to long, it seemed. But somehow, her heart would not stop thumping and a flood of tears were always struggling to overtake her. Why the tears?
She knew of course, she understood. She had understood as soon as the Phantom dangled Raoul's life in front of her. She had wanted the Phantom, so much…but Raoul. Raoul could grant her the life she's been wanting since the age of three where she drew her wedding dress. To go with Raoul was to go to happiness.
However, there was no denying her heart. Her heart craved the mysterious Phantom fiercely. And to know that he might die…
He might die!
She had only one live to live, one chance to breathe. Why not breathe free air? Why breathe the air of regret every minute of her life?
She withdrew from Raoul. "I can't do this, Raoul…Goodbye," she said, her eyes dancing but her voice sad.
"Christine, is—is this a joke? A jest? Don't play with me Christine…You want to return to that—that thing?" Raoul's voice grew more frantic, more passionate, "He is a madman, Christine, he is a madman!"
"I love him!" Christine claimed, stepping further away from Raoul.
"Your delirious, nothing more. You don't love him, tell me you don't," Raoul advanced upon Christine, arms outstretched.
"I cannot live my life lying to you, Raoul…goodbye my friend. You will never understand. His voice, his voice is food for my soul, Raoul. I can't live without him," Christine turned to go. She glanced one last time at Raoul, smiling at him. "He is my happiness."
Raoul only cried, watching as Christine ran further away from him, eagerly to the Phantom…that grotesque murderer.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Erik drew his cloak around himself. The mob was right outside his door…he could hear them coming for him…coming. He had gone past tears now. His face—always pale—now looked dead and lifeless. His eyes, once holding the daring sparkle, now echoed emptily. He draped the cloak around himself just as he heard the mob break down his door. Angry stomps and shouts were heard. The crashing of a vase…the splintering of wood. They would break down his carefully constructed lair piece by piece until they find them.
He didn't care if they did find him. After all, what had he to live for? In one night, he had lost everything—absolutely everything. But his primal instinct roared in his ears, guiding his confused mind—'Live!' it seemed to bark. Live. Living was better than death. No matter what the state of things, living was always the better choice. Dully, he wondered if it was true. His fingers slowly edged towards the mechanism concealed within his throne. In an instant, he fell down…down, down into the tunnel he had dug long ago. This day would come. He predicted it years and years ago. His mask was gone from his face now. He had left it before he fell. There was no reason to hide anymore. No more need for consideration. Christine had killed the last thread of mercy he held for man. Let them see his face. He did not care anymore. If they screamed, then that would be the last noise ever to come out their throats.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
"It's Miss Daae!" the people screamed in front of the theatre.
Hands—millions of them—grabbed her, imploring her to slow down.
"What has happened?" they demanded, their voices high with excitement.
"Stop it…let go of me!" Christine screamed, unconscious of her level of volume. After all, everywhere was people screaming, whispering, shouting… "I need to find him! What if he is dead?" she screamed at the owners of the hands. "Let go of me!"
"The Vicomte de Chagny?" the people asked, thoroughly confused. Everyone was confused. No one knows for sure what happened during the premier of Don Juan Triumphant.
Christine shot a pleading look at her captors. The look was desperate. She must hurry…what if…what it the Phantom was captured? Dead? What if they scorned his face? She refused the hypocrisy of the thought to haunt her. True, she herself had torn off his mask in front of a full opera house. She had also screamed and cried when she saw his disfiguration. However, that seemed too far away now. She found that she could not remember the face that had haunted her for weeks. She forgot everything but the safety of her angel. She had been so stupid. She had thrown away happiness with both hands. She had taken his heart and played with it, tore it apart, and then threw it back into his face. A sob escaped her. A heart wrenching sob that amazed the hands that held her. The hold was softened somewhat in surprise. Taking full advantage of the situation, Christine bounded away, flinging her arms around her and pulling everyone away. After awhile, she didn't need to. Everyone cleared a path for the madwoman.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Christine tore into her dressing room. To her relief, it was empty. Without casting a look on anything else, her eyes went straight to her mirror. Her feet ran towards it as a starving man would run towards a feast. Her small palms pounded against the glass. Please open…
It didn't. She whirled around madly, looking for something to smash the damned thing. Her eyes went to her chair. Lifting it with strength unknown to her, she threw the wooden structure towards the glass. The mirror shattered to a million pieces revealing…
Nothing.
Behind it was a wall. A solid brick wall. Her furious hands went to the red bricks unbelievingly. Hadn't she gone through the mirror before? Had she gone mad? What if she had imagined the entire thing?
God, what if the Phantom was a fragment of her imagination?
She burst out into wails. No, he couldn't be fake. She loved him! He had to exist. This was not a dream. She would not allow it to be.
Christine collapsed on the ground in a heap. She was mad. She had gone insane. There was no Phantom, no Angel, and no Music of the Night. She had dreamt the entire thing.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Raoul wanted to follow Christine, but she had made it so clear. She didn't want him. She had regretted her actions. She wanted the Phantom.
His mind went to the dark figure, so sinisterly filled with evil. His Christine could never love such a creature. What magic had the monster worked on her? No wonder he had let them go…he had known Christine would return to him.
Of course! Christine had gone away to protect him. She had feared the Opera Ghost and feared that he would keep to his threat. Raoul sighed. Christine…stupid Christine…she had abandoned him and ran back to that monster because she was scared. Deep in his heart, Raoul understood that Christine could never love the Phantom. It was a great sacrifice on her part. It moved Raoul beyond words. Christine had gone back to the monster to save Raoul.
The stupid little girl. The childish little Lotte. Raoul would bring her back. He would take her far, far away from Paris…from France. He would take her away from the place forever and the damned Opera Ghost would never haunt them again.
Already naming their first child in his head, the Vicomte de Chagny ran back to the Paris Opera House. Immediately outside, he was greeted by shouts.
"Raoul, Christine had just gone through! She was looking for you!"
"She seemed a bit insane, to tell the God honest truth…"
"Hurry, m'lord! Your mistress had run back inside!"
Raoul nodded gratefully. His hurried steps brought him back inside the half abandoned opera house. His instincts told him to go to her dressing room. Surely, she would return there. It was her only haven.
"Christine!" Raoul shouted, bursting into the small room. Christine turned to the sound. Her eyes were stained with tears and bloodshot. "Christine, why are you on the floor?" he asked gently. He hurried to her side and knelt down next to her. "Oh darling, I love you so much," he told her tenderly. Raoul swept her into his arms. There was a moment as Christine did not respond to his touch. "Christine," Raoul murmured assuredly against her hair, "don't go back to him, Christine. He can't harm us anymore."
Christine wrapped her arms around Raoul. "He doesn't exist, does he, Raoul?" she asked quietly.
"No," Raoul replied, petting her hair lovingly, "No, he doesn't exist, love."
Christine said nothing, but inside, she broke. She was in love with a dream.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
He leaned his head back against the comfortless wall. Around him, the street lamps flickered and died. The cold bottle in his hand was the only thing keeping him warm. The Paris night pinched his skin, provoking him to shiver. He refused and took another swig of the harsh liquor.
The piece of paper clutched in his other hand blew limply as the wind swept through the alleyway. He held the newspaper cutting out to his face. He didn't need the street lights to know what it said.
It announced the marriage date of the Vicomte de Chagny and Miss Christine Daae. It was today. Of course, it was night already. God only knows what the night of marriage brings.
Angrily, he finished the last of the whiskey and smashed the bottle against the stone wall. The famous Erik, once the ingenious constructor of buildings in Persia…once the lover of the trapdoors…once the infamous Opera Ghost…once the living skeleton in the freak show…Now a beaten man. He was stuck in Paris. He could go nowhere, not having the money to travel. He had gathered from the streets that tomorrow, after the consummation of the marriage, the Vicomte and Christine would leave France. They would go away forever as the fairy tale prince and his princess would ride into the sunset, living happily ever after. And he was the villain, cast away and expelled from his throne.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
"Christine, why can't you do this?" Raoul asked, exasperation in his voice. He had been patient for months. He had planned their wedding single handedly since Christine could do nothing to help. Christine seemed absently detached ever since the incident at the Paris Opera House. Of course, Raoul was patient. He understood. That night was a lot to endure for the young chorus girl. But this—he had had enough of it.
Christine huddled on the bed, drawing away from Raoul. "I don't want to," she stubbornly said. "Don't come near me."
"You are my wife!" Raoul cried, throwing up his arms.
Christine barely flinched. "Not yet."
Raoul got off the bed and stepped on his carpeted floor. He drew away from Christine, his mind finally understanding the truth that he had refused time and time again. "You love the Opera Ghost. You love that thing," he told her.
"He doesn't exist," Christine answered him, looking into his eyes but not seeing him at all.
"Yes he does!" Raoul shouted, finally snapping. "He's the ocean that separates our happiness together! Banish him from your mind, Christine!"
Christine's eyes brightened and she finally seemed to see her surroundings. "You-you said he didn't exist," she said slowly. Her voice was quite, but she might as well have shouted. Her brown eyes glared into Raoul's. "You told me he didn't exist…"
"Of course he exists, Christine! Did you think the past year was a dream?" Raoul asked.
Christine jumped from the bed. "You lied to me!" she screamed. She was angry and relieved at the same time. He did exist. Oh God, that only means that she had hurt him as deeply as she thought she did. If he did exist then that only meant one thing…
Without a word, Christine rushed out the room. From the ballroom, she could still here the orchestra playing and the noise of the wedding guests. She ran to the back door of the Chagny estate. She already knew the mansion like the back of her hand.
The Parisian night stung her through her thin chemise. She barely realized that she was running through the streets of Paris with only the silk underthing on. She didn't know where she should go. Paris was so big. France was so big. The World was too big. How would she ever find him again? But she ran. She couldn't register where she was going. She had never been out into the city after dark. Everything looked foreign to her. This was no longer the city she knew and grew to love. This was a dark underworld that threatened to swallow her into the darkness. And so she ran. She could not see, but she ran. She only wanted him. She wanted his arms around her. She wanted his deep, melodic voice to tell her that everything was fine. She wanted the Angel to tell her that he forgave her. She wanted his eyes that glowed in the night. She wanted his music. She wanted his love.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Raoul screamed and threw the vase across the room. With a not-nearly-satisfying-enough crash, it broke into large chips of porcelain. This was a disgrace. This was a complete disaster. How could she? He seethed. How could she?
God damn it, he loved her! How could she leave like that? He had done everything for her. He had done everything to please her and that still wasn't enough. And that monster that had done nothing but hurt her—he is worth Christine's love more than him. With that thought, Raoul grabbed a crystal figurine and threw it against the vanity table he had bought for her. The mirror crashed and the delicate crystal replica of Christine broke off its head.
With a deep, deep growl, Raoul rushed out of the bedroom and strode into the study. He could still hear the wedding guests from downstairs and that only grated on his nerves. It reminded him of his failure. Well, failure no more…
Raoul opened his desk's drawer and took out the pistol. Failure no more…
He whirled around at the large portrait of Christine that hung regally in his study. Gripping the pistol, he shot two bullets into the painting's chest.
I'll break your heart just as you have broken mine, darling.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Erik slumped against the cold wall of the alleyway. His cloak wrapped around him but provided no warmth. His tongue yearned for the sting of liquor against his throat. Suddenly, screams caught his attention. It did not hold it, however. This was Paris after dark. He doubted even God knew what happened during the night. However, the screams continued. He shut his eyes, blocking the terrified gasps from his mind. They sounded just like Christine's when she had seen his face. High pitched and full of pure, untainted horror. Even the faint echo of a soprano's tone backed the scream.
Erik furrowed his brows. He stood up, no longer seeking the wall for support. The scream sounded much too similar to Christine's. It was almost haunting. He swept through the narrow alley and into the dimly lit streets of Paris again. He walked towards that scream, drawn and lured towards it like Christine was drawn towards his music. His steps grew faster and faster as he felt the deep desperation in the scream. Finally, he broke into a run. His cloak flew behind him and his chocolate hair flopped against his head. It was unruly now, no longer the sophisticated slicked back fashion he had carried. His chin carried the traces of a stubble. His breaths came in gasps, caught up in the sheer panic of the mysterious woman. He ran and ran. The whores from the streets called to him with their voices. The drunken singing of men could be heard. He swept past all that. The screaming seemed to have stopped, but in his mind, he could pinpoint the exact place of the distressed woman.
He stopped. Below a dead street lamp laid too figures. A man, the charming chestnut hair pasted to his forehead from sweat and below him, a woman, dressed only in a white chemise.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Christine screamed and screamed. She couldn't hear her voice and she didn't realize the power of her shout, but she knew that she was near death. She could feel it. She could feel the cold barrel of the gun against her forehead.
She writhed beneath Raoul's weight. The boy she had known since childhood forced a knee between her legs.
"Do you know how much I love you, Christine?" Raoul asked her. His voice was harsh and she had no doubt he could murder her. "Do you know how long I waited for you?" He pinned her hands above her head with one hand. With the other hand, he pressed the pistol harder against her skin. "God damn it, Christine, do you know how much I want you? Do you know how much I suffered for you? Do you know how much I gave up for you? Do you know how much of my heart I trusted into your hands?"
"Let go of me," Christine gasped, "Please Raoul, please…"
Raoul bent down to bite her lower lip. Drawing blood, he lifted his head again, satisfied. "That's all you'll ever be good at, Christine—begging. You've done it all your life. All you do is turn up those pretty brown eyes of yours. All you have to do is open that sweet mouth of yours and you'll get everything you want. All you have to do is that and you have everyone's heart." He stared at her for a moment, contempt and green jealousy coloring his voice as he continued, "But what of the rest of us, Christine? What of the poor people who willingly laid down their heart at your feet? Do you kick them all away? Do you chew through those throbbing pieces of love and spit it out in their faces?"
"No…" Christine cried. "Raoul, stop this…I'm not like that…do you know what you're doing?"
"Do you know what you're doing?" he roared. He pressed his body against hers and sucked on the soft flesh on her shoulder. "I love you, Christine!" he finally cried. Warm tears rolled down his face and slid onto her flesh. "Do you know what love means, Christine?" he whispered against her skin. "Do you know the pain that your heart feels when the one you love squeezes and squeezes your heart until it feels ready to burst?"
"I do," Christine claimed, still struggling against the weight of Raoul.
Raoul once again pressed the gun against her forehead. He cocked the pistol. "No you don't Christine. If you knew what love felt like—if you knew the pain—then, you would never hurt me like you did."
And he pulled the trigger.
With a bang, the pistol spewed out a bullet, racing against the flesh, burying deep inside it. The Parisian street drenched with blood.
The breath slid out of a mouth, letting go of life's air.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Strong arms helped her up from the ground. Trembling, she stared down at the dead body of the Vicomte.
Christine turned around, facing her savior. The face looked back at her. The face that was half heavenly, half hellish.
"He's dead," Erik said, letting his eyes slide towards Raoul's limp body. The pistol was still in Raoul's hand. His fingers wrapped around the piece of metal rigidly. The gun was pointed towards himself. His arm was twisted in such a way that the bullet hit the young Vicomte himself. "Everyone will think it was suicide," Erik said, still staring at the body. Christine trembled with tears and collapsed against his chest. Erik looked down at the woman in alarm. He stood stiffly, his arms limp at his sides. He watched in fascination as Christine wrapped her arms around his neck and cried into his chest. She seemed to be talking, but her words were indistinguishable. "I'm sorry," Erik apologized coldly, "but he was going to kill you. I had to do that." Inside, he crumbled again. And he didn't even think that was possible. How could this mere woman make him want to die in pain? How could it be possible to feel so violently? Erik started to remove Christine from him. More than anything, he wanted to hug her back and cradle her to his chest. He wanted to feel her against him, but she was mourning for a man that almost caused her death. She was mourning for her husband that he, Erik, hadkilled. She didn't love him. She never would. Her heart was forever locked to Raoul. That is, if she did have a heart. If she had a heart, then how could she hurt him so mercilessly?
"I love you," Christine finally mumbled words that were comprehensible.
"I know you loved him," Erik sighed, once again trying to remove the body pressed to tightly to him. "Let me go now," he commanded.
Christine drew her head away from his shoulder. She held his tightly, still, but she allowed herself to draw back from him. Her eyes looked into his. Her Angel's eyes were the same. Honey tainted and glowing. She closed her eyes and stood on her tip-toes as she pressed her lips against the Phantom's.
Erik closed his eyes also and entered the Elysian heaven of her kiss. He moved his lips and parted them slightly. Christine's tongue slipped inside without restraint, luring his tongue to hers and teasing him. Erik roughly hugged her closer to him and thrust his tongue inside her mouth, exploring her thoroughly. Christine let out a small moan against his lips and he felt his blood rise. The frantic beating of his heart was so loud he feared it would stop beating altogether.
This was wrong. This was all wrong. Erik pushed her away. She was confused. She was kissing him, taking comfort in him to ease the passing of her husband. He had taken full advantage of that. Feeling the deathlike grip of guilt on his heart, he pushed away Christine.
Christine started crying again. Erik felt like he wanted to hug her and run away from her at the same time. He knew that the latter was the right choice. Thus, he took one last look of her, drinking her in. Then, he turned and ran.
Christine watched in rising panic as her Angel walked…no, ran away from her. Didn't he love her? After all, he had rescued her from Raoul. But then again, that could have just been righteousness. She watched him leave, a sinking feeling weighing on her heart. She was losing him again. The last time, she had walked away from him. This time, he was running from her.
Her hand went up to her lips, touching the swollen flesh. "Angel, I love you!" she cried after his dying shadow. "Don't make me lose you again! Last time, I was foolish…this time, you are the fool."
Erik froze. Angel, I love you. How many times had he heard those exact words in his dreams? How many times had he conveyed the hope of hearing those words into passionate music that did nothing to lessen his pain? He turned around. Christine stood there, her body clearly defined through her thin night gown. And she was waiting for him.
Him.
Erik walked back to her, hardly daring to believe it. No, she was going to run away, he knew. He didn't even have his mask on. She was going to scream. She was going to run away. He had merely imagined those words come out of her mouth.
However, Christine ran towards him, holding out her arms. "Angel, Angel," she called over and over again. She finally reached him and wrapped her arms around his waist. She pressed her head against his chest. "I love you," she said again.
Erik broke into sobs. All his life, he had yearned to hear those exact words. All his life, he had lived to hope that one day, those magical words may be directed to him. I love you. To others, it was three words that hardly meant life itself. To Erik, it meant the world and so much more. Tears broke out of his light eyes. "Really?" he asked with suspended hopefulness.
"I love you so much I think I might go insane," Christine replied. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…I should have said those words ages ago. You deserved those words, Angel. It was my mistake for not saying them earlier…I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…"
Erik bent down his head and tentatively touched his lips to hers. She had always been the one to do it. Now, he was risking himself. Christine responded with fierce passion. Erik's face was wet with tears. I love you…
Three words that he had waited his entire life to hear. Those small words could be carelessly sprawled on paper…carelessly floating out of lips…but those words were so precious to him. He had never heard them before.
In the night, shouts and footsteps could be heard. Oddly enough, this memorable night almost seemed like the night half a year ago. But what odd twist of fate led it to this conclusion? Raoul's body was laying on the floor, drenched in its own blood. Erik and Christine were kissing to the music that only they knew.
More shouts were heard, drawn towards them by the gunshot.
Erik broke away from the kiss. "Come with me?" he asked.
Christine nodded.
He swept her protectively in his cloak and together, they fled the night.
The End