There's a chill in the night and it would be pitch black were it not for various lamps illumining the city. Paris, however, is bustling with nightlife. Women are calling from the windows of buildings on either side of the narrow street, advertising their services to gentlemen. After one such man mistakes her for a prostitute, Christine pulls her cloak tighter around herself, cheeks burning and tries to stay closer to the shadows.
Above her someone dumps a bucket of rust colored liquid out a window, which narrowly misses her feet and she gathers the hem of her dress to quicken her pace. She wanders aimlessly down the street, trying to avoid meeting anyone, until she finds a hotel.
It's seen better days: the roof is missing several shingles and most of the shutters have turned a dismal gray color. The building is just the last place she'd expect her angel to be residing but the name on the signboard matches the one scribbled on the envelope in her hand.
Madame Giry had been adamant that she not go searching for him, but from the moment the older woman accidentally hinted that her former teacher still lived Christine had returned to her home daily and begged her for a name, an address anything. If her pleas had affected Madame Giry in any way, the older woman had not shown it, she had only advised that Christine left the entire incident behind her and focus on wedding planning, but how could Christine when her angel lived. She needed answers. On one visit Christine had noticed a letter stuck into the door with a familiar child-like handwriting and in a moment of impulsiveness, she took the envelope and ran. The letter had stayed beneath her pillow for a week.
Inside the hotel, a kindly looking elderly man smiles at her and asks if she would like a room.
"I'm…..I'm looking for a friend of mine."
"Name please"
"I do not know his name," this earns her a concerned look."He wears a mask."She holds a hand over half of her face and the man's face lights up in recognition.
He gestures for her to follow him and leads her up a set of stairs, so worn down she fears the wrong step may make her foot fall through the wood. He walks almost infuriatingly slowly until they reach the end of the hallway, a room shrouded in darkness and unnoticeable until she's directly in front of it. She thanks the old man and places a few coins into his hand. He thanks her and returns to his desk, much faster than he came up.
The door feels much more menacing now that she's alone.
I don't even know if he's alive, much less here, she tries to tell herself but that doesn't stop the violent shaking of her hands when she knocks on the door.
There's no response for a few moments, and she simply contemplates leaving but she's come too far and she can hear the clicking of locks.
It's him. Looking exactly as he did almost a month ago, his face is unshaven and there's a shadow below his exposed eye. He's even dressed exactly the same, like he's ready to attend a night at opera.
"Christine, he says, and she's at a complete loss. She wants to say something or she wants to slap him or she wants to run away.
"May I come inside?" is all she manages, and her voice sounds oddly detached to herself. He glances behind him, then looks at her but steps aside to allow to her inside.
It's almost pitch black inside except for small slits for light coming in through the curtains. His mask glowing in the darkness is the only thing in the room she can see.
"Your fiancé must be worried" there's an unexpected amount venom in the way he says 'fiancé.'
"He believes me to be with Meg. I-"
"Why are you here, Christine?" No beating around the bush then. And why is she here? She'd spent so long thinking about finding him she has no idea what to say to him now that she has.
"I am to be married tomorrow." He
"And how is that my concern, mademoiselle?"
"You…you were my...my friend once, were you not, monsieur?"
"Erik"
"That is your name?"
"It is what I am called," he says, non-committedly.
"Erik." She tests the name of her tongue and decides she likes it. "I thought you might want this back" she opens her handkerchief to reveal a gold ring with a black onyx positioned within the band. She had kept it in a drawer since that night, unsure what to do with it. She remembers taking it out on several occasions, late at night examining it by candle.
'Christine, I love you.' he'd said
"I have no use for it." His voice surprisingly cold, she hadn't expected him to welcome her with open arms, but he has no right to be this piqued about her. "You may keep it or throw it away or drop it into the Seine."
Then quieter, so quiet she might not have heard it if she hadn't been waiting for him to speak "I'm sorry,"
She almost asks what he's sorry for. There's a silence. She's looking at him and he's pointedly avoiding her gaze. Can she forgive him?
"I understand."
Not yet.
She walks over to him and places the ring into his hand but he just lets it fall to the ground. She watches it clatter for a few seconds before dropping still. He's looking at neither the ring nor her, and he's watching the night sky. It is a lovely night, the absence of the moon makes the stars look brighter.
Beautiful. He looks beautiful. His eyes catch the candle light and they look almost orange while the light from the night makes his mask glow. Suddenly the thought of being without him is almost unbearable for her. This man, that lied to her and manipulated her, she wants to be a part of his world again. She settles by his side, and rests her head on his shoulder, praying he doesn't pull away. He doesn't, but he presses his nose into her hair and breathes deeply.
She kisses him. It's their second and catches him by as much surprise as their first. The difference here is that he is not as eager to push her away, almost the opposite. He pulls her as close as possible, as if he's afraid she'll disappear. His hands grasp desperately at her skirts.
It's not a particularly good kiss. It's inexperienced and his mask makes things difficult but it's electric and it deepens by the second, when he pulls away she lets out a whine.
Her eyes are half-lidded in pleasure, breathing much harder than necessary, lips are kiss swollen and.
"Take me." Barely a whisper.
She doesn't see his reaction to her words, but she feels him pause and hears a sound somewhere between a whimper and a groan. Soundlessly he moves behind her and starts to unbutton her dress.
It feels like ages before she feels the release of tension and her dress is on the floor in a matter of seconds. When she's standing before him in only her chemise and corset, she feels him pause, his hands are on her waist then those misshapen lips pressed to the juncture of her shoulder and her neck, only for a second before pulling away.
"Oh, Christine" he says in a voice that's almost reverent. His forehead is on her shoulder, his mask is cold on her skin. Then his hands are pulling frantically at her laces until the corset joins her dress on the floor. He's pulsating with an energy she's never seen before. Erik spins her around and claims her with a ravishing kiss, crushing her body to his. She's passive at first, arms dangling at her sides but she allows her hands to slide up his arms and clutch him tightly. She's barely aware of him walking her backwards until she feels the bed against the back of her legs. She breaks the kiss to catch her breath and takes the opportunity to sit on the bed. He kneels before her, pressing his face into her neck, and slips nimble fingers below the straps of her chemise before letting them drop, the undergarment now pooling around her waist and revealing her breasts. This is the most exposed she's been before a man and she instinctively raises her arms to cover herself but he's holding her wrists against the bed. Despite the brazenness of his actions, he seems nervous, and his movements are clumsy and awkward, when his hands ghost over her she notices how much they tremble. One hand is on her waist while the other glides over her hip, breast and neck. She closes her eyes, enjoying the sensations.
He rests her down on her back and lays down on top of her. He is much larger than her and keeps most of weight on his elbows to keep from crushing her. When his hands disappear into her chemise, she gasps out loud. He trails up her thigh before delving into her most intimate persons. Her head falls to the side, and she focuses her gaze on the wall while his fingers explore her. She finds her hands reaching for him, grasping at his shoulders before moving to remove his mask, he grabs her wrist before she has the chance to remove it.
"Please. Allow me this," she whispers, and he lowers his head but lets her finish. In the darkness of the room, she cannot see his face, but she can feel his deformity in her hands, the rough edges and his bloated, distorted lips press into her palm.
She can feel his arousal, pressing insistently against her thigh and closes her eyes when he pulls her chemise off. Now fully bare before him. He lets out a shaky breath and peppers her neck and chest with kisses. He worships her with his lips and fingers. Then eases himself down on her and when he finally pushes into her, she cries out. It's a sharp pain that ebbs into a dull ache. He is unmoving within her and she can feel him in her, intrusive but not unpleasant. Suddenly he begins to move, slowly at first then picking up in speed. His head is resting against her neck again which gives her a full view of his back, and she finds herself mesmerized by their undulating motions as he moves. The only sounds in the room are the soft creaking of the bed and their breathless noises. His thrusts are uneven but soon fall into an intoxicating rhythm that has her clutching at his shoulders. A hand slips between her legs settles against her, his thumb then starts rubbing against the hard nub at her center which has moan out loud, head falling into the pillow. The sound seems to do things to him and his pace increases and his whispers praises against her throat. She starts to feel a warmth spreading throughout her body, urging her towards something final and ultimate. Erik stops suddenly and collapses on her, his full weight pressing against her, only for a moment. He pulls out of her, rolling over next to her and she rests her head on his shoulder. His body is overly warm, a pleasant contrast to the chill in the room.
"Will you sing for me?" she murmurs into his chest. She doesn't hear his response, only feels a soft rumble in response, but she hears the first notes of a song. It's the one she remembers confessing to her angel was her favorite and his voice is just as beautiful as she remembers it.
His song lulls her into sleep, dulcet and smoother than silk, she feels the comforting heat of his body replaced with cold sheets and a kiss against her brow before she falls into a deep slumber.
When Christine awakens, Erik is gone. An early sun peeks behind the curtain, lighting the room, which now bears no evidence of him. Her clothes are neatly folded by the bed, but his are nowhere to be found, neither is he. She feels a deep shame now, along with something else deep in her chest, as if a budding plant had been ripped from his roots. She pulls the sheet around herself and cries into her hands.