Disclaimer: I hold no rights to the Phantom of the Opera or the characters utilized within this story. All rights belong to Andrew Lloyd Webber, Leroux, and other associated parties.

PLEASE READ: This was originally a one-shot. I am contemplating turning this into a chapter story. Please review once you are done and tell me whether if I should continue?

Bitter Sweet Love

By: A Piece of My Heart

"Erik is dead."

Those hateful words glared up at me defiantly from the page. Having my heart physically ripped out of my chest would have been less painful then seeing those syllables printed so nonchalantly upon the news page.

It's funny how that simple phrase can cause me so much anguish while the significance of it escapes the rest of Paris.

I can't believe this. Even now it is…it's so impossible to think that he is gone. Oh God! What have I done? Even though my mind refuses to believe it, I can't help thinking…I killed him.

As these thoughts enter my mind again, a fresh wave of tears comes streaming down my cheeks. But no one can tell. The rain has washed them away. It washes away my tears. Washes away the words on the page…

This can't be happening. I discovered the words as if by accident. Was it divine providence? It was such a normal day. I was sitting in the parlor of the large brownstone townhouse Raoul had purchased for us two shortly after we were married. We had decided to stay in Paris, instead of going off to Scandinavia, because of the trouble caused by the untimely death of the late Comte de Changy.

This afternoon…was it only a few hours ago? It was raining even then. It was as if nature were weeping over some great loss, mourning the death of a man the world never knew existed. The faded light escaping through the window played across the painted cherubs and nymphs on the ceiling, distorting them into the hellish images of night terrors. I had been knitting a sweater for my soon expected arrival. I bumped the petite, lacquered table Raoul had rested today's newspaper on. The paper spilled onto his high-winged chair, coming to rest on the obituaries. My eyes roved over the page as I reached to pick it up. Those three minute words stood starkly against the page.

Erik is dead.

It was like a death sentence, a closing. The man who had apprenticed me in the art of music, the man I had respected…and loved was gone and beyond my reach forever.

The color drained from my face upon first seeing that phrase. I must have shrieked. I can't recall now. It's blurred. Raoul soon came in from the parlor from his bankbooks.

"Is everything alright darling?"

I wasn't capable of answering. I could only continuously stare, gaping…dumb at the words on the page.

He walked over to the chair, having failed to elicit an answer from me. Snatching up the paper, he found the phrase as quickly as I had. Shock registered on his face. He understood the meaning of the words too. His eyes veered over to me. I'll never forget their look. His face was sorrowful. It was in his eyes as well along with...triumph. Such a paradox. It couldn't have been. My childhood friend wouldn't felt gladness over the death of another, no matter what that man had done to him. I try to tell myself even now that his sorrow was genuine. He felt triumphed…. because he was truly free of the man who always had cast a shadow over him. No one would contest him in love for me. I was his alone. He expected me to love him. I'm still bemused over how naive I was even as of this morning. It was my choice to marry this man.

He dropped the paper and hurried to my side. He scooped me up in a hug, mindful of my swollen stomach. "Oh Christine…. I never thought that…I'm so sorry." It was a perfect show, the comforting of the poor, helpless wife. Our marriage had become a pretense. The gossip caused over his marriage of a mere chorus girl and the death of his brother Philip had brought reality to the front door for Raoul. It had changed him. The triumph in his eyes had been over the fact that he had one less problem to deal with. I had often felt in the past few months that he partially blamed me for his problems.

I was shaking in his arms. I couldn't help it. I felt so cold. The life had been sapped from me. The parlor was a blistering inferno, so stifling. The need to escape from the house and my husband's presence became dominant. The heat of the fire in the ornate hearth enclosed and choked me.

Raoul set me down in the chair. He was careful to tread lightly. "Christine, do you need anything?"

The want to run away was overwhelming. Anything to get Raoul away. "I Just…. I need…" I need my angel to be alive again. "I need a glass of water. It's so hot in here." And he left, leaving me there alone.

As soon as he disappeared from sight, I fled. The heavy oak door banged shut behind me. A piece of the newspaper containing those fateful words was clutched in my hand. I didn't look back.

Now I am here in this park. The shadowy trees and the frigid rain are my only companions. The stone bench relentless chills me through my flimsy, silk dress. This is what I have become, a haunted wraith. It's only now that I realize how alone I am now in the world. My father was the first to leave me. Now everyone at the opera house is lost to me. My husband is distant and changed, melded by society and propriety. My beloved teacher is dead, forgotten by the very world that scorned him. All that mourn him are nature and one lonely, lost little girl.

I let the rainwater wash over the torn page. The ink runs and slides off leaving the page blank, as if nothing had ever been there at all. Is that what is to become of you also, Erik? Are you to be erased from history so easily? Who will remember you, as you rightly were when I am dead?

You were right Erik. You were right. I let myself believe that life would be a fairytale if I ran off with Raoul. It's too late when I realize the fairy tale is a lie. Why didn't I listen to you…and to my heart? You tried to tell me, but I was too callow to understand. I still remember that night. You were so furious over my continued affections with Raoul. I can still hear your mesmerizing voice echoing in my mind.

xXx

"Is this truly what you desire, Christine?" he sighed mournfully. His eyes met mine, then quickly darted away.

Words had eluded me. I'd, in that moment, seen his soul, a well of unfathomable misery. What kind of life had this man endured?

"If only you were able to understand. The life the Viscount would offer you parades it self as a life of glamour." His gaze caught mine once more. This time it was guarded as he once again exercised his inhuman control over his emotions. "You believe that you are different and that the Viscount will treat you as such. In your mind, the marriage you envision would be one where you're needed, wanted...adored."

It was my turn to drop my gaze, unable to handle his penetrating stare. The rich red carpet suddenly seemed fascinating. "Erik, don't you understand? We are simply fond of each other, childhood playmates. Nothing more. We both comprehended that I wasn't being truthful. His ability to read the unintelligible emotions dwelling in my heart had always awed and frightened me slightly.

He placed to fingers under my chin and gently lifted it up. He never could stand for me to hide my feelings behind flimsy guises. "It is you, child, who do not understand. The life you fantasize about is nothing but a farce. You will be betrayed and cheated in your hopes. You will not be glimpsed as unique through the eyes of the world. Do you want to forever be haunted by the ghost of what might have been?"

xXx

In the end, his fears for me transformed into actuality. It's ironic, that I only understand this now. He tried to warn me, but I had been too headstrong. Now here I am, broken and with child.

I want to kill myself for it would be so easy. I could fly off to be with my angel leaving this empty life behind. It's the coward's way out and I can't run anymore. I understand that I have to face up to what I have done. Besides, it is not my prerogative to decide to take this young life inside of me with me to the afterlife.

I'll have to learn to be strong and to live within the confines of an unwanted life. I have a child to rear. I can't live within the fantasies of what could have been. But they won't leave me. How can I live without you, Erik? I haven't lived without the knowledge of your presence for so long. I'll try. It's the least I can do.

I get up off the stone cold bench. My tears are still streaming down my face. It's feckless to try and stop them. I've wasted enough time on useless grief though. There are two things I have to do first, for Erik's sake.

Firstly, I have to go bury my love. I don't know how I'll manage. I wish I didn't have to do this alone, but I must. Secondly, I have to rear his namesake, my child.

A/N I hope you all liked it. I recently read this book called A Great and Terrible beauty about girls in the Victorian era. I was inspired by an image in the book of a girl holding her father's letter of dismissal and letting the rain wash the ink away until the paper was white.

I tried to do a real portrayal of grief. I don't have much experience with itand don'thope to for a long time. I hope this was believable and not too corny. I am a die-hard EC shipper first and foremost. Since my first fic was more RC, I felt I owed it to the pair of them to write a fic focusing more on Christine's love for Erik. Perhaps I'll write another chapter? Please review and tell me if I should.

Until later,

Mirea