CHAPTER ONE
AFTER CHRISTINE RETURNS FROM THE LAIR
The guilt was overwhelming. Sobs were threatening to overcome me and I threw myself onto the bed to let them. Hot tears flowed and I did nothing to try and stop them. I did not deserve any relief from my grief. I am a hateful person…a person who should be condemned to this miserable, wracking despair. The harder I cried, the more ashamed I felt. I was vaguely aware that I still needed to process everything, to think through all that happened, the good and the bad, but that would come later. Right now I just needed to surrender to this anguish.
It seemed like hours later when I heard a knock on my dressing room door. I didn't bother to wipe away the tears; half of the dormitories had probably heard my sobbing anyways. "Come in," I croaked, my throat sore and strained. I glance up to see Meg opening the door cautiously.
"Oh, Christine," she said, rushing over to me. "What's the matter? I heard you and knew you were back, I was so worried…" she let the sentence trail off. I knew I looked as bad as I felt and that she must be shocked to see me like this. Even though we had been the best of friends for more than seven years she had not seen me cry in a very long time, not since that first year or two after my father died and I came to live here.
"Meg" I whispered, my voice incapable of anything louder. I could tell her anything, she wouldn't judge me…though today I deserved to be judged harshly. "I have done a horrible thing…a selfish ting…" Fresh tears and a shuddering sob accompanied my confession. "You know of my angel of music, my teacher and friend. And I have told you how often I wished that he was real. For years I have dreamed of it, but as I grew I did not really believe it was possible." I paused, at last wiping away some of the tears. "Last night my wish came true…and I," I couldn't continue, my eyes burned with yet another wave of tears, how were there any left?
"Shhh, Christine." She soothed, trying to comfort me but willing me to continue. Her gaze was soft but urging; as if she knew I needed to speak the evil truth out loud before I could begin to feel better.
I took a steadying breath and tried again. "He came to me after the performance," I glanced at the mirror on the far wall of the room. "He sang to me and I went to him…went with him. It was like a dream Meg, only better." The tears fell onto my hands as I sat up, but the sobbing eased. I decided then to leave out the part about the mirror and the underground lair surrounded by the lake. I could not betray his trust even further by revealing the location of his home, not even to her. The concern in her expression bid me to go on. "He is the phantom Meg, the opera ghost." She gasped, not unexpectedly, and I placed my hand on hers to help with the shock. I knew this could not be easy for her to hear. The phantom was feared by all. I saw her expression change from concerned to fearful, but I wanted her to understand, so I continued. "I know this is surprising, but honestly, it was frightening, it was…magical." I thought about his feather light touch as he took my hand, the horse he had provided to lesson the strain of the descent, the beautiful song he sang to me. She did not look convinced, however, so I went on, needing her to understand.
"He was so kind to me, so gentle and attentive…and his voice." I closed my eyes to recall and savor the sound of his voice. I had never heard anything like it, though he had been singing to me for years. "I know this sounds strange, but his voice was different from all of the other times I have heard it. Almost as if now I know he is a man I heard something else, something besides just the words." I was speaking more to myself than Meg now. I hadn't realized it until just now, but there was emotion in his song, a rich and seductive tone. I felt a slight blush at the thought; he had never sung practice scales or lullabies like that.
"Christine," Meg whispered, bringing me out of my reverie and erasing all traces of the blush. "What happened to make you so sad then? Is it because you are disappointed he is not someone else, anyone else?" She could not know how those questions would bring on waves of fresh grief.
"No Meg," I sobbed, covering my face with my hands as my body shook. She wrapped her arms around me to comfort me, and I let her, knowing full well I deserved no such comfort. "I removed his mask," I blurted out. Saying it made me feel even worse, something I did not think possible.
I felt her body tense and her arms tighten around me. Her gasp was barely audible. I had only heard it because she was holding me so close. I took a deep breath and removed my hands from my face. "I was curious…I wanted to see…" I was ashamed at how childish that sounded. "I had no right…why would someone wear a mask if it wasn't hiding anything? I knew something unpleasant was under it, but I didn't ask, I just pulled it away, not thinking of his feelings, only my own." Why didn't I ask why he wore a mask? Surely he would at least have told me. He might not have wanted me to see, but my need to know would have been satisfied…probably.
"Was it horrible?" She had enough grace to look ashamed, knowing that in a small way she was doing the same thing, putting her curiosity first.
"What I saw wasn't nearly as horrible as what I did Meg. He was so startled, caught off guard by my selfishness no doubt." That had changed quickly though. The memory of him pushing me to the floor came crashing back. He had been so angry…so betrayed. I had deserved worse, even if he had slapped me it would not have been as bad as seeing his despair. He had been so wounded…and I had said nothing! No words of comfort or apology; I should have begged forgiveness. Instead I had let him bring me back. We had both been silent on the return, lost in our own thoughts. How different it had been from our descent, when we sang to each other, feeling the promise of a splendid new beginning. I had ruined that.
"Then what happened?" She asked wide eyed, the shame she had felt a moment ago replaced once again by interest. I had almost forgotten she was there until she spoke. She let her arms fall from my shoulders, perhaps sensing that I was not worthy of comfort. No, Meg wouldn't think of me that way, no matter how much I deserved it
"He was very angry with me…he…he doesn't want to see me again, and who could blame him?" I could see the question in her eyes, and I didn't make her ask it. "No, he didn't hurt me. I don't think he would ever hurt me Meg." Actually I was sure of it. "He was so much colder than he's ever been. "What have I done?" I sobbed.
Since he entered my life all those years ago, I had dealt with sadness through song, he had taught me that, and suddenly I wanted to honor him in that way now, so I sang. "His voice filled my spirit with a strange, sweet sound. In that night there was music in my mind. And through music my soul began to soar! And I heard as I'd never heard before, yet in his eyes, all the sadness of the world. Those pleading eyes that both threaten and adore…" I didn't feel any better and fresh tears came to prove it.
"Tell me about before the mask…what was he like?" She was smiling as she spoke…back to our everyday post rehearsal gossip mode. She was trying to cheer me up now. I wasn't sure if I was ready to be done with my grief, but the image of him brought a smile to my face as well.
"He is very handsome, despite the mask, and he is the most graceful person I have ever seen, more so than any ballerina. The way he moves is incredible Meg…nobody moves like that…and his voice…"I closed my eyes to savor the memory once again. "When he sings to me like that it's as if I'm in a trance, I can think of nothing but him and the sound of his words pulling me to him." Yet another wave of sorrow overtook me at the realization that this would never happen again.
"He'll come back Christine, he'll forgive you." I loved her for saying it, though I didn't believe it. "Do you want to know what happened here after you disappeared?" I knew she was trying to change the subject for my sake and decided that was okay, she didn't deserve to be swallowed by my grief.
"What happened?" I asked only to placate her; I didn't care at all. I wanted to wallow in sadness; my penance had only just begun.
CHAPTER TWO
ERIK
She had cried silently all the way back. Inside I was crying too, but I could not let her see; she had seen enough of my weakness. I had frightened her so much…and not just my hideous face, but my unholy rage. I had seen the fear, the disgust upon her lovely face and it had proved more than I could bear. How could I have thrown her from me so mercilessly? What if she had been hurt? She is such a beautiful, delicate thing and I assaulted her and cursed at her, she would never forgive me. I know that I don't deserve for her to forgive me.
Once she was safely in her dressing room I slid the mirror back and locked it from my side. I watched as she threw herself on the bed and cried, overcome with horror by my repulsive face and my ugly temper. I could not look away from her. I backed against the tunnel wall and watched as my love, my Christine was wracked by shuddering sobs. After a while I slid down the wall and sat on the stone floor, hanging my head and letting the tears come. I wanted so badly to comfort her, but my words, my touch were the last things in this world that would bring comfort to her. All I could do was watch and listen, though it was tearing me apart to hear her so miserable. My heart and spirit were broken; I was her angel no more. This punishment was not undeserved.
At long last there was a knock at the door. I looked up to see Meg Giry enter. I sighed in relief, knowing Meg would give her the comfort she deserved, the reassurance that I could not give her. Should I stay to hear her speak the awful truth? I did not want to see the fear or loathing on her face again, but still I could not leave. "Oh, Christine," I sobbed.
Did I just hear her say she had done a horrible and selfish thing? Could I have heard that correctly? I stood up, as if the motion might correct my hearing. Then she glanced at the mirror…at me…my heart stopped beating for a moment. Her lovely chocolate eyes were swollen and red, but then she looked away, back at Meg. Surely she could not know that I was still here. I started pacing, trying to make myself leave before I heard the dreaded retelling, the horrific description of my face…of me.
Wait a minute! Did she just say "it wasn't frightening…it was magical?" I must be losing my mind, this was not possible. I stopped pacing and moved very close to the mirror. Maybe if I was still I could hear properly and not be distracted by the sound of my cloak or my boots. I placed my palms on the glass and waited, still as a statue, for her to speak again. She mentioned my voice…she's blushing! Her cheeks are the loveliest shade of pale pink; it is very becoming on her. But what could she be thinking of to elicit this? I continued to listen in stunned disbelief as my angel went on to accept all blame for what had happened. Fifty men could not drag me away from this mirror right now. She was not crying from disgust but from guilt. I had to get to her, to let her know that there was nothing to forgive, that I loved her beyond all else…but I couldn't risk the Giry girl knowing about the mirror, that was our secret, mine and Christine's.
I was in the fires of hell listening to her say that I never wanted to see her again, for I wanted nothing more than her by my side. How could she think that? The memory of my fury came back to me like a slap in the face. She had looked so frightened, so much like the little girl I had seen crying in the chapel all those years ago. That would be the reasonI thought bitterly.
But I was in heaven a moment later hearing her say I was handsome and graceful. Handsome? How could she say that? She had seen my deformity, my scarred and disgusting face. This has to be a dream, my most precious dream, that she could see the man behind the monster. "Leave Meg…please go so I can enter and be with her." I thought forcefully, willing for it to happen. I don't understand and I need to know. But she didn't leave and it was torture holding back the song in my heart, the song Christine said pulled her to me. Oh, I definitely did not deserve such a creature. She was so sweet natured, so genteel and magnificent…I had thought I could not possibly love her any more than I already did; I was so wrong. "Go you dreadful girl before I break this cursed mirror and terrify you both." Again the force of my thoughts was denied. Oh my god…oh my god…my heart would surely burst with the potent mix of anguish and joy. I placed my forehead against the glass, the half not covered by the mask; it felt so cool, so good.
Now Meg was telling her about the Viscount. Curse that meddling fool! How worried and gallant he had been. How could he have been gallant?I settled back against the wall and listened some more. An unexplained dread came over me as I watched and listened. Meg was animated in her monologue and though Christine's back was to me I thought she was listening raptly. Was she considering a future with the boy? I remember overhearing her say they were childhood sweethearts. In pressed my lips into a hard line thinking of my Christine with that arrogant fool. She belonged with me! But what would her future be with me? Darkness and solitude, I thought with disgust.
I already knew before today that I did not deserve this exquisite girl, but the Viscount de Changy did not deserve her either. He could certainly give her a better home than I could, A better, happier life; one with daylight and luxury and beautiful, unscarred children. Was I so selfish that I would deny her that? Hadn't she just astounded me with her unselfish nature? It was true that neither one of us deserved her, but though I loved her more than he ever could I had to admit that she deserved the life he could give her. I would not deny her a chance at happiness, though it might just about kill me to let her go. Oh, where was the unparalleled joy of a few moments ago? I was sure it was a heavenly mistake that I had felt it at all, but I would cherish it always. Thoughts of Christine's beautiful face, the unexplained blush, the smile as she talked about me before her thoughts were stained by the horror of my face. I would treasure these memories, and I would let her go. I would stay away as long as I could, though I doubted that would be long at all. But I wouldn't let her know when I was watching…she needed to be happy. She will never again be subject to the grief she feels today because of me.
I realized my fists were clenched. It was actually painful to open and spread my fingers. Of all the misery in my life, and there had been much, this was surely the worst. I knew I was doing the right thing, but that did not make it any easier. I walked back to the mirror and lightly kissed the smooth surface. "Goodbye Christine," I whispered, tears flowing heavily, and I left.
CHAPTER THREE
THE MONTHS BETWEEN
Meg had not been right when she assured me that he would come back, would forgive me. It was I who had been correct in saying he never wanted to see me again. The days after that passed slowly, I was so jittery, starting at the smallest sound and hoping it would be him. But he never came, and I knew deep down that he wouldn't. It took the better part of two months for the hope to die, for me to stop looking in the shadows and responding to every whisper. Thought I stopped searching for him, I still gazed into my mirror each night and whispered "I'm sorry." Even after I stopped hoping he would hear, I continued the routine because I still needed to say it.
Now the days blended together…rehearsals, meals and evenings with Meg. Sometimes we laughed like we used to, I know she wanted it to be that way again, but I never stopped thinking about my angel, and it made me so sad. Before I had been a happy girl who occasionally felt saddened by something but now I was the opposite, a sad girl who only sometimes felt happiness.
"Christine," Meg shouted, hurrying up to me in that bouncy way ballerinas run. "There is to be a masquerade ball for New Years Eve!" She squealed. "Isn't it the most exciting thing?"
It was exciting, only because it was something different to break the routine of everyday life. Again I thought of him. The irony of it did not escape me either…it was the one place my angel and I could have gone in public. He would not have been the only one in a mask then. I still always thought of him as my angel of music, and not the phantom of the opera, though he was neither these days. The managers hadn't seen or heard from him since I had returned. They thought he had left the opera house, but I knew better. I somehow sensed he was still here, biding his time, but for what I did not know.
"I know the Viscount will ask you…he asks about you every time he is here." I knew she was right, about both things, but I couldn't imagine an entire evening with Raoul. He was a friend, a childhood friend, who I had even fanaticized about marrying when I was very young. But that was a childhood dream, gone these many years. "Will you accept if he asks?" She smirked, always trying to cheer me up.
"No," I smirked back, just as playfully. I could not feel anything romantic for Raoul, he couldn't compare to my angel in any way. Just because my angel no longer wanted me did not mean I didn't want him. I had had a glimpse of something so much more and I couldn't be with someone less… mesmerizing. "I will go alone, Meg. What about you? What unsuspecting fellow will be falling for your charms?" She giggled as I winked.
Rehearsals finished early today…Carlotta again! What a nuisance. I had finally gotten my piece right, and it sounded good, then the horrible squawking demands of the diva. Singing was much more difficult without my lessons, without my teacher. I still practiced every day, but it wasn't the same anymore. There was nothing new to learn, just the same old exercises and scales. But I had kept it up, and not just for him, because I truly enjoyed singing. He had given me that, and I refused to let it go. I clung to my memories from years of lessons with him. I loved to listen to him sing even then, but now it stirred something deep inside when I thought of his song to me that last time… I could feel the familiar burning sting behind my eyes at the thought.
I decided on an early dinner then bed, unless Meg wanted to talk more about the masquerade. It was just over a month away, though, so she had plenty of time for the excitement t o build. I smiled at the thought of her finding a date, and trying to talk me into one as well.
Right, dinner…but I was momentarily lost. I saw the winding iron staircase ahead and now knew where I was, but not how I had gotten here. For some reason I had been going up to the roof. Oh well, I continued upward, the statues on this part of the roof were really something and I hadn't seen them in so long. It shouldn't be too cold outside, not yet anyways, it was still early. By the time I reached the door the cold air was a relief, the ascent had taken a toll and I was slightly warm. It was already dark and a light snow was falling. I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of the night. And as I did, I remembered again the song he had sung to me…I had memorized every second of that encounter, unwilling to forget even the smallest detail, up until my betrayal anyways. Though I tried to never think about that part those seconds were branded into my memory as well. I moved toward one of the larger statues, closed my eyes again and began to sing softly…nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation…I could almost hear the way his voice had sounded that night, velvety and smooth darkness stirs and wakes imagination… a sensuous whisper.
Silently the senses abandon their defenses…I could almost feel him here with me.
Slowly, gently, night unfurls it splendor. Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender…it was wonderful to be out here, singing his song and I could sense something…
Turn your face away from the garish light of day, turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light. It had been a plea that night, I knew that now. I had been so overcome with awe, so filled with wonder that my angle was a man and I didn't grasp that it was more than just a song. When I look back on it, the hundreds of times I revisited that night in my mind, I could feel the meaning behind his words. And listen to the music of the night, his music…our music.
My eyes were closed and I wanted to surrender to my darkest dreams…the vision of him in that dark suit, so graceful, moving with such ease and suppleness, his eyes shining with promise and warmth, and the sultry seductiveness of his voice…he was so beautiful then. Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before, close your eyes let your spirit start to soar, and you'll live as you've never lived before. That had been an invitation, I was sure of that too.
Softly, deftly, music shall caress you. As I sang I remembered how his whispered words had felt like a caress. Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you. Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind in this darkness that you know you cannot fight, the darkness of the music of the night. I had been unable to resist him then, as I would be now.
Let your mind start to journey to a strange new world, leave all thoughts of the life you knew before Singing these words I realized that my life before that night had been wonderful, I had him as a teacher, a friend, a guardian. Now I didn't have him at all and I ached for those days back.
Let your soul take you where you want to be, only then can you belong to me. Oh how I wanted that.
I shivered as I recalled his touch, the feel of his hands on my body. Floating, falling, sweet intoxication…touch me, trust me, savor each sensation. The feel of his skin had been so wonderful, cool and firm, and his breath on my neck…
Let the dream begin; let your darker side give in, to the power of the music that I write, the power of the music of the night. I was crying now, the words were so powerful and I would give anything to not have fainted that night; to not have woken up as if from a dream; my only thought knowing the face in the mask.
I couldn't help but recall the look in his eyes later…the pain and anger, but he had been beautiful in his anger too, the grace never leaving him as he shouted and lashed out. I had shrunk beneath his searing gaze. It was only after that, when he was overcome with sadness and self loathing that the grace left him for a brief moment. And I had done that to him. I alone took responsibility for his misery. Why hadn't I tried to make it right? I had been frightened, but what kind of excuse was that?
My eyes flew open at the sound of the door behind me. My chest was heaving, but not with effort of singing. It occurred to me that he had felt that night the way that I feel now. I remembered the feel of his heaving chest against my back. I did not want to be interrupted right now, I wanted to further explore this new revelation, but I turned anxiously, and was disappointed to see that Raoul had followed me to the roof. I don't know who else I had been expecting to see, but I know who I had hoped to see.
"What a beautiful song, Christine…"
(Erik's POV)
I could hardly believe I heard shuffling on the other side of the door. No one ever came up here, no one but me anyway. But sure enough the door opened and I crouched down behind the large statue I had been leaning on. It was snowing, so hopefully whoever was here would not stay long. No such luck, someone was coming this way. I decided to risk a peek, slowly and silently moving around the rear of the statue.
Oh my God, the sound of my heartbeat would surely give me away. It's her! It's Christine, and she is perfection itself. Her eyes are closed, and her face tilts upwards, catching those lucky few snowflakes. Thank the heavens her eyes are closed because I can not look away. I am completely enraptured, no thoughts but of her.
I have not been this close to her since I left her at the mirror two months ago. Of course I had been watching her, but from a much safer distance. No, it can't be, she's singing…what had I done to deserve this happiness? She has been practicing; her voice is as lovely as ever. And she's singing the song I wrote for her... my heart cannot take this much joy. These past two months had been torture without her. I had seen her, but had never had the pleasure of looking into her eyes, of speaking with her, about music and history and the many other things we used to talk about. I missed that so much. The emptiness was making me irritable; well, more irritable than usual.
It had been unbearable to watch the production of Il Muto with Carlotta playing the lead. Christine had so much more talent but was given a silent part. I had to hold myself back from sending one of my notes instructing that Christine play the roll of countess. The new managers disobeyed every command I had given them. I was itching to make them pay, to realize who was really in charge. But I could not give Christine any hint of how much I cared about her or her career.
I had thrown myself into composing a new opera, sometimes going days without food or sleep. I had let it consume me to help fill the hollow hours without her. It encompassed all of the longing and passion I felt for her, all of the frustration of not being near her …but with a happier ending.
I was touched that she remembered my song…her song…with such detail. I had only sung it that one time, that one beautiful night nearly two months ago. Her voice always moved me but this rapture was something entirely new, like she was calling to me.
Why is she crying? She looks so sad though she is singing so beautifully. My resolve is weakening. I want to wipe those tears away, to take her in my arms and comfort her. I can not stay away. I must go to her…I can't remember now why I have stayed away…
"What a beautiful song, Christine…"
Ah, that is why. Anger welled up inside me as he approached her. Venom was coursing through my veins as I watched him reach out for her. The thought of anyone else touching her was agony. She is mine!
But hadn't I wanted this? Well not wanted, but hadn't I decided to give her up so she could marry him and have all that she deserved. Her happiness was worth my anguish. The only way I could stand this dark deal I had made with myself was knowing that she would be the winner, that she would have everything she had ever desired. If that meant that he won too (for he would have her, the greatest prize a man could hope for) then so be it.
He isn't doing a very good job of wooing her though. I could not suppress a grin as she declined his invitation to dinner. I broke into an outright smile as she refused his offer to accompany him to the park tomorrow. I had to bite my lip to keep from chuckling as she turned him down for the masquerade. Whose side am I on?
He insisted on accompanying her down from the roof, despite her protests. All traces of my recent good humor evaporated when he placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her. I wanted to leap from my hiding place and tear his hand off, or better yet, rip his throat out. She turned towards the door to follow him, but glanced back towards me, or the statue I hid behind, "please come back to me," she whispered.
I couldn't catch my breath. I could only manage shallow gasps and there was a physical pain in my chest. Had she somehow known I was here? Oh, Christine, how will I find the strength to live without you?
CHAPTER FOUR
GETTING READY
Somehow another month had passed. My whispered plea on the rooftop had not been obeyed. I had been singing his song and thinking about him so intensely that I felt his presence all around me, but it was wishful thinking. For the years he had been my angel of music he seemed to always be near, quickly answering my every call. But that had changed after I did the unthinkable…the unforgivable.
Sometimes when I thought about that night I got angry that he had broken his promise. Hadn't he said I would live as I never lived before? He had said I could belong to him, and I wanted that! I wanted to feel that magic again. But I always came back to the same horrible realization. My anger was at myself…I had betrayed him. I had broken the spell and now I wouldn't have the chance to even let the dream begin. Could he ever forgive me?
I wanted more than ever to see him. I spent Christmas with Meg and her mother; they were the only family I had. Over the holiday I had wriggled the story of how he came to the opera house from Madame Giry. The tale disturbed me to the depths of my sole, to think of the beaten, hungry child whose only sin had been the disfigurement he could not help, only hide. No wonder he had called himself those hideous names, monster… gargoyle… carcass. He had been raised by evil people then left to fend for himself. It wasn't surprising that his temper was so uneven, like that of a child. He had never truly had a childhood. Had he ever known love? I had never really known my mother, and my father was only with me until my seventh year, but I had very happy memories. My father had been everything to me and I cherished him. Who did my angel have? I wish I had known all of this before that night, and I wish I had the chance to tell him how sorry I am.
I feel slightly hopeful about the masquerade tonight, though I know how dangerous hope can be. It had taken two months to squash it from even the smallest of thoughts, now it was clawing its way back in. But I can't help thinking he will be observing the festivities. Will he be able to resist coming when every person will be in a mask? I cannot stop the tiny bud of excitement in my stomach. I savor it. Maybe this time my hope will lead me to more than disappointment.
Meg and I have chosen our dresses and masks for the evening. She will wear a pale pink lacy dress and a golden mask with pink satin ties and feathers. My dress is black satin and silver lace with a red satin sash adorned with a red rose. I found a pretty black and grey mask to match, but had decided instead on a white mask. The look reminds me of him, and that is by choice. It is a small tribute, a lame apology, but it is all I can do.
We giggle and squeal as we get ready. It really is like old times and I enjoy it as much as she does. "It's so nice to see you like this Christine. I miss it," she laughs.
"Me too, Meg." I am in a very good mood thanks to my tiny shred of hope and her infectious laughter. I can't help smiling broadly at her.
"Do you think he'll be there?" She asks seriously. She studies my mask but says nothing about it. I know she wants to ask.
"I don't know, but I hope so," I admit. Saying it out loud strengthens the hope.
"He'll get the message…if he's there." She smiles again and I return it warmly, hoping she is right. "Christine…" she begins hesitantly, "are you sure you want to see him again? I mean you only met him the one time and it didn't…I mean he hasn't…" she trails off awkwardly. "The Viscount can't keep his eyes off you, and he's such a gentleman and so generous. You could be happy again, Christine." She looks at me earnestly.
"I have known him since I was a little girl Meg. It's true that I had never seen him, but he has always been there for me. I learned so much from him, and I could tell so much about him just from his voice, his tone and manner of expression." She looked skeptical, and I wanted her to understand as much as I needed to reaffirm these thoughts to myself.
"I felt I knew him almost as well as I knew myself. And that night…his song was telling me that I belonged with him. I was enraptured and I have never felt that way with Raoul," I sighed. "His anger is frightful, but I have only seen it that one time and I truly deserved it. I had a brief glimpse of how things could be, and it was magical." I smiled at the memory.
"Everything else is trivial in comparison to the way I felt with him. There was so much promise in his words…and not the empty, predictable promises I hear from the Viscount."
"Okay, but he has stayed away for three months now. I hope as much as you do that he is there tonight…but what happens if he's not?" She lowered her gaze and added, "I couldn't bear to see you so disappointed," the last word was barely a whisper.
"I will wake every day and be the best person I can be. I will practice hard and work hard, and be a good friend to you. That is all I really can do." I had actually thought of writing him a letter and either giving it to Mme. Giry or putting it in box five. I thought it best not to mention this to Meg right now; first we will see what happens tonight.
(Erik's POV)
My irritability was almost uncontrollable these days. I couldn't even muster a smile as I listened to the two girls. She hopes I'll be there…"of course I'll be there," I mutter bitterly. How the hell am I supposed to let the boy have here when I hear her say such things about me? I can taste the bile in my throat and feel the sting of anger and frustration behind my eyes. I had become so distraught while finishing my opera… resentful that my love for her was so strong that I must give her up; Bitter that her happiness was so much more important to me than my own. Why couldn't I love her less so it didn't hurt so much? But nothing in my life had ever been easy or painless; nothing but being a teacher and friend to that sweet child.
"No!" I growled… "Nothing but anger will let me do what I must." Even she, who was so quick to accept all blame, said my anger was frightful. I know I need this ire. I must embrace rage and fury to face her again without falling at her feet and begging her for forgiveness. She would hate me for it, but that would be easier than seeing her disappointment yet again. Hate was so much more familiar to me than the tumultuous emotions always so close to the surface with even the smallest thought of her. I was never meant to feel such things. Hate is safe and comfortable.
I am feared by all and tonight will not be an exception. Those idiots who have charge of my theatre WILL obey my wishes. I will present my opera and accompanying instructions and I will be heeded, or else… I stomped off, back down the tunnel, scowling and ranting the entire way. My anger was welcome and refreshing after the unrelenting sentiments of the past few weeks.
My costume is meant to shock and alarm the revelers. I am to be Red Death. It is a vibrant suit of red, well tailored, of course. The jacket is adorned with gold brocade and trailing from the shoulder there is a long red cloak to match. The mask is more full coverage than my usual, and is rough and skeletal as opposed to smooth porcelain. I plan to blacken the skin around my eyes for a dramatic, corpse like appearance.
I felt a stab of sadness as I imagined her reaction, but I cannot let it deter me. It is essential that she be frightened of me as well. I need her to choose the boy…I can live like this no longer. At present neither one of us is happy nor can I give her the felicity she deserves. Why must it always come back to this?
CHAPTER FIVE
THE MASQUERADE
"You Look lovely Meg," I said truthfully. "Francois's jaw will surely drop when he sees you." Meg had been asked by a smitten young stage hand, and I couldn't be happier for her.
"Thanks, you don't look bad yourself," she said playfully. "Will you walk down with us? He's meeting me at the entrance to the dormitories."
I nodded. She was trying to be nice so I didn't have to enter alone and I was grateful. "But you know the Viscount will probably be waiting," she said, her playfulness gone for the moment.
"I had hoped he would ask someone else. The other dancers fall all over themselves when he's around." I sighed loudly. "Maybe he'll surprise us and turn up with a date," I added hopefully.
"It's time to find out. Are you ready?" She called, heading for the door.
I was nervous, but not as much as I had expected to be. I quickly checked my reflection in the mirror. I adjusted my mask, and thought how strange it would be to wear one everyday. Did he wear it when he was alone?
As predicted Meg's suitor was in awe when he saw her. I smiled broadly seeing their reactions to each other. This is what it could be like, for someone who didn't have to live in shadows and darkness. It was what I used to dream about, what Meg and I had spent countless evenings fantasizing about. The dream which had been mine for a decade had changed in one night.
"I'll see you two later, go have fun," I said, gazing at Meg with my best I'm okay look. They walked off together, but after a few steps she turned back and smiled at me. I glanced around, my eyes finally coming to rest on Carlotta. She was with Piangi, the male lead here at the opera.
"You look lovely mademoiselle, may I have the pleasure of this dance?" I knew before I turned that it was Raoul. I hadn't been here five minutes yet. I wasn't sure what to do. If I said no now then he would most likely hang around asking again. If I said yes, he would surely hang around. I decided to accept, but tell him it would just be the one time and to find other partners. I would be lying to myself if I said I wasn't flattered by his attentions, but I couldn't feel about him the way he wanted me too. He was kind of whiney about it too, and he never took "no" gracefully.
"I just arrived and I promised to meet some friends. Maybe in a little while, okay?" I said, turning to face him and smiling sweetly. I didn't' wait for a response; I just started walking toward the grand staircase. Thankfully I spotted two friends from my ballet corps days who probably wouldn't think it odd if I went over to say hello.
It was strange to see almost everyone in a mask; sort of romantic really. Unless you had to wear one everyday, then it must seem anything but romantic. I looked around, trying to recognize people, and wondered what he thought about this strange tradition. People got so excited to wear costumes, to alter their identity. I imagined he would scoff and think it foolish.
For an hour I walked around talking to people I know. I hadn't seen any sign of him, and was about to seek refreshment when Raoul spotted me and glided over. There was no escaping a dance with him without being outright rude. I sighed, and turned in his direction.
"Mademoiselle, would you honor me now?" he asked, bowing slightly.
"Certainly, sir," I offered my hand and was lead to the center of the floor. I felt his arm slip around my waist and had to repress a shudder. It felt soft and awkward. I couldn't help but compare how firm and sure his arm had felt around my waist. But Raoul was a competent dancer, and I was enjoying myself a little as we talked about our shared memories of my father.
Suddenly I sensed him. I knew he was there without seeing him, and I was certain his smoldering gaze was on me. My pulse quickened and I could feel my face becoming flush. I did not want Raoul to notice, lest he think the effect was caused by him. I took every opportunity to glance around while dancing, but couldn't spot him. I was certain that I would know him immediately, costume or not. When I felt I could not stand it for a moment longer, the music slowed, and then finally stopped. The dance could not have ended at a better time.
"Thank you for the dance, Raoul," I said, quickly disengaging his embrace. I was feeling jittery and wanted to get away from the Viscount as soon as possible. I took a few steps towards the refreshment table and spotted a deserted alcove along the far wall. My thoughts were scattered and I needed to be alone for a moment to collect them. I had wanted to see him for months, had thought about him, and what I wanted to say about my horrendous betrayal that night. But how could I make him understand my behavior when I didn't understand it myself. Anguish as acute as my first moments after coming back through the mirror washed over me. Why had I done it? Why hadn't I apologized afterwards? Why hadn't I said anything at all? After his anger had abated, and he seemed so broken, he had said fear can turn to love, you'll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster. Why hadn't I responded to that? What kind of person watches so majestic a figure break down like that and says nothing?
I was so deep into my self condemnation that I had forgotten about Raoul . He was coming towards me, looking slightly perplexed. I couldn't think of what to say, my mind was reeling with questions and thoughts of another.
"Christine, why did you walk away from me so quickly?" Raoul asked accusingly. I didn't want to hurt him. I didn't want to hurt anyone else, but now was not the time for this. I couldn't think straight, I couldn't focus on him.
"I am in want of some refreshment. I may have exerted myself with that dance," I said, lacking the ability to come up with something a bit cleverer.
"Let me fetch you some wine, my dear," he said, bowing before walking away. I looked around for somewhere to go, somewhere private, when I noticed some performers gathering on the grand staircase. There were some mimes, a juggler and a dozen or so people dressed in similar black, white and gold costumes. I hurried up the stairs, knowing the entertainers would soon be using the area for their show. Once at the top I stepped around the back of an enormous ornate column.
"Now what?" I whispered. I had gotten away from Raoul, but I still didn't see my angel of music anywhere. I know he is here, somewhere. Should I stop hiding so that he can find me? That's ridiculous…he has always been able to find me, it's just that now he doesn't want to see me. Okay then, I'll find him.
(Erik's POV)
Is she mocking me with her costume? The look of the mask and the black dress with the red rose all feel a little too familiar. The three things together suggest more than a coincidence. She does look very beautiful, but I hate to see a wretched mask upon her face. Unlike me she has nothing to hide, but it does not detract from her perfection. I want to believe the look is for my benefit. I already know of her sweet, forgiving nature. She is unaware that I know this though, so maybe this is meant as an apology, not a mockery. I wish that I could ask her; instead I know I will accuse her. She must hate and fear me for my plan to work. I will be the opera ghost, the despised phantom, once more.
"Grrr," I growl as I clench my fists. My resolve is weakening again. I want to be with her so badly. She has all but consumed my life for ten years, first as a sad, pitiful child; later as a lovely, talented woman. I had never meant to fall in love. Why had I let myself fall in love? I was not meant for such things!
I breathed deeply and summoned the strength for the task at hand. The waltz is over, but where is Christine? Scanning the crowd I see only the boy. I should not have turned away when I saw them dancing. I need to get used to the sight of them together. But I know this is not possible, I will never be used to it. Seeing her in his arms, smiling up at him, is pain equal to any beating I have known. The scars on my back from many brutal lashings are nothing compared to the scars that will be on my heart from their union. Still I know I am doing the right thing for her, and I will withstand the pain as I always have; anything for her.
Okay, the time has come to stop wallowing in self pity. I lower the lights and extinguish some of the candles, a trick I learned many years ago. I walk slowly out to the stairs and smile as I see the confusion all around. People, these fools in costume, are looking all about to see what has happened. I wait patiently until I hear the first gasp and someone points up at me. I wait still, as more and more eyes find there way to me. A few moments later the murmuring stops and I know that I command the attention of everyone in the room.
"Why so silent good monsieurs?" Taking deliberately slow steps, "Did you think that I had left you for good?" Two more steps, "have you missed me good monsieurs?" Cautiously I descend a few more steps, "I have written you an opera, here I bring the finished score," I hold up the leather case containing my masterpiece. "Don Juan Triumphant," I throw it on the landing, drawing my sword with the other hand. "Fondest greetings to you all," I stroke the blade of my sword.
There is fear. I see it as I give my instructions to Carlotta, insult Piangi, and reproach my managers. I desperately want to add that my Christine should play the lead, after all I had written the entire thing for her. But I have to hope it will be obvious to them all after they have read it. She is still unaccounted for and I see the boy's hand moving towards his sword. I finish my speech with a few threats, hints at what will happen if my instructions are not obeyed. Andre is actually shaking. Good. I can only hope that she is watching from a distance or will be told of the Phantom's fearsome appearance. I catch Meg Giry's eye before I depart and scowl at her. She is afraid. She will tell Christine to stay away now.
CHAPTER SIX
THE MEETING
I stepped away from the column and moved towards a niche containing a pedestal with a very large vase full of flowers. I could see most of the staircase and all of the lower level. I slid between the structure and the curve of the niche wall. I spied on the crowd, looking only for one. Whoosh, a stiff breeze grazes my cheek and the large candelabra a few feet away go dark. It's just like the night in my dressing room after the performance. Just before he came to me the candles blew out suddenly. I placed a hand on the pedestal to steady myself and gather my courage. Then I saw him.
He was moving slowly to the top of the staircase. For more than a few moments I was speechless. He looked amazing. I could not tear my gaze away; red was a very pleasing color on him. He moved slowly but purposefully down the stairs, speaking in a soft, melodious tone, though his voice seemed to echo somehow. He was polite at first, though mocking, and then a malicious undertone crept beneath his words. I could see revulsion and fear on the faces of the crowd. It was so like him to be elegant while instilling fear.
He has written an opera, maybe this explains the months of silence from the phantom. Madame Giry had told me of his musical genius, of his many contributions to the opera house. She had said he was very accomplished at many aspects of the opera, from composing and choreography to sets and architecture. I had been surprised, but not by his prowess, only that I had known him for so long, but never realized it.
He is coming back this way, moving much quicker than before. Now is my chance to speak to him. Relinquishing my hiding spot I stand in the open corridor, wondering if anyone would follow him. When he sees me he halts immediately. I am very nervous, but not afraid. I take in the view of him from the front. He is wearing a mask that covers both sides of his face from mid forehead to just above his lips, and his eyes are blackened, making them stand out, even brighter, a beautiful shade of grayish green. He is magnificent. I, who had thought of what I would say to him a thousand times, can not find words. He looks startled too, quite unable to hide his surprise.
I wonder if this is as hard for him as it is for me; I had been the one in the wrong, the one who had to ask for forgiveness. He would be the one who hopefully did the forgiving. First I had to stop staring, and then I had to say something. The silence is bordering on awkward.
"Hello," I say softly, unsure if my voice would actually work. It does though, and I try to smile but think it comes across as more of a smirk. His expression gives none of his thoughts away; his jaw is set in a strong line and his gaze is unwavering. He does not speak.
"I…um…wanted to speak with you for a moment, if that's alright." I finish lamely. I hold his gaze, not wanting to appear weak or afraid. But still he does not speak. Why doesn't he say something?
When I can stand it no longer, and am just about look away he gives a slight nod. Had I not been looking at him so intently I wouldn't have seen it. I'm not sure if he is waiting for me to say something else, or if I should begin here. I peek around him to see if anyone is coming up the stairs, if some brave soul has followed him. I spot Raoul coming across the floor towards the stairs and feel sure he wants to confront the famous phantom. My eyes find his again, but his expression remains unchanged. I really want him to say something, but he is frustratingly silent.
(Erik's POV)
The sight of her halted me in my path and I could only stare. We hadn't been this close since that night on the roof, and she hadn't been looking at me then. In fact, she had never looked at me like this. Her soft brown eyes were wide with…with something I had never seen directed at me before. If I had to guess I would call it admiration, but mixed with something else I didn't recognize. It was an effort to remain still and seem unaffected. I set my jaw firmly to keep my lips from moving, unsure of my self control. I closed my eyes and willed them to appear steely when opened. I was filled with exhilaration at the sight of her, with the way her eyes swept over me; with the apology and the longing I saw there and knew would be mirrored in my own eyes if I could not control myself.
Inside I was melting, but I must appear unyielding. I grit my teeth to keep from speaking. It was hard watching her struggle, not to mention ungentlemanly. We must leave this corridor, someone surely would try to follow the opera ghost, and I could not risk her getting hurt. I bowed slightly and turned to indicate that she should follow. Her relief at a response from me was evident. I led her to a narrow brick passageway I hadn't used in many months. Once inside I turned to face her, fixed my stare and made a sweeping motion with my hand, indicating she should begin.
"I…" she started, but then stopped, looking at the floor. I wanted to slip my fingers under her chin and tilt her face up so that I could look at her, but I clenched my fists to keep from moving. There was a time when I never would have let her labor like this, but I must remain impassive, and I am curious to her what she has to say. Thankfully her gaze returns to me a few moments later and she begins again.
"I owe you an apology," she whispers. By now she knows I will not interrupt, I will not speak, so she quickly adds, "I behaved very badly, I had no right to…to take…such liberties," she sighs deeply, looking down once more. Slowly she reached behind her head and untied the mask she had been wearing, she pulled her hand away and the mask fell from her face and dangled by the satin ribbon she was still holding. I'm not sure if this is meant to be a reminder of the last time she removed a mask or if it is just a coincidence. I, of all people, am aware of how uncomfortable a mask can be.
When she looked up again there were unshed tears in her eyes, and I grit my teeth even harder to stifle a gasp. This might be my undoing, for I have never been able to resist her, and to see her cry is agony. "There are things I should have said, that I wanted to say even then, but I didn't." A single tear escaped and trailed slowly down her cheek. Oh, how I wanted to wipe it away. To run my thumb across her lovely cheek and tell her not to cry. "To this day I don't know why I did not speak, it is my greatest offense and I will regret it always," Two more tears fell. Just as I unclench my fist to move towards her, to wipe the tears away, she speaks again.
"I want you to know," her gaze is watery but still penetrating, "I was fearful of your anger, but of nothing else." She stares at my mask and I catch her full meaning. She is telling me that she did not fear me because of my wretched disfigurement but because of my black temper. She has such a gentle heart, such a sweet nature. I have let myself fall in love with a creature that is superior in every way. Who deserves her love? Certainly not me, and not the Viscount either.
"You told me that fear can turn to love, that I would learn to see the man behind the monster," her tone had changed, become resolute. "I should have told you then that I did not fear you, or consider you a monster. I should have begged your forgiveness, but I said nothing. Please forgive me," She finished in a whisper, sounding so remorseful. Her tears, and her sorrowful tone and her beautiful words were jabs at my heart. I want to take her in my arms and tell her I forgive her, to make her happy, to give her anything and everything she desired.
Only the Viscount can give her everything, I remembered soberly. Now is the only chance I might have to set her free. I realize I am almost breathless and my lips are parted, that my rapture is obvious. I take a deep breath, close my eyes and set my jaw once again. I silently say goodbye to her, knowing that once I do this she will seek me out no longer. Another deep breath and I am ready.
"Maybe, Mademoiselle," I growl. "That is because you know I AM a monster," the coldness in my voice surprises even me. "You don't know how lucky you are," I add maliciously. "I wanted to steal you away, to keep you from all that you love, to use and discard you," I take another deep breath before my voice breaks from the lies and betrays me. "But now," I sneer, "I no longer have any use for you." Her tears are flowing heavily and I take a menacing step towards her, "you should go." I practically bark, and take another step so I am only inches from her. She moves backward a step and is against the tunnel wall. I move forward still, and bend so that our noses are almost touching, "The Viscount is surely looking for you," I hiss fiercely.
Her tears have stopped flowing and she leans towards me, closing the miniscule space, but she does not look angry or afraid. And then, to my horror, my joy, my utter astonishment, she places her lips on the upper corner of my mouth. I realize that again my lips are parted and that my chest is heaving. She is delicious. I close my eyes to stop the burning sting behind them. I know my own tears are not far away.
No! She pulls back, her soft, sweet lips leaving mine. I am afraid to open my eyes. Afraid to see the look on her face, afraid my tears will fall. A touch, as light as a feather is on my lip again, she is running her finger over the spot where she kissed me. I am well beyond feigning anger now; I do not want this ecstasy to end. I am frozen, rooted to this spot, but not sure what to do. No one has ever caressed me before, let alone kiss me, and this is not just anyone, this is my beloved Christine. I feel the hot tears escape their prison and slip beneath the mask sticking to my cheeks, and then I slowly open my eyes to face the unknown.
She is looking at me with pity. No, not pity, tenderness, and that same look from the corridor… what is that? Her other hand moves towards my mask, instinctively I draw back, and her expression waivers slightly. She leans forward, closing the gap I have just created and I feel a light pressure on my cheek. Some of my tears must have fallen over the mask and she lightly wipes them away. I cannot catch my breath, and then her lips are one mine once more, in the middle and moving slowly. The sensation is overwhelming, without further prompting my lips mirror the movement of hers, and my arms slip around her waist, drawing her to me. I am on fire, I will surely combust.
(Christine's POV)
He took pity on me and motioned for me to follow him. He still did not speak, but this seemed to indicate that, at least, he was willing to listen. I tried to think about what I wanted most to say as I followed. He led me through a door I had never seen before and into a very narrow brick passageway. There wasn't much room inside, and when he indicated that I should begin I moved around him towards the wall, he turned to face me. I couldn't believe the words that had been on the tip of my tongue for months seemed now to be stuck in my throat. But this might be my one and only chance, so I began.
He said nothing and stood rigid as I spoke. I wanted to squirm under his harsh gaze, but instead I looked away. Arrrgh, why do I have to cry now? I don't want to appear feeble…it is not pity that I seek. When I've said all I can think of under such scrutiny, a dark look crosses his face. When he finally speaks it is cold and unkind. He is angry but I deserve all of it. Obviously I am not forgiven, but this I do not deserve. He moves very close to me, and his scent is bewitching. He smells of parchment, and candle wax, and something earthy, maybe a spice of some sort. It is heavenly. I am lost in his scent and only vaguely hear him hiss something about Raoul. His closeness, his scent, his beauty are overwhelming and I'm finding it difficult to concentrate.
His lips part slightly and I become distracted by his mouth. His teeth are perfect and very white, and his upper lip slopes the tiniest bit on the right side, where there is the faintest trace of a white scar. More than anything I want to kiss it, and without realizing I am moving, I do kiss it. His body stiffens, and I hear his sharp intake of breath. I had not meant to do it, I was only thinking about it, but I am not sorry. This feels wonderful, his lips are very warm and the gust of breath tickles delightfully, but I pull away, unsure of his reaction. I was expecting him to push me away again, and when he doesn't I cannot resist touching him; wiping his tears…I should have done this that night. I don't know what else to say to him, I don't trust my voice, but I refuse to do nothing, so I kiss him, properly this time. His lips move with mine, very softly at first, then his kiss deepens and becomes more urgent. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. A low moan sounds in his throat. I had no idea my heart could beat this fast, surely he can hear it.
"Christine," he whispers, and then his lips return to mine. "Forgive me," another whisper. Forgive him for what? My mind tries to stumble from the dreamy haze. Was he planning to do something that needed forgiving or was it something he had already done? I haven't seen him in so long, what could he be talking about? Could he be referring to the things he had just said? I want to ask, but I do not want this kiss to end, and I don't want to be the one to break the spell again.
After another few moments he pulls back a little, removes his gloves and moves a hand up to my face. The feel of his hand on my skin is wonderful; he is so warm and so gentle. He has only ever touched me with gloves on. "Why do you ask my forgiveness, Angel?"
I could have stood like that for hours, looking at him and reveling in his touch, but I will not remain silent this time, it had been the biggest mistake of my life the last time we were together.
"Not here," his voice is hoarse. "Come," he said, some of the smoothness back in his voice, holding out his hand. I place my hand in his and follow, unable to keep my eyes off him. Immediately I blush at the though, and just as I am thinking how grateful I am that he does not see, he turns to look at me. If he notices he does not say. I hope we are going to his lair; I really want another chance at what I am sure would have been magical. I remember how he had leaned into my caress, how contented he had looked…before I ruined everything.
As we moved through the tunnel he remained silent. This made me nervous again; I couldn't shake the memory of the last time. There were so many questions I wanted to ask. Where have you been for three months? Did you mean any of the things you said tonight? Do you forgive me? Will you continue to teach me? I knew I had to say something, but I did not want to make him angry. "You look amazing," slipped out before I had time to stop myself. What was happening to me tonight? First I kiss him without thinking and now this. It's as if my brain doesn't trust me to do the right thing and just acts out. I could feel the flush on my face and I had to look away.
He stopped and turned to me, I was looking down at his boots, and he slid a finger under my chin and gently lifted my face until I was looking into his eyes. Such beautiful eyes, and so exaggerated by the blackness all around them. In all my adolescent hopes and dreams about him, about wishing my angel were a man who would come to me, I never thought it would be like this. I knew he was talented, I knew he was moody; I knew he was compassionate, and I figured he would be handsome in a way, something like Raoul. What I never imagined was this beautiful man, so exotic in his movements, so hypnotic with eyes, so seductive with his voice. I have seen his disfigurement and I don't think it makes him any less beautiful. God had to give him some imperfection; otherwise he really would be an angel.
"The blush on your face is very becoming, Christine," he said in a low voice. He closed his eyes and continued, "I would love to know what you are thinking of." He sighed deeply and opened his eyes, they were radiant. "Thank you for the compliment, but you need not say such things. You are forgiven already," his words now barely a whisper.
"I did not say it to appease you in any way," I said, moving closer to him. "I was speechless when I saw you; you quite took my breath away," I added, looking at him somewhat defiantly. I wanted him to understand the truth in my words. I hadn't meant to say them aloud, as I hadn't intended to kiss him, but I regretted neither. He was looking at me very intensely, and I looked away, a little embarrassed.
He held out his hand once more, and I took it. We started moving through the passage again, and he was silent again. I noticed that he turned to look at me often, as he had that first time. That felt so long ago now. Thinking about it I realized that it did not seem like we were going in a downward direction. If we weren't heading to his home below the opera, where were we going? I was just about to ask when he opened a door I hadn't seen. It was sunken into the passage wall, and inside was a narrow, winding staircase. The only direction was up, and I followed, still holding his hand. The climb did not take long; moments later he opened a small, rounded door and led me through. There was machinery, a gear of some sort, in the center of the room, and a small round window high up on the sloping wall.
He walked to the gear thing in the center of the small room and turned to face me. His expression was dark, unreadable, but when he spoke his voice was soft. "I have so many questions…I know not where to begin."
I smiled, "I know exactly how you feel." We could stay here all night asking each other questions or maybe if I summarized the past three months I would answer a lot of his questions along the way, and then he could do the same, answering mine. And then we could get back to the kissing. As soon as the thought entered my conscious I felt the heat on my face. I looked away, hoping he wouldn't notice and said quickly, "Let me start then…by telling you again how I am haunted by what I should have said and by what I shouldn't have done. I have thought of it every day since then, thought of you every day." I was calm as I spoke, but my heart was beating wildly. And I decided to just get used to blushing in front of him.
I knew before I started that this would be embarrassing at times, but I just needed to get the truth out in the open. I wanted to know why he had said those things to me earlier, but then kissed me the way he did. I was anxious to hear his side, but I needed to unburden myself too.
"I cried all that day. I was consumed by how selfish I had been, and I bitterly regretted my silence. I wanted so badly to see you again, to beg forgiveness, to continue as your pupil. I knew that you were the opera ghost, the phantom people whisper about so fearfully." I heard him exhale, as if he had been holding his breath. "I assumed you would appear; I looked hopefully into every shadow." I finally slowed down and took a breath, now comes the hard part, but it felt good somehow to be telling him this. "But I never saw you and every day that I did not seemed longer than the previous. I missed our lessons and I missed you," I chanced a look at him, the sight sent a pleasant shiver down my spine. His eyes were fixed on me with a warm glow, his lips were parted and he was taking shallow breaths. He seemed to be anxious for my next word.
(Erik's POV)
I plan for everything, but I never could have foreseen this. My lovely Christine was telling me that she missed having me in her life. Could it be in the same way that I missed her? She had kissed me…twice, and I believed what she said. I had meant to frighten and intimidate, but she thought it was amazing. She is amazing; could she really see the man behind the monster? Every hope I have ever had has been crushed, could it be different this time, different with her? The feel of her in my arms, her lips on mine, the way my heart stuttered when she looked at me as she had tonight, I never wanted these feelings to end. The truth might scare her away, but she had to know about me, the truth of who I am may release her from any imagined obligation she feels for me. I wanted her love, but now I did not want to force mine on her.
"I have missed you too. But I have seen you many times these past months." I met her gaze. "I stayed on the other side of the mirror for hours that day; I thought you were upset by the sight of…of what you saw." I lowered my eyes; I couldn't bear to see disappointment on her face after the wonderful emotions I had seen displayed there tonight. She stepped closer to me and took my hand in hers. "I heard your conversation with Meg." I looked at her again, drawing strength to continue from her warm look. "I…after hearing how selfless you are, how you accepted all blame though I pushed you away and cursed at you, I knew that you were too good for me." This was harder than I thought, what would she think of me when she knew everything?
I took a deep breath before continuing. "I wanted you to have everything you ever wanted and I wanted you to be happy. I decided that the Viscount could give you what I could not," my voice nearly broke at the thought of giving her up now. She placed her other hand on my cheek, sensing my distress. "That is why I stayed away. I wanted you to think that I did not want to see you, and I hoped the two of you…" I broke off, unable to finish the thought.
She released my hand and placed hers on my other cheek. I didn't flinch though she now had both hands on my mask. She was gently pulling my face toward hers, my anguish from a moment ago disappeared and I leaned in and kissed her. How could I ever have thought of letting her go? This is surely the most exquisite feeling on earth.
"I was on the roof the night you went up there," I didn't want to keep anything from her now. Things had changed, before I had been content to use my authority over her, to lure her with my voice. I had seen that misty quality in her eyes that night; I knew I had some power over her. But now her eyes were clear and bright and she still wanted to be with me. Three month ago I was content to force her, now I wanted her to be mine, but willingly, only willingly.
"You sang the song I wrote for you, and it was very beautiful," The memory of my joy at hearing her that night came back to me and I smiled.
She gasped. "I have never seen you smile before. It's wonderful." She dazzled me with a beautiful smile in return. I still had my arms loosely around her waist and I let them fall and took a step back.
"I don't deserve you." There, I had said it. She had to know that it was true. "I have done terrible things, Christine…things even an unsavory character would condemn." Hopefully she wouldn't ask for details, no lady should here those. I wasn't that person anymore though, she had changed that, had made me want to be a better man. For years I have wanted to kill that meddling, lecherous stage hand, Joseph Buquet, but I haven't. I hadn't tortured anyone in ages either and I had no desire to. Well, except maybe the Viscount.
Now I put my energy into music. This we had in common, it had brought us together. I felt a soaring wave of pure hope. Thoughts of Christine by my side, happily and willingly filled my head. Suddenly I wished we were down in my home, sitting in front of the fire, talking…and kissing. Why had I brought her up here instead? There was only one way up, and from here I could see anyone attempting to follow us. Or maybe it's because I didn't trust myself with her.
