Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera.
To all who are reading, enjoy!
Protected
"You were with him yesterday," He started as he shut the front door, keeping out the cold, damp air.
Christine raised her eyebrows as she pulled off her thick shawl.
"Whatever are you talking about?" She asked with a curt laugh.
He walked past her to his chair and sat in it, his gaze never leaving her.
"Don't try to fool me, nothing can get past me," he said, leaning his head on the back of the velvet chair.
Christine blinked and nervously shifted her eyes down, urgently searching for something on the wooden floor to distract her. Something to change the subject...
"The opera," she quickly began, catching her interrogator off guard.
"Pardon?" He asked, standing up.
Christine let out a hesitant breath and her hand clutched the lace trim of her emerald dress.
"The- there is a new production coming up...and I thought that I would- maybe- can audition, and I wondered if-"
"If I would have a song in mind?" He cut her off as he went to start the fire.
"Well, yes. Perhaps you can help suggest a few?" She squeaked out, slinking over to the nearest chair.
The fireplace now had a small flame and the man stood up, brushing off some of the ash that had stuck to the side of his pants. He gave a small smile before a quiet laugh emerged from his lips.
"I am afraid not, my dear. For you see, my mind is far too busy to think of simple audition pieces that one could very well find on their own."
He stopped and turned to face her. "All I can seem to think about is the image of you and him- arm in arm, hand in hand- strolling along the lower corridor, late after your performance last night."
His stare burned through her until she was forced to squeeze her eyes shut. She gulped and bit her lip, trying to conjure up a believable excuse.
"I-I-" she stammered, still not looking up.
He lingered a moment longer. "That's what I thought."
He spun on his heel and started down the hall, his frail heart torn in two. There was no doubt in his mind about what he had seen the previous night, for the memory was all too vivid. He never entirely liked recalling events, but this particular one wouldn't cease its continuous run through his head.
The crowds were long gone, they always were by this time of night except for the brave few that dared to find out what lay below. But his memory wasn't centered around irresponsible fools, it was about the couple that had captured his attention yesterday.
He had waited outside of her dressing room, as he always had, and his rose was tight in his grip, hidden behind his back. He knocked on the door three times, no answer. He had repeated it: the same. He had grumbled to himself, ready to let himself in, when Christine's giggling came in contact with his ears.
A flash of gold fabric crossed the corner of the eye in the front of the hallway. Even though the woman was still dressed in her costume from the gala, he knew it was her immediately. It was Christine's face, her hair, her eyes...
But she wasn't alone.
She had walked in the shadows down the hallway, arm in arm with a gentleman all in black. She was laughing at something he had whispered, and they came closer, still unaware of his presence. He stifled a gasp and quickly hid himself in the shadows next to her door.
They continued past him, neither one of them taking any note that someone was there. He watched with wide eyes as they reached the end of the hallway and the man bent down closer to her and press a quick kiss on her cheek. She had blushed and looked down, but what made the memory so piercing was what happened next.
His Christine, his Christine, stretched up on her toes and kissed him full on the lips- not even hesitating for a second!
He had gripped the doorknob behind him and pushed down on it until it snapped and fell to the floor with a clank.
The couple had gasped, breaking their kiss, to look behind them. When they saw no one, they hurried down the corridor and walked out of his sight.
"Darling?" Christine's sweet voice pulled him from the memory.
He stiffly faced her with his lips pressed in a hard line.
"Are-are you all right?" She asked as she ran over to him.
He looked down at her, his eyes full of a passion that Christine had never seen before. Not the kind of passion that love is made of, but of the exact opposite. The kind that she dreaded, for she had no definition behind the certain look. The harshness of it made her shudder from fear.
"All right?" He asked, running a calm hand over Christine's shoulder.
She trembled under his touch and tried to look away, but his hand stopped her. His hand forced her to stare back at him so that his answer wasn't simply a jumble of useless words, but a statement that would echo through the depths of her mind like the vibrant memory of her betrayal ran through his.
"How dare you even ask if I'm 'all right'!" He whispered as his grasp on her jaw grew tighter. "You kissed him, Christine, and that cannot be forgiven." He released her and violently whipped his body to face away from her.
"No, I am not all right. Quite the contrary, my dear," he said, his voice becoming louder. "You see, you cannot have both of us. There can only be one." He slowly turned back to Christine.
He menacingly inched towards her, making her stumble backwards into the hard wall. He licked his dry lips and slammed his hands on the wall behind her.
"He doesn't deserve you, he isn't even worthy of your spit! Yet you ignore that fact and continue on with him...I have to protect you, Christine," he breathed, his face only inches from hers.
"Please," she cried while she tried to duck under him.
"No!" He yelled. "I have to protect you...and this time he will have no chance of ever finding you."
He pushed himself off the wall and reached into his coat pocket. Christine slid to the floor with panted breaths, listening to the faint click that emerged from the pocket. Her breath caught in her throat and she froze, unable to do anything else.
From his pocket, he revealed a silver revolver and bent down to Christine's level. Her eyes caught sight of the gun and the world seemed to stop as the blood pounded against her ears.
"It's for the better, my dear. You shall be safe this way," he said, gazing into her blue eyes.
"Please, don't do it- I thought you loved me!" She cried out.
His arms went limp as he stood up, her sentence repeating itself over and over in his mind.
I thought you loved me!
"I do love you, Christine. And that is why I must do this."
Christine shook her head, letting hot tears rush down her cheeks.
"Raoul, please-"
But the gun went off before she could finish.
She collapsed, her small body lying awkwardly on the ground as a puddle of red liquid formed under her. Raoul leaned down and picked her up, hugging her close to him before walking back over to the living area.
"You are safe now, Christine," he whispered as he laid her on the divan. He brushed back one of her gold curls and wrapped her shawl that was draped over the piece of furniture around her fresh wound.
"I only wish that I could say the same for myself."
The End