She hates me. The thought struck him with the finality of a sledgehammer to the skull. She stared at him angrily. He couldn't meet her gaze. Ashamed and angry and in too deep to simply change his mind, Erik screwed his face up into what he hoped would be a sneer menacing enough to recover from the dumbstruck look that had been plastered there just moments before.
"Will you end your days with me or will you send him to his grave?" he asked. It took every ounce of strength he had to keep his voice from shaking, to keep from breaking character. He didn't want to be the Opera Ghost anymore. Erik could see how very much she hated him now as she glared at him and he didn't want to play pretend anymore. It wasn't fun anymore. He wasn't winning anymore.
Oh how he yearned for his mask. He wanted to hide. Pitiful, shameful Erik.
"Why make her lie to you to save me?" The vicomte demanded as he continued to fight against the punjab lasso. How Erik wished the he'd never crossed paths with the Vicomte de Chagny. "For pity's sake, Christine, don't throw your life away!"
"Angel of music, who deserves this?" Christine's face was red and streaked with tears as she pleaded with the angel she once thought her Erik to be. To see her that way utterly broke his heart. His hands were shaking as he gathered his to try and speak once more.
"His life is now the prize which you must earn, Christine. Which will it be? Will you walk away a free woman with this man's death on your conscience, or will you subject yourself to this face day in, day out, for the rest of your life?" he asked, trying to play it off as though he didn't care. He couldn't bear to see the hurt in her eyes, the anger, so instead of staring her down and attempting to be intimidating to the one person on whom his intimidations would not work, he threw his hands up and stalked about the space, making certain to keep himself physically between Christine and Raoul at all times.
"Come now, Christine," he choked out in what he hoped would be more of a terrifying growl than a pitiful squeak after a few moments had passed. "I am not a patient man." Why must you drag out this torture so, Christine? Make your choice. Please.
Christine sniffled. It was a pitiful sound, a sound so small that Erik hardly heard it, but oh how it hurt him. How he wanted to throw himself to the ground before her and beg her forgiveness.
"You deceived me," she sniffled, finally moving her gaze away from his face. He breathed an almost undetectable sigh of relief when he finally felt her gaze drop. "I gave you my mind blindly!"
Blindly. The word burned him, branded him as the monster he knew he was. He looked at her and found that she'd fallen to her knees and was crying into her skirts.
"Christine," he murmured, falling to his knees. The fearsome Opera Ghost dissolved to frightened little Erik in the blink of an eye. Anyone who happened to be watching him at that moment might've found it comical for the imposing figure to seem so very small in that moment. He held his head uncomfortably tightly between his hands, almost as though he were trying to crush his own skull and end his misery. Blindly.
He slowly dragged his fingers down his face, his nails digging into his skin. Tears stung his eyes as he tried to console himself. It took him a long minute to realize that Christine was once again watching him, though now the anger in her eyes seemed to have been replaced with horror. He glanced down at his hands and realized that his hand were covered in blood.
Something deep within him snapped then. All at once, Erik was gone. He was fully the Phantom once more, ready to play this scene out until the bitter end. He made eye contact with her and snarled, "You try my patience. Make your choice."
She flinched, yelping and looking away as though she hadn't expected the sudden animosity. As though he had been anything but cruel to her. Looking back on that night, Erik would remember that as the moment in which Christine decided to be cruel right back to him.
He stood and brushed off his neatly pressed pants, now damp from the damned dripping vicomte and dusty from his own procrastination on cleaning. He turned his back to Christine and wouldn't look at the vicomte, though the sounds of him struggling were music to his ears. Yes, he thought. Suffer as you've made me suffer. You deserve nothing of what you've been handed in this life, least of all Christine.
He smoothed back the patchy, downy hair that clung to his skull and sighed. At least, he thought, when she chooses the vicomte, killing him should be cathartic.
"Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known?" Christine asked, her voice deep and sorrowful. She took a deep breath as Erik turned back to face her. Her voice cracked as she closed her eyes and whispered, "God, grant me courage to show you that you're not alone."
Erik stared at her blankly as she stood there, preparing to do something. What, exactly, he hadn't the slightest idea.
It took her six fearful-yet-determined steps to close the gap between them. She reached up and grabbed him by the shirt collar, dragging him down to her level. Stunned, he didn't resist her. Couldn't resist her. Once he was close enough, she wrapped her arms around his neck to keep him from escaping.
He realized too late what was happening. Her lips were warm and slightly wet against his cold, chapped lips. He went completely rigid at the contact before he tried to pull away, but she was too strong for him. She locked her arms around his neck and refused to let go, even as she allowed him a moment's reprieve from her lips. He stared at her in shock as she looked into his eyes, smiled a sad sort of smile, and leaned in for a second kiss.
When finally she let him go, she stared up at him in wonder as millions of thoughts buzzed through his head. She chose me, he thought. She chose me, she chose—
No, he thought, shaking his head. She chose him. It was always him. He looked over his shoulder at the vicomte, sighing heavily. Looking back down at Christine, she seemed to be pleading with him with her eyes to uphold his end of the deal and let the vicomte go.
She's actually willing to go through with this, he realized, horrified. How can she sacrifice so much of herself for another?
He turned and walked over to where the vicomte hung and struggled for his every breath. With one swift motion he cut the catgut that held him up and he fell, gasping and coughing as he was finally capable of drawing a proper breath.
"Take her," he said. "Before I change my mind, take her, forget me, forget all of this." Raoul registered his words before Christine did and he scrambled to his feet and hurried to her side.
"Go now," he said. "Take the boat, don't let them find you!"
Raoul dragged her toward the door, but Christine struggled to stay near Erik. Her eyes were wide and full of confusion and pain. Oh Christine, thought Erik. Must you continue to wound your poor Erik?
"Go now and leave me!" he shrieked, grabbing the thing nearest him— an oil lamp that stood beside his organ— and throwing it at them. It hit the wall beside Christine and shattered, spraying oil and fire across the room. It was only then that Raoul managed to pull Christine out the door, leaving Erik to stare at the darkened doorway where they'd just stood as flames began to consume the plush rug that covered the floor.