AN: I know I have not written in a LONG while…don't get used to me writing. I seem to have lost my creative spark lately, and I am EXTREMELY busy. But my friend BrokenessBear told me to read WeepingWillow2616's story (AMAZING by the way, go read Second Chance. It's on my favorites list, or just search her name), and I felt I HAD to write this story. Not based on it at all, but I re-fell in love with POTO. =]
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor Christine DaAe. =[ But I DO own all the events and responses in my story. =]
It has been five months since the Accident that led to the marriage between me and Raoul. My marriage was beautiful, as the marriage to a Vicomte should be. My abdomen had expanded due to my new pregnancy. All should be well, non? Well, alas, it was not. Nightly I had dreams of him—Erik haunts my dreams at night and my mind while I am awake. I no longer can easily tell one day from the next. And alas, my marriage's inner failure was not entirely my fault.
It seems that Erik was correct in his first impression of Raoul. His kind and cheery appearance was just that: an appearance. When at home, especially while he was inebriated, the façade fell from his demeanor. My physical wounds prohibited my leaving from the manor for weeks on end. In public, my husband would declare that my pregnancy was rough, and it was keeping me at home. My emotional wounds will never heal, I am sure of it. But are the wounds I inflicted on my Fantôme harsher? Daily my inner war wages, without an end in sight. If I went back it would be unseemly as I am married now. Carlotta has returned as Prima Donna after my absence. Besides, I would not take me back, so why should he?
"Raoul, please, stop!!!" I cried, running to hide myself and my enlarged abdomen behind the door to our bedroom.
"Why should I, Christy?" he sneered drunkenly, beating his fists against the door I leaned against.
The only answer I gave was the sound of tears running down my cheeks, the sniffle of my nose, and the catch of breath in my throat. I had long since given up arguing with him when he was like this. Even the babe I carried inside would not stop him. I felt bad using him/her as an excuse, but there was little else to do. Raoul's fist punched through the door and into my face.
"Haha, I gotchu now, poppet," he said as I slunk to the floor in pain. He opened the door and lifted me up by my long hair. My screams of anguish did not deter him. He dragged me to the wall where his rough hands moved to grasp my throat. My hands scrabbled uselessly for a handhold as my throat gurgled for air. "Not so brave now, are we?" he laughed raucously. As my vision grew spots, he threw me against the nearest wall. I sank down, not attempting even the slightest movement as I felt blood pouring from every pore in my body. Soon enough he would tire of torturing me and I could attend to my injuries. "What, no response, my sweet?" he slurred, "Well, fine. Soon enough you will talk. Until then, I'll—" with this he fell upon the bed. I immediately got up and rushed from the room, ignoring my pain.
I ran to the washroom to assess the damage. Smears of blood were everywhere, and I could already see bruises forming to replace the greening ones all over my body. My head and throat were the worst. As I began to wash my wounds gingerly, I felt stabbing pain between my hips. I lifted my skirt to see blood pouring down my legs. I shrieked as more came rushing out of me, along with a small, human form. I knelt on the floor to hold my stillborn child.
That's it! I thought to myself. I have to leave.
But another part of my brain asked Where will you go? Your father's dead, your husband deserves to die, your servants have left you to his devices, and have you forgotten that your mother abandoned you?
"Shut up," I told the voice.
What?! Don't blame us, we're merely stating the obvious. What, did you think he would take you back? HA! They laughed at me.
I hissed at them, but the maniacal laughter continued. I disposed of the body of my daughter with a silent, short funeral. I mopped the blood from the washroom floor and the worst of it from my body. The voice continued to hunt me throughout. I sighed a sigh of resignation. I went to the study and broke the glass on Raoul's liquor cabinet and pulled out the strongest substance I could find and downed a good half of the bottle and wiped my lips on my sleeve. Wow, I'm following in his footsteps. I sank into an armchair.
Well he did bring you to this…. the voice said.
Hmm… I mused Apparently I'm not quite drunk enough to make them shut up yet. As I continued to down the bottle, he showed up in my head. His usually sinister face was etched with concern.
"Christine, Christine! What has he done to you?!" As he reached towards me, I faded into the black.
AN: So, what'dja think? Yes I know Erik is not usually big on expressing emotion, but Christine's sub-conscious has romanticized his memory, and is falling in love with his memory. Now remember I won't be updating often because of my schedule, but I shall try. You might want to give up on my other stories—they're currently in the graveyard of stories-yet-to-be-finished. If you wish me to continue, please review or PM me. Or if you HATE it, review or PM me. =] Have ideas? See above instructions. Luv you all!!!!