Belonging to Him
By: 1000th Ghost
*This story is dedicated to my subconscious for more-or-less dreaming it up.*
There were two types of men in the world, she concluded.
There was the kind who loved halfheartedly, vaguely sincere when he said the words but able to take or leave you if you did not meet his expectations.
And there was the kind who loved so strongly that "love" was not the appropriate word anymore but "obsession", willing to kill or be killed if only to have you in his presence.
Well, which would you choose?
She believed that it would be remarkably easy to give herself to him. She imagined it would be similar to giving a gift, a prettily wrapped box with a bow and a tag that said "To: Erik, Love: Christine" with herself nestled inside of it.
Yes, that is what she believed, and yet three obstacles presented themselves to her!
The first obstacle was this: she did not know where he was.
She could picture the underground dwelling very clearly and knew that somehow one gained entrance to it by going through the mirror in her dressing room. But she possessed none of his magic (for how else would flesh-and-bone humans step to the other side?) and was not about to go hurling herself through the glass. So she did the next best thing, which was incredibly passive. She fell asleep in front of the mirror. If this was the doorstep to his lair, then she was now a little, sleeping baby abandoned in a basket, and it was his responsibility to take care of her.
When she awoke, she was on a sofa. It was light blue with a pattern of flowers and hummingbirds. That it was not red or black or dripping with gothic lace surprised her, and she wondered if he had gone so far as to purchase an entire couch that would not frighten her.
"Do you like this pattern? Are the cushions comfortable? I bought it just for you."
She had not even noticed the figure facing the fireplace, but then here he was suddenly, her man in the mask, towering over her.
She blinked.
"I do so want you to be comfortable. I want you to be happy here. Is there anything I can do for you, Christine, anything? There is nothing that I would not do for you."
She noticed that he did not apologize for nor give an explanation for her being in his living room. But she had wanted and expected him to kidnap her - if he hadn't, she might have questioned his obsession!
"Yes, there is something that you can do for me. Come down here."
He quickly dropped to his knees in front of her, looking rather like a begging animal. Perhaps he dropped too quickly, for his eyes seemed to indicate that he had not been altogether prepared for how close their faces now were to one another's.
She smiled at him. "I love you."
The second obstacle was this: he would not let her.
His eyes moved from one side of the room to the other and then to and fro again. She could not tell if he was looking for the correct way to react (which she doubted would be written on a bowl of fruit or a candelabra) or for a way to escape (which she doubted because she had just made his every hope and dream come true).
"I said, 'I love you'."
His eyes closed.
Maybe he just needed a moment to relish in it. After all, she had just made him the happiest man of all time.
"Oh, Christine..."
Tears came to her eyes for no good reason other than the fact that his voice would make even the most cynical person in Paris cry.
Her hand reached up and touched his porcelain mask. His eyes snapped open.
"It's okay. I'm just taking it off so I can kiss you."
In retrospect, it might have been a better idea to break this "returned love" concept down over several days because every sentence that she uttered seemed to give him a minor heart attack.
"No."
"No?"
"No. Do not kiss me. Your perfect lips should never touch my twisted-"
"That's nonsense," she interrupted. "I love you." And she moved to remove the mask again.
He caught her wrist and then immediately released it as if he was afraid of burning her skin.
"I do not want you to have to gaze at such a hideous sight."
"Now you stop that," she reprimanded (which certainly no one had ever done to him before). "You're talking about a face that is hideous, yes, but also loved."
"Christine, I am content - I am blissful! - with the way things are. Just to have you here with me, that is enough."
He really meant it too, she could tell.
"But you must want more-"
"Yes, but it is not my place in life to experience such things."
Her hand fell off of the sofa and landed supposedly-but-really-not-at-all-accidentally next to his crotch. "Are you sure?" One finger, just the tip, stroked his length through the fabric.
"Chri-"
He could not finish the word.
And she was terrified out of her mind and completely scandalized by herself for her action. But if it proved successful, it would be well worth it.
"Can I take your mask off?"
He gave a brief, sharp nod.
Her hand left his lap and went back to the mask, and then everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. There was a pain somewhere near her shoulder and the back of her neck, and she only half-consciously realized that he was pushing there. The mask fell away, and she pressed kisses all over the decayed mess, repeating, "I love you, I love you!" deliriously. The last thing she heard before everything became dark was the Angel weeping as if his heart was breaking and knowing euphoria all at the same time.
She was only under for a handful of minutes. It took even less time after she came to for her to resume her previous task.
"I was sure that - I thought that you would-" he mumbled, clearly perplexed.
He assumed that he would save her from the full horror of his deformity by making her faint and see only a hint of how grotesque it was before he mercifully let her slip into oblivion?
"I do not need to be protected from your appearance," she told him, and then her lips were mangled with his own in a proper kiss.
Except that there was nothing "proper" about it; it was searing and too needy.
"My beautiful Christine," he whispered into her curls as his trepid fingers went to the neckline of her gown, "wants to love a monster."
There was only so much he could do to her through the thick corset, but it was enough that he was trying. Until it wasn't enough, and in a second or two she was going to reach behind herself and claw through the lacings.
He took her hand before she could attempt to free herself from the bothersome dress and coaxed it back to his obvious desire. "If you are going to love me, do so completely."
The third obstacle was this: he insisted on keeping her virtuous.
A moment ago her hand had been working the most melodious sighs from him, and now her hand was empty. He had stood up, and she determined that he must have a stronger willpower than that of twenty men.
"We must stop."
"I don't want to," she said dumbly. Her neckline was destroyed, her face was flushed and partially covered with her disheveled hair, and her legs were spread wantonly. And he wanted to stop?
He smiled (he smiled? the Phantom did not smile, did he?) and informed her that he was going to marry her first because he would not cause her to sin.
"Oh."
Yes, there was that, wasn't there? He was right. And besides, he wanted to marry her, and wasn't that exactly what she wanted?
He crossed the room with effortless elegance and picked up a pile of red roses from an end table. Then he returned and held them out to her timidly.
She stood up as well and smiled (she was much better at smiling than he was. more practice). "I would be honored to call you my husband." Then she stepped forward, wrapped her little arms around him, and squeezed. Because really, he just needed a hug. Something probably no one else had ever given him before.
She gasped as he practically fell upon her, his arms around her shoulders in a crushing embrace. The roses' stems pressed into her hair, and their bulbs loomed above the back of her head like a crown. She could feel the sobs that wracked his body, and she squeezed tighter.
This was simultaneously the most selfless and the most self-indulgent thing she had ever done. Giving a man literally everything and giving herself a man who loved her more than anything.
And how much nicer it was to avoid the complicated tragedy and simply tell him, "I love you".
The End