Save Me
A Phantom of the Opera FanFiction
Disclaimer: I do not own POTO
Author's Note about the story at the bottom!
Warning: Kind of...very...sad. If you're easily upset or in a bad place right now, I advise you to proceed with caution. This isn't a fluffy, cheerful piece. That doesn't mean it's not good, though! :) Click onto my page for some happier E/C tales :)
The weakness was something new. The first time, it wasn't so bad. But it kept getting worse, and eventually, he could barely lift his head from the pillow. It was too late to do anything, and he knew that. He could not even diagnose himself - his mind was clouded with sickness and confusion. He could not even make his music anymore.
He wondered if it was something physical. Was there really anything wrong with him? From what he could tell, he wasn't terribly old. Not old enough to die, at least. He hadn't been starving himself. No, everything had been alright in regards to his health. When it came to his mind...well, that was a different matter altogether.
It was his third day confined to his bed. He could not move from it even if he wanted to. His mask and wig had been removed from his face and scalp respectively weeks before, as there was no reason for them anymore. No one had been in the Opera Populaire for years, and...she was not there to impress any longer.
Her name brought forth too much pain. But even without it, he could see her face in his mind's eye. That face, that beautiful face of an angel, made his sad excuse of a heart hurt. He wanted her so badly...he was dying of love for her. Why hadn't he been good enough? Why had she chosen to leave him? Why had she killed him? He was as good as dead, because he had nothing to live for.
His heart began to race as he realized he was losing his grasp on reality. He could no longer recall her eyes! Those beautiful, gorgeous eyes with their intelligent depths...had they been brown, or green? Had they been a unique mixture of the two? And what of her lips? Those blessed lips, that had shown him kindness for the first and last time in his existence. For he had never had a life - not a real life. A real life would have consisted of his angel staying always by his side. A real life would have been thinking before acting, and saving his opera house from destruction. A real life would have been emerging from the shadows.
It was his own fault he was dying. He had to atone for his sins in some fashion, and truthfully, so many of his sins were too great to be paid for with anything other than his life. He deserved to die, and he knew that. But that did not make it any less painful.
Redemption - that was what he wanted. More than anything, more than his Angel of Music, he longed for another chance. He longed for an opportunity to make the right choices and move forward with his life. He longed for the love he never got to have. The love that, to be honest, had never been his to experience.
Through the fever, he could just barely feel the hot track of tears falling from his eyes. He was a broken shell of a man. He had never been a real human being, or at least not to anyone who mattered. He had been "monster", "Devil's Child", "Opera Ghost", "Phantom", even "Angel", but never Erik. Did anyone even know his name?
Though it caused him great pain to do so, Erik knew he had naught left to lose. In a hoarse whisper, he called to her. He called as loudly as he could manage, not caring that he sounded like a desperate child. He was begging for her through the cloud of tears and pain. Screaming for her, asking her to save him from his solitude as he had asked her once before.
Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime...
Lead me, save me from my solitude...
Say you want me with you, here beside you...
Anywhere you go, let me go too!
Chri-
No! He could not lose his angel! She could not leave him for that boy! He didn't love her as Erik loved her! That Vicomte did not respect her or her music! He would cage the songbird and kill her music! Erik could not let that precious instrument die! He had to get up, he had to save her -
He'd dedicated eleven years of his life to her. He had given her his music and therefore his world. And she had betrayed him as though none of it had ever mattered. Did he not matter to her? Would she care that he was dying? She was just like his mother! She had not cared for him, either! She would not have even named him, had it not been for his father. No one would care for such a horrid face!
Erik suddenly vaguely remembered something his only love had told the little Meg Giry girl six or seven years ago. She could sense him - she knew when he needed her. When she sang, she knew he heard her. Would she hear him now? He called to her more hysterically than he ever had before. Would she know he needed her?
His heart gave a tight squeeze, and he knew it was almost over. He could faintly hear a voice, a voice from far away, singing him to sleep. It was a brilliant voice, a beautiful voice, a voice he would know anywhere.
Angel I hear you, speak I listen.
Stay by my side, guide me!
Angel my soul was weak, forgive me...
Enter at last master!
He closed his eyes at long last. Hearing that voice took all the pain away. It felt almost dream-like, hearing that voice again. If this was death, hearing her sing once more, then he welcomed it gladly. As his heart stuttered pathetically, a soft echo of a whisper escaped his lips.
"Christine."
Madame Christine de Chagny shot up in her bed panting and sweating. Her breathing was rapid and hitched, and her eyes watered in hysteria. It took her much longer than it should have to ascertain her location. It had been her home for nearly seven years, after all. Yet it still felt so foreign and unforgiving. Would aristocracy ever suit her?
She'd been in the depths of the opera once more. Her dreams of that place, that candle-lit mist, were vivid and often. Though her dreams never did his voice justice, he was always there. It seemed that even after so long, he was still singing songs in her head.
Christine squinted her eyes, and allowed them to adjust to the darkness of her quarters. She noted with sadness and irritation that Raoul was still not back yet. He'd been at the bar for hours. His side of the bed was still not slept it. His pillow was crisp and void of wrinkles. He had not been the same for such a long time...he was surely not the little boy who'd rescued her scarf from the sea anymore.
Gustave needed a father. Raoul treated his own son as though he was a nuisance. The thought made Christine's heart constrict.
In the silence of her room, Christine could hear never-ending memories. Something was wrong - she could not put her finger on it, but something was not right. She felt hurt and sad, and not just because of Raoul. Something was genuinely the matter - something tragic and horrendous. Christine's eyes began to moisten with tears, and she felt her heart shatter into a thousand pieces. And all for no reason!
She decided to step out onto her balcony for some air. That was what she needed - she needed the crisp night air to cleanse her. However, not even that could soothe her frayed nerves. Wind whipped wildly about, blowing her hair and dress violently. And in the wind, she heard her name. As clear as day, the word, "Christine!" was repeated over and over again - by a very familiar voice.
Christine's heart broke all over again - she'd known for a long time that she would know when it happened. She'd always been connected to him, after all. She always knew when he needed her. For seven years, she had felt the never-ending ache in the pit of her stomach. Sometimes, it all became too much to bear. And now, it would end forever.
Her Angel of Music was dying.
She could practically hear him sobbing for her - she could feel his fragile hand reaching out for hers in a never-ending darkness. Oh, how she wanted to take it and run with him! She would take him away from all the sadness and pain and they could be together forever, just like it was supposed to be.
But it was impossible. The calls became more faint, and Christine knew it was almost the end. She tried desperately to contain herself as she called out to him.
"Angel I hear you, speak I listen.
"Stay by my side, guide me!
"Angel my soul was weak, forgive me.
"Enter at last, master!"
Her voice was lost in the wind, and she prayed to whoever was listening that her words would be carried to him. Comforting him was the least she could do for him. He had given her his music, after all. And a beautiful son.
She missed him. She never should have left with Raoul on that boat!
The voice in the wind was gone. Christine felt her insides drop, and she collapsed to the ground. Her skin raised in the cold, but she could hardly bring herself to care. He was gone, he was gone, her Angel, her Angel...her love.
And it was all her fault.
Their music of the night...was truly over.
Yes, I threw in Gustave from LND. I couldn't resist! He's just too darn adorable :) I don't know what possessed me to write something so sad. I guess I'm just killing time before I update When Love Begins. Well, if you enjoyed this, leave me a review! I love hearing what my readers think :) Thank you all for clicking on, and sorry if this was too sad :P