Love you Misunderstand

Chapter one

The Chapel

"Love is confusing…especially when one loves a mystery." Aristotle

Silence hummed eerily throughout the hollow halls of the chapel as the beautiful ingénue knelt down in the empty room. Outside it was raining and a flash of lightning sparked wickedly outside causing her to flinch. She hated lightening and the rain and when it flashed over her dress her ecru skin was pearly as the snow. Each tear like a diamond as it dropped to the black floor to shimmer like silver. Christine had never before noticed the singular beauty of a teardrop, the shape of them like a tiny pearl. Softly shaped and silver, just like Erik's eyes… so misunderstood in their beauty.

Erik's raindrop eyes were stuck in her mind, haunting and mysterious and so sad. Christine knew he had been there on the roof when she told her love to Raoul. She had heard him groaning her name so close by behind her. The young woman felt a stab of guilt, trying to shake it off. But it was impossible; those eyes that looked like beautiful teardrops. Her face went white as her revelations of her tutor's misunderstood beauty and her eyes watered with a stab of pain. A sob ripped through her frame and she reached down in front of her picking up her glass beads feeling a sudden need to pray.

"Kyrie Elysian…Kyrie Ely…ian…Dais Erie …Dias Ilia."

Christine kept her head down and her eyes half-closed focusing on her beads. Each one was thing of beauty, shimmering when any light hit them to light the hand-painted pink roses on them to cast a tiny reflection resembling a bouquet. The stems of the flowers were little music notes painted to brilliantly complement each blossom in a frame. Erik had given them to her on her last birthday when Carlotta had maliciously burned her wooden ones over a candle out of jealousy of course. She had been very sad of course, because those were her father's beads, the only belonging of his she had left, she had cried for days afterwards; for her father, her childhood. Christine shed a tear for all those memories that she feared she would someday forget, but most of all, the realization that Daddy Daaè was really dead and gone, that she would never see him again.

It was just then she heard a voice, "Christine…"

She did not open her eyes, wanting to lose herself in the peace that her faith brought her, plus it was hard for her to remember how to open them after so many sleepless nights. Christine sighed and felt her head fall forward onto her chest. Her throat rumbled softly and before she knew it she was snoring loudly through her nose from the stuffy nose she had acquired from crying. Soon even her fist loosened, clutching the beads went slack and they fell from her grasp clattering to the floor. Her head fell forward more and she was soon lying flat on her stomach on the thin carpet. She could feel how cold the room was and her body was shivering but she was too sleepy to care, she curled up in a fetal position. Christine felt someone's warm hand on her shoulder and then that person lifting her up, vaguely she heard someone making a tisking sound.

"Christine…" they whispered and she moaned softly.

"Go away I'm sleeping…" she mumbled.

"Poor baby…" they whispered, "I know…"

When they ran their fingers through her hair she made a negative sound, at the contact wishing to be left to her nap. "Sleeping,"

"I can tell," they said as she snored again, "but you have to wake up, it's almost show time."

"Mmm…" her eyes opened slightly and she looked up at Raoul's concerned face.

"Hello Lotte," he whispered.

"Raoul… I was just praying." She whispered her voice still thick from sleep.

"I know, I saw your beads." He said, "But it's time for you to get dressed."

"I'll be there in a minute I just want to finish my prayers."

"All right Lotte, I'll leave you be." He said and set her down next to her beads.

"Thank you," she said, picking the strand up and he nodded tiptoeing from the room.

Her rosary beads echoed like tiny claps of thunder in the sacred area but worse yet her tears echoed like the tick-tick of icy raindrops. Her slender hand lifted the long stick of incense to the three candles behind her father's picture. Christine looked down at the picture and her own blue eyes gazed back at her and the face smiled softly. It was that smile that said 'don't worry everything will be all right. The poor girl began to shake and a sob tore at her throat. She wanted her daddy more than anything right now, wanting to smell the tobacco on his shirt mingling with the peppermint cologne. Wanted to hear the sound of his violin as it sang through the starry summer night as he told her of her angel of music.

How she longed to be that child again, to have the only worry she knew be whether or not it was bedtime. Christine wanted him to wrap his arms around her and sing her a Swedish lullaby like he used to. Most of all she wanted him to say happy birthday to her because today was her sixteenth, the most important birthday of her life. But sadly she knew she would never see him again and that's what hurt the most. Her tears eased slightly when she closed her eyes and pictured her father there in the chapel and crying with her, his strong arms wrapped around her so tight she could barely move. She wanted her daddy more in that one moment than she had ever wanted him in the past nine years.

Nine years… she couldn't believe it had been so long since that horrible day when her world had come crashing down. Her body felt heavier Christine could hear her father whispering to her in that old Swedish tongue that used to soothe her so much as a child. She closed her eyes and saw him kneeling in front of her, tall and broad with thick dark hair and calloused hands. Warm and strong and gentle they framed her face and kissed her head again.

"You're so beautiful, my little one." He said.

Indeed she was; her curls cascading down to the small of her back, her skin like porcelain, and her eyes a drowning shade of forget-me-not blue. It had often been said in Glama Uppsala that she was the beauty of her generation. Beautiful as she was, her pain made her face turn twisted like that of a medusa. Her beautiful strawberry blonde curls were sticky, too much for her to run her trembling fingers through. Her forget-me-not eyes dripping tears like acid, cold but scorching on her face leaving salt-stains on her porcelain cheeks and streaks of ice, so cold they burned. Above her the stained-glass window sported the image of the mother and underneath it was the baby who was destined to become king of the universe.

"I'm so confused daddy," she sobbed, "I need you."

"No you don't… not anymore."

"What do you mean?"

Her father started to sing softly, his deep baritone voice bringing her back to her childhood when he used to lull her to sleep.

"Love's a curious thing, it often comes disguised
Look at love the wrong way, it goes unrecognized

So look with your heart, and not with your eyes
The heart understands, the heart never lies
Believe what it feels, and trust what it shows
Look with your heart, the heart always knows
Love is not always beautiful, not at the start

So open your arms, and close your eyes tight
Look with your heart, and when it finds love, your heart will be right

Learn from someone who knows, make sure you don't forget
Love you misunderstand is love that you'll regret…"

"What does that mean?" she asked, he just smiled.

"I think you can figure it out."

"No I can't I—"

But that was the last thing she said to him because he disappeared and she snapped her head up to stare at the beautiful stained glass window. Christine looked up at her peaceful face and felt her own heart throb with envy and a curious feeling like hatred. What was so special about her that she got to be at peace twenty-four-seven? Looking at her closed eyes she found her heart twisting in rage but then softening to pity at her unfortunate plight. She may be the true bride of God but her baby…she lost him at such a young age and in such a horrible way. Worse in a way it was her husband's fault for it was by his plan that her child had to suffer and she had to witness it.

The ingénue closed her eyes again shedding a tear of pity for the poor mother and her poor son who had died before his rightful time. Even if he was a king and the child of the almighty, he was seriously overrated and selfish. Always doing his father's bidding well he was one hell of a father wasn't he? What kind of father actually planned their son's death even if it would save all of humanity? What kind of husband would wish to cause his wife such pain, cursing her to lose the child she had raised with a stepfather? Who was God to decide the fate of this boy when he had done little if anything for him? But then, the phrase 'like father, like son' was not entirely untrue, what kind of son leaves his mother alone to suffer? True she had been a Daddy's girl her whole life but she had no choice, and was guilty of the same thing, always doing whatever her daddy asked.

She knew full well that she sounded like a hypocrite but after all she had been motherless her whole life. But he hadn't been and had hurt his mother in the worst way. Christine felt a stab of remorse for her selfishness, after everything poor Mary had been through she deserved to be at peace in the arms of the man she loved and kissing the head of her child. But then her envy came back full-force and she crossed herself in a plea for forgiveness after committing such a deadly sin. Her papa would be ashamed of her if he were to see her in this state. After all a good catholic girl was not meant to feel such an emotion as she might very well find herself damned for all time.

But she couldn't help herself, and she tore the necklace that her tutor had given her from her pulsing throat. The piece of jewelry smacked against the stained glass window with a small chink and she glared at the piece. But then she walked over to the corner and picked it up leaning against the wall and hiding her face in her arms. Christine could not imagine the pain she must have felt, but then she knew that pain in a way. She knew the private torture of a broken heart and the utter confusion of being in love with one man and wanting to love someone else.

It was indeed an exquisite torture but a pain almost too sweet to wish away. It was a strange thing to both love and hate an emotion involving a man but then it was only natural. Why should she not hate Erik when he invoked this torture? But then she was so drawn to him that it wasn't even funny. Her thoughts wandered to the night she had spent with him in his candlelight and her body shivered. She recalled his touch as his silk-clad hands ran all over her body, the only barrier between them her thin muslin nightgown. Christine remembered the way his hands had roamed wantonly over her breasts and midsection. How his tenor had made her forget the sinfulness of this kidnapper's touch and the dreadful situation she was in.

She wanted to feel that as she laid there in Raoul's arms but she just didn't. Why this was she had no clue and all this thinking made her head throb. She really did not like thinking, not that she had anything against the activity but she preferred the soothing tune of a dream. That soothing, rocking, safety of a lie where one did not have to think about anything and get lost in it, damn papa for his senseless teachings that dreams were safer than reality. Her body was exhausted from the strain of her thoughts. Her eyes were heavy but then she felt a presence in the room with her. Her blue eyes opened and she began to sing softly, losing herself in the moment of music. But her moment was broken by the thunking of footsteps on the rickety old stairs and when she raised her eyes there was Raoul.

He was sitting there trying to smile at her and when she looked at him she felt her blood run cold as ice. She knew then that she wasn't as attracted to Raoul as she thought and her heart broke at the sight of him. His eyes held a fierce love for her and it made her heart flutter with some strange emotion like fear. There was some emotion in his eyes resembling bloodlust, something crazy deep within that love and she felt herself shivering. His arms were so warm; too warm and far too tight for her liking, Christine tried to move away but He reached for her and held her close. In that moment she was reminded of just why she was so attached to her fiancé, he was safe. Warm and solid and safe, he rubbed her back and kissed her head as though he meant to comfort her.

It was no use however, her terror at what she was about to do was too great and she started to cry. Christine knew in that moment that she couldn't do this and turned her face into his shirt, soaking it. Raoul's perfect lips brushed hers and then deepened so hard that her eyes closed again. That was a mistake the minute she did that she was falling asleep, this time he did not wake her, even laughing gently when she started to snore and she was faced with the fact that many considered her the luckiest woman in the world. It was so perfect, too perfect.

He was so beautiful and so far above her station that it seemed almost impossible for him to love her as much as he did. Yet here he was holding her and loving her and indeed she was lucky. But then why did she feel nothing in his arms. He was the typical fairytale prince. Rich, handsome, funny and from a good steady family it was no wonder that her master hated the man when his own visage was one so horrible that it brought her to her knees in terror. No, not in terror, in pity…his haunted face held no horror for her. Her fiancé kissed her mouth and she felt her body curiously rejecting the sensation. Not because his kiss was repulsive because it wasn't, it just seemed to feel wrong to her. He pulled away looking into her eyes in earnest but she saw in them a bloodshot gleam as though he had not slept for a while.

"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Haven't slept for a while, that demon haunts my dreams."

She was angry at him now for saying such things because…well she didn't know really. After all she was partially responsible for his opinion but then it still made her mad. After thinking about it for a moment she realized it was because Raoul did not know him. He did not know how his voice or the way that he loved when he was able to do so. She however knew him in the most intimate way possible, she knew his music. And here she was about to lead him to his death. Her stomach churned as the clock struck six, the waking hour of Don Juan Triumphant and she lurched forward and threw up. Her nerves racking her enough to make her sick to her stomach, Raoul ran to her side and mopped her mouth. He grabbed an old wooden bucket used for catching the rain when it seeped through the cracks in the celling and held it under her chin. She gagged until her retching calmed down into shakes. She had never felt such stage fright in her life

Raoul shushed her gently, "my poor love…look at what he's done to you." She wanted to give that look that made him wince with apology, but all she wanted to do was burst into tears. "Now come on let's get this over with and trap that demon."

"He's not a demon!" she snapped, "Stop calling him that!"

"Him? Oh god you're humanizing that thing!"

"Erik's not a thing…"

"Erik? Oho it has a name now?"

"If you call him that one more time…"

What Raoul did next shocked her, he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard. His eyes no longer held that love that they once had, they were angry and he threw her to the ground. "Get that hell-spawn out of your head, he will die tonight and that's that!"

"No he won't I refuse to do this!" she snapped and then Raoul slapped her, splitting her lip and knocking her to the floor. She landed on her stomach with a split lip and she looked up at him with watery eyes.

"Oh god Christine I'm so sorry, what have I done?"

"Go away…" she sobbed.

"Christine I—" he stuttered.

"I said go away!" and so he did,

Raoul turned his back away to her, walking away leaving her in that dark cold room, weeping and alone. She was frightened and about to lead a man to his death and for the first time she felt truly like the little girl she was and cried like a child. Wanting her Angel and knowing she might never hear him again.

This is my first story, tell me how I did?