If I Can't Love Her
By: Tiger Lily21
A/N: As promised (well, sort of promised; I mentioned it), here is another song fic combining Beauty and the Beast and The Phantom of the Opera. This one is based on a song from the Beauty and the Beast Broadway musical. I've never seen it, but I've heard the soundtrack and of all the songs on it, I think this one is the most fitting for PotO. It's dark, and the story I'm putting with it is rather angsty, but it fits. I don't like this one as much as "Think of Me", but hopefully you'll like it. If you haven't heard the Beauty and the Beast Broadway soundtrack, go and find it at the library or buy it. It's excellent!
Oh! One more note before I move to the actual story. This is meant to take place in the movie universe of the story, after Erik has returned Christine to the opera house. It is not meant to fit with the rest of the story after that, because Erik's final conclusion does not fit with his actions in the rest of the movie. So let's say that this takes place in an alternate universe from that one, just for simplicity's sake. Okay? Okay. And now, the fic.
Erik did not often look in the mirror. He had learned long ago that no matter how often he looked, the reflection would remain the same: ugly. There would always be the distorted features, the sheer ugliness that had made so many people hate him. And behind the physical ugliness would be the other ugliness he knew existed within him, an ugliness that could never be hidden by a mask.
Sometimes he feared he was going mad. Sometimes he was quite certain of it. Living all alone, wrapping himself in darkness with music as his only companion, how could anyone not go mad? It was inevitable. He would lose his mind completely one day. Or worse still, he would lose his music. Without that, he knew he would die. Music was the only beauty in his life. It was his life. Music was his very soul. Without it, there was no point in living. Music was life and light. It was music that had brought him Christine Daaé, and music that had let him keep her, teach her, love her.
But now she had someone else—a rich, handsome, young man. A viscount. Raoul de Chagney probably never dreaded his own reflection. He probably loved looking at himself. Yes, thought Erik bitterly, Raoul de Chagney was probably the sort who could kiss his own reflection in the mirror because he loved it so much. So there he stood, before his own mirror, with his mask off, staring at his reflection. A song rose to his mind, as they often did, and he did not resist it. He allowed it to flow from his mind to his lips and then out into the cavern.
And in my twisted face
There's not the slightest trace
Of anything that even hints of kindness
And from my tortured shape
No comfort, no escape
I see, but deep within is utter blindness
Blindness. Yes. He was blind. Hadn't someone once said that love was blind? Yes. He was sure he had heard that somewhere before. Love was blind, and he was blind because of his love. He had not seen it before. Christine did not love him. How could she? She was so much younger than him. He could have been her father! She had thought for a long time—until he had brought her down to his lair (his home, he reminded himself; it was not a lair) she had believed that he was her father, or an angel sent by him to guide her. Then she had removed his mask, seen his face, and the expression of horror on her own pretty face had been burned into his mind. Until then he had been blind to the fact that she might not return his love. Now it was painfully clear…
Once again music rose in him and poured forth, a continuation of the song he had begun.
Hopeless
As my dream dies
As the time flies
Love a lost illusion
Helpless
Unforgiven
Cold and driven
To this sad conclusion
No beauty could move me
No goodness improve me
No power on earth, if I can't love her
No passion could reach me
No lesson could teach me
How I could have love her and made her love me too
If I can't love her, then who?
Then who? Who indeed. Who else could possibly find love for such a creature as himself? Even Christine could not, in the end. Nothing could change who he was—a monster. It was not like in the fairy tales he had heard so many years ago, where the girl's love changed the monster into a handsome prince. Nothing would change his looks, make him handsome. He would never be like the viscount. Even if he had been physically attractive, the insanity that dwelled within him would still have remained, and he would have been ugly in a different way. As it was, he had both. Nothing could change that. He had made decisions in the past and it was too late to make up for them. There was no hope for the future either, now that Christine had seen his true face.
He stumbled away from the mirror, replacing his mask as he went. The song still thrived within him, longing to be set free in its entirety. Hoping that somehow the music would sooth him, he sat down at his organ and played and sang, the words reflecting the turmoil in his soul, giving a voice to his pain.
Long ago I should have seen
All the things I could have been
Careless and unthinking, I moved onward
No pain could be deeper
No life could be cheaper
No point anymore, if I can't love her
No spirit could win me
No hope left within me
Hope I could have loved her and that she'd set me free
But it's not to be
If I can't love her
Let the world be done with me.
The last notes echoed through the cavern. Erik closed his eyes behind the mask, repeating the last phrase. "Let the world be done with me," he whispered. This was it. The only way. It was time for the end of Erik, the end of the Phantom of the Opera. He would become a memory, a legend, then nothing. Gone forever. It was the only way. Christine would be happy with her viscount. Why should he interfere? He wanted her to be happy; she deserved it. So he would go. He would leave this world before he became a true monster and allow her to live her life in peace.
Pulling his mask off once more, he stood and strode quickly toward the lake. He stepped into it, ignoring the chill of the water as it soaked through his clothes. It rose steadily higher, covering his ankles, his knees, his legs, and finally to his chest. Yes. This was deep enough. All he had to was bend his knees, pull his head under, and wait. Wait for the darkness to claim him, for death to accept him. It would be quick, in the end. All he would have to do was breathe. The water would come in, and it would be over. Or, so he thought. He had never tried drowning before.
Thoughts of what death would be like filled his mind. They were all dark and dreadful. He pushed them away. He filled his mind with Christine instead. Her face, her figure, her voice, her touch on his skin. Her wonder at his underground realm, her reverence as she called him, "Maestro". He filled his mind with her, and closed his eyes. It would be quick, and he would die with Christine in his mind.
He lowered his head toward the water, plunged it down. Beneath the water it was dark and cold, but to Erik it was like an embrace, wrapping around him and holding him. He breathed in. This was it. The end of Erik. The end. He closed his eyes, not waiting for the world to go black.
When he opened his eyes again—wait. He was opening his eyes? Yes, he was. And he was looking up into a pair of very familiar brown eyes, though they were red from crying. He blinked several times and coughed. Then Christine swooped down upon him, hugging him.
"Oh Maestro! I thought you were gone!"
He could not speak. Why was she here? Where was he? What had happened? This could not be Heaven. And yet, it could not be Hell either. Either way, Christine would not be there because she was not dead. Was he still alive? How? It was all too confusing.
Christine was crying. "Maestro, what happened? I found you in the lake. I came back to see you, because I don't want to give up my lessons. But you were just floating, on the surface of the lake. I called to you, but you didn't answer. And then I got you back to the shore—I used the boat to get here; it was on the other side already, so I used it—and I thought you were dead!" She laid her head on his chest, still weeping.
Slowly, Erik found his voice. "Christine…" Was that his voice? That croaking sound? He tried again. "Christine, you should not be here with me."
She lifted her head again. "Why not?"
"You should be up there," he said. His voice was growing stronger. "Up in the opera house, or in the sunlight, with your viscount. You don't belong down here."
She laughed. "But Maestro, I want to be with you."
"What about your viscount?"
"Raoul? He is a friend, and a sweet boy, but I don't love him."
What did that mean? She didn't love the viscount. Did that mean she loved him instead? Was it possible? The hope that had died in him earlier slowly started reviving. But she still didn't deserve to be down here in the darkness with a monster like him. She could find someone else to love, someone worthy of her. The hope died again.
She spoke again. Now her voice was pleading. "Please, Maestro, I want to keep learning. I still have so much to learn, and you are the best teacher. I'm not asking you to do anything but teach me. Will you? Please?"
Erik thought. If he taught her, she could only get better. And he would still have her as his inspiration for his masterpiece. If he taught her, she would still be partially his, and the hope could return again. After all, he realized, he had his mask off now, and she did not look frightened. She only looked worried, and hopeful, and beautiful.
"Yes," he said at last. "I will continue your lessons."
"Oh thank you, Maestro!" She was hugging him again. He had never been hugged before. It was quite a nice feeling. Smiling slightly, he spoke in his sternest "teacher" voice.
"I was not finished, mademoiselle. We will start your next lesson right now. Are you ready?"
She nodded. "I'm ready, Maestro."
"Your first lesson is a new word," he said. "You will use this word when you speak to me, instead of calling me Maestro. You will not use it in front of anyone else."
"What's the word?"
"Erik."
"Erik," she repeated. How wonderful it sounded coming from her lips! "Is that your name?"
"Don't ask questions," he said, still the teacher. "Help me to the organ. You need to practice your scales."
"Yes, Mae—I mean, Erik." She smiled and helped him to his feet. Together, they walked up the bank toward the organ. Erik sat down on the bench and his fingers touched the keys. As he played scales for her to sing and listened to her beautiful voice filling the cavern, he reflected that at this moment, it was possible that she could love him. Perhaps, at some time in the future, she would be his.
A/N: And there we stop. I was originally going to stop it with him drowning, but I don't like sad endings. So then I thought I would just have Christine come up in the boat before he drowned himself, only that didn't work. I'm still not happy with the last scene, and I've probably completely screwed up Erik's character, and Christine's, but this is the best I can do. I also didn't get the song worked in through the whole thing, like I did with the other fic. So overall, I'm not exactly pleased with this, but I'll post it anyways and hope that no one will tell me it's pure garbage. Really, for an angsty fic, I think I did pretty well…Well, I hope I did…Please review and tell me what you thought of it.
--Anne