Christine was in more tears than she had been the previous night, her eyes swollen from the action and ever so painfully red. Her heart hurt the most, though.
She stood before the only person in the world she loved, getting denied the right to do it yet a second time. He was pristine, as though the Opera Ghost had finally gained back his vessel and now haunted them all once again. It was deplorable, the denial and his stoic reaction to her wanting him. It was the only thing she craved, but it seemed he'd found a taste for hatred instead of love.
"Why will you not allow me back into your life, Erik?" She pleaded, her voice cracked and scratched, and he didn't even seem to give a care to her instrument. It was his most prized possession once, yet now it seemed useless to him.
"Because you have been nothing but cruel to me Christine. You gave me a fleeting kiss and stole my heart, so I would return you to your precious Vicomte. You don't want me, the only thing you miss is being fought over."
His words were cold, and not impassioned as they were before. She felt their weight, and wondered why on earth he thought such things.
"Erik, please, I love you and I simply want you to let me do that."
He was shaking his head before she even finished, "You cannot expect me to believe that. You're here to have me as a fancy while the de Chagny boy is out at sea, since you can't bare to be alone. I know you, Mademoiselle Daae, and I am too abhorrent for your taste."
Christine now shook her own head, curls waving and catching tears as they passed her cheeks.
"You are all I wish for in my life, you must believe me," she implored, ready to fall at her knees if need be.
Her feet were planted, however, as Erik came closer to her, waltzing over with indifference. He reached out a hand as she held onto the side of his sofa that faced the hearth, trembling when his gentle and skeletal hands held her cheek in his own. His features hadn't changed or she would have expected submission.
"I don't," he snapped, his thumb trailing over her cheekbone, "This flesh is too perfect, and much too beautiful to ever consider accepting mine. You would fall to dust if I bestowed upon you any more of my sinfulness."
Christine wanted to argue, and she made to, but his hand was upon her mouth, and his mismatched eyes were mere inches from hers.
"You speak of wanting and longing, but you do not know of such things for someone like me! You would expect a clean portrait, one whose canvas hasn't been touched by the brutal hands of humankind. That won't be your reception, and your body will be mortified to know what touches you, and holds you in the dead of night. You would be frightened, Christine, and there isn't anything you can do to change that."
He removed himself from her, and suddenly the world was cold from the sparks he'd left behind on her skin. Every movement of his body, she had felt, and ever searing gaze would be etched into her memory for years to come. God, how badly she craved him!
"I am not frightened!" She yelled, chasing after him, her feet finally compelled to follow orders as he floated towards his high backed chair.
Erik suddenly turned, and Christine startled at the malicious smile on his face, taunting her sanity and resolve. He raced at her, not touching this time, but looming in her presence like some sort of condescending aristocrat. She knew that feeling well from Raoul's inner circle, but that persona was not Erik. He was torturing them both by being so resistant.
"You cower so easily, my love, yet you say you are not afraid. Leave me and go back to your Vicomte, I didn't ask for you to be here, and I won't ever again. It was a mistake to want you." The whole thing came as a heated whisper.
Leaving her no room to argue, he straightened his shoulders and threaded his fingers behind his back, walking to his room and leaving Christine to her own devices. There was no arguing, and he'd made his choice.
He didn't want her anymore. Erik had made it so plain, and yet he loved her still. Why was he such a masochist? There she was, practically begging him to make her his, and he wanted nothing of the sort. It was a lie, he had claimed so surely, and it was a sin! It was no sin to love, whether either body was malformed or not.
Christine couldn't care what her love looked like, as long as he granted the emotion to exist between them!
Besides, she had never felt so berated for being… perfect. How could a man who held a unique beauty, give her such shame for her own? Christine never liked to brag, but Erik had filled her head with the words of adoration he spoke of her figure and looks, and yet now he used them to make her feel ugly. She was, Christine regretted to even think, a very attractive woman with curves Raoul admired, and skin every ballerina prayed for. Yet still, her opera ghost had made her feel as though they were ridiculous flaws, to be so untainted by the misfortune of blemishes.
She just wanted him to love her, whether she was perfect or not.
Christine finally found her motion and made her way back up through the cellars of the opera. Finding her way up was much longer and miserable than going down had been. She had been so full of hope and joy that the trek had felt like moments, but surely hours were passing now.
Moonlight greeted her when she emerged from the catacombs, and and idea had struck her from her thoughts on her beauty. What if she had not the thing which made Erik turn her away? Would the scarred man love her if she bore the very thing he hated himself for? If Christine could mark herself in some way, to have permanent flaws as her love did, would he hold her to his heart and allow her his affections then?
There was nothing more that she wanted than Erik, and if imperfection won him, so he wouldn't look at her and think his scarred hands were sin upon her flesh, she would endure anything. Christine was willing to burn herself in a fire of the greatest strength to earn the man's affection.
She had made up her mind. Christine would give herself flaws to allow the man below the opera to take her. Nothing in the world meant more to her than Erik holding her in his arms as her lover, and speaking no longer of perfection. Christine hated being perfect, and the scars in her mind meant nothing if it didn't win her him. She needed him like operas needed music, and she certainly didn't need her perfection. For heaven's sake, she loathed the porcelain flesh her bones wore, and that which Erik had forever complimented her on. It was only a barrier now, though, and Christine wanted nothing more than to give way to its wall. Somehow she would tear it down, and she had someone in mind to help her do just that.
Knocking tentatively, Christine held fast to her cloak and prayed that he answered the door quickly. She hadn't ever been to this specific household, but Erik talked about it enough to get her there, and the name on the door was easily spotted.
"Mademoiselle?" A younger man wondered, the same looking descent as her intended host was.
"I wish to see Monsieur Khan," Christine assured him, thinking back to Erik's story and realizing this must have been his manservant, Darius.
"It is a very late hour, Mademoiselle, he sleeps currently-"
"I don't Darius, but I thank you for preserving my hopes to," the intended voice spoke from behind. His jesting demeanor shed when he saw who exactly it was that rested upon his doorstep. Christine allowed the look he gave her with grace. He would find out her intentions soon enough.
"Mademoiselle Daae, I-"
"I went to Erik," she spoke hastily over him, starting to feel the chill of the night wind on his doorstep, "He denied me, and I didn't know who else to turn to."
"Come in, please," he ushered, looking confused and curious all at once. He placed a kind hand on her shoulder and let her keep her warm cloak on as they went into his sitting room and indulged in the fire within it. He sat her down on a lovely red divan, and urged more details from her.
"He sent me away the first time, and I realized how wrong my decision was to leave and to want love that did not come from him. Raoul was never what I wanted, and I felt like I was missing so many parts of myself without Erik, so I sought him out. I found him, but… it's like he was gone to me, and I was turned away yet again! He does not want me, but he loves me!"
Christine started to sob again, and Nadir moved forward from his space into Christine's to comfort her gently, and cordially.
"Why are you here, though?" He asked skeptically, "I cannot convince him if you could not."
Christine looked up from her tears and presented her face as Erik would. Stoic, she asked of him something awful.
"I want you to scar me, Monsieur."
The horror on Nadir's face was evident, and he was not going to conceal it.
"What did that monster say to convince you of this?" He questioned fervently.
"Nothing!" She insisted, "It is of my own want! My beauty holds us apart, and I don't want it anymore! I want to be whipped or slashed, and I will feel only greed for more if it allows me into Erik's heart once more!"
Christine was begging, but the way Nadir shot from the divan made her sure he was to refuse.
"No, you should feel no shame for your beauty, Mademoiselle, I will not have it! Even if I complied with this asinine request, pardon my language, Erik would surely see to it that I was murdered for even touching you! If he loves you, Mademoiselle, which I am sure he does, then he should merely accept you back into his life!"
Christine grew angry, wanting nothing more than to take it into her own hands. If she did that, however, she would certainly lose the nerve.
No, this had to happen, and Erik would see there was no ignominy between them.
"I want to be his equal. He did everything to have me, and what am I if I do not fight for him equally as hard in return? He spoke of my beauty and perfection as if they were ugly, and I feel the same! They do not belong with a soul who loves the deformed! Monsieur, if you do not agree to help me then I will find one who will."
Nadir cringed, seeing his only option was to hurt the poor girl before him, or let some other bastard do it. Surely he would be going to hell for this. Christine could see his doubt and his fear, but she couldn't let him feel it. She wanted this, and her heart knew it would make Erik hers. Her body would bare parts of Erik, and they could not be brought closer until they went to a marital bed.
Christine craved the notion, and in her rush, it all made sense.
"Mademoiselle, your lover will brutally murder me for this. Besides my own welfare, which does not seem to be a part of your cares, you could easily be infected, or pass out from the first touch of a blade or crack of a whip. You couldn't bare it-"
"I will not be told what I can bare!" Christine shouted, losing herself in lust and love for her Erik. He would be hers once again, no matter the lengths she should go. "And as for you safety, Monsieur, I care very greatly for it. Erik will never know I made you do this. I swear it upon every bone in my body. I will keep him at bay lest he discover our truth."
Christine saw the resolve in the Daroga break, and she felt triumphant.
"Mademoiselle, if you fall ill-"
"I will survive-"
"You could die!" Nadir pushed, grasping her hands and trying very hard not to simply kick her out for her notions.
"I have too much to live for, Monsieur. Erik is worth every pain you will grant me."
Nadir's resolve fell, and Christine was finally given her wish.
"The sword or the whip?" The man already seemed disgusted by his actions, despite them not even existing yet.
Christine thought hard, then asked him which Erik bore more of.
"Wounds from the whip, Mademoiselle. Those who held him captive were never rich enough to hold silver swords. Besides the Shah of Persia who wouldn't have touched him for anything. No, Erik was valuable to him."
Christine wasn't entirely sure what the man spoke of, but she nodded, following him as he left his sitting room. The manservant, Darius, looked as equally horrified as his master did, but Christine felt nothing but pride. Sure, fear rested somewhere in her mind, but it was outweighed in anticipation of Erik's acceptance.
"I do not want you to hesitate, Monsieur. Punish me as though I broke your most heinous law that was not deserving of death."
"Nearly everything was deserving of death according to the Shah, Mademoiselle. Everything but adultery. The women he would take as his own if they pleased him."
Christine didn't like the sound of that, but she let him lead her to an empty room, one that held nothing but it's carpet.
"Undress your back, Mademoiselle, and I will return with my whip."
Why he had one was of no question to her, but it was exactly why she sought him out. Christine knew that knowing Erik, he probably kept one on stock.
She fell her top, then pushed her skirt down just enough on her hips to release her corset, sliding down her chemise just after that. Her half-bare body felt comforted by the heat of the room, and Christine longed for her beauty to be tarnished. Her skin ached to hurt, and with her only memory of pain being the one time she slipped as a ballerina and sprained her ankle, she began to let fear settle in. It would keep her strong, the fear, as it was once what her poor Erik felt as a child. She was a grown woman! Christine could hardly think what a child would feel when someone did this to them!
Her hands covered her bosom when Nadir returned, looking all the more regretful. She saw the black leather in his hand, tight and harmful. Christine anticipated it when she heard the crisp material fall, and then rise with the Daroga's arm, but the blow never came.
"Mademoiselle, I cannot do this," he spoke firmly, the whip falling to the floor.
Christine took her curls and placed them over her chest so she could stand and face the man who'd made her a promise.
"You can! I have begged, and you have agreed!" She fought, "I beg again that you heed me, and follow through, or I will be tortured my whole lifetime! Erik cannot love me unless I no longer bare perfection! Whip me, Monsieur, or I will leave and beg a vagabond to complete the task!"
"No!" The man fought back just as valiantly, "You are broken, Mademoiselle Daae, your heart is ahead of your brain, and it would be sensible if you just waited for him to gain sense! Besides, out in the streets no one would allow you to stay and heal, and I certainly wouldn't care for you if it was another who harmed you purposefully."
Christine felt tears come back to her eyes, and she damned Monsieur Khan to whatever hell he believed in.
"I don't care!" She protested, gathering her clothing items and covering herself as a harlot would in the streets, "I'm going to find another then!"
The fury in Nadir's stop shook Christine, then his command gave her back her solid facade.
"On your knees, Mademoiselle. You will only endure this until you give way, and I will know when that is because I was supposed to do this up until that point, so those who truly did the torture could take their turn and sow results."
Christine nodded, placing her things back down and putting her hair in front of her. Her knees were eased to the floor, and she again heard the rise of the whip.
Leather felt awful on her skin. The pain seared her skin so quickly that she couldn't help but release a cry and fall forward with the ferocity of it. Christine hissed, the pain residual now, but still stronger than she had ever felt before.
"I will offer a cease-fire if you would like it, and I will happily nurse your wound now," Nadir spoke softly, the regret Christine was sure was on his face coming through like morning light through a pane of glass.
"No, do not stop," she breathed out, brushing away tears and closing her eyes, "Bring me to my breaking point, then scar me."
Nadir Khan felt like the scum of the earth as he did her bidding, and Christine would thank him a million times over once she stopped feeling sick to her stomach.
She was violently sick once, throwing up at the pain that he put on her back. It had only been seven lashes in, and Christine had not reached the point Nadir had spoken of. Of course she had forced him to continue, even as she was hunched over and in consistent tears from the pain.
Nine lashes more, and Christine fainted.
Nadir put her to rest on her stomach, allowing her back to breathe and allowing her modesty to remain intact as he wrapped her chest for her. He covered her wounds in a healing concoction from Persia, then allowed her the rest she deserved, regret welling deeply within him.
Christine awoke the next day in an unimaginable amount of pain. Her arms were practically glued to where they were, and her back felt as though someone had lit her on fire. Fire was not the answer, however, it was the whipping she had received from a now very loyal friend. She owed the man a debt she would never be able to repay, and yet she would try her hardest one day to do so. That would be when Erik was in her grasp.
She turned her head away from the wall of her guest bed, and looked over to find Nadir with his eyes peering at her, looking inquisitive.
"How do you feel."
"Awful," she replied truthfully, sixteen a number forever engrained into her mind.
"You would be feeling worse if I didn't have several different Persian concoctions anointing your back," he told her condescendingly.
"Thank you, Monsieur, but I will still have the scars, won't I?" She worried, and she saw Nadir well with disgust again.
"There is no avoiding them you foolish girl! There are sixteen lashes upon your back, and I was not merciful! Allah, I should be sent to the worst of hells!" He proclaimed, standing from his watchpost and nearly knocking the chair over.
"I still thank you, I now owe you a debt I do not think I can repay."
"Repay it with my life and I will thank you," he spoke sincerely, sitting back down as his temper was soothed. "Darius cannot look at me right now, though I hardly blame him. I punched my looking glass this morning."
He lifted his hand, the right one, and showed her the bruises peeking out from a well-done bandage.
"You don't deserve that, Monsieur Khan. Do not harm yourself because of me. Know that I am happy," Christine smiled, reaching for his hand and squeezing gently.
He could see why Erik loved her so dearly, and the thought eased his conscience for that small moment in time. Nadir didn't know what he would do to ease it the rest of his life, but he surely would try.
Christine began to scab over, in the passing of a few days time, and the scabs hurt worse than the open sores.
Nadir was an attentive man, and he was a wonderful caretaker. Day and night he seemed to ease his conscience by tending to Christine, and giving her all she needed. He even helped her bathe, but unfortunately it was a mistake they paid brutally for the next day.
The soprano took brutally ill, and she eventually fell into an unending rest. Her breaths still continued, but her wounds now leaked the whiteness of infection, and the red of blood. Nadir's hatred of himself returned as his knuckles healed without incident, yet the poor creature before him seemed to only get worse. Christine's wounds were red, and nasty, and Nadir was scared they would take away her life.
Seeing as she was his only salvation from a furious Erik, Nadir did his damndest to save the poor woman. He re-opened her wounds and cleaned them, applying every salve he ever learned to help her fight the battle she was hastily loosing.
It was a week later from her first fever that she opened her eyes and begged for water and food. It was three days later when she was healing again instead of regressing, and her scars were finally forming under new scabs. Nadir and Christine were equally thankful for the extra knowledge Darius had provided in her time of need, as half the salves were his idea.
It was three weeks after that when Christine was finally able to sit up and bear the pain of her back in an upright position. It was miraculous to Nadir, who hadn't seen anyone with such conviction to live before. He wondered at her, and he thanked her charm for taking it with more grace than he'd ever witnessed in his pitiful life.
They were joking about, as their banter generally allowed, when a knock came to the door, and Darius answered from the floor below.
In a language Christine could not understand, but knew was Nadir's home tongue, Darius called for him in what sounded like urgency. He quickly excused himself, and rushed down the stairs, leaving Christine alone to her bed, lying on her side in a happy state. She was dressed, and wore only the finest clothes so as to not aggravate her wounds, but she was still only barely getting around.
There was no need to tell the poor soprano that her opera ghost was the one who had knocked. He was glad he'd asked Darius to only speak to him in their tongue, it would have been disastrous for the young woman to know that he was there. She wasn't ready to see the masked-man, not yet. Especially not while Nadir was the reason she was recovering from wounds that would scar her forever.
Nadir got the cringe out of his system before he greeted his oldest friend.
"Christine is missing," the man spoke, not even a fake cordial greeting were his first words.
"And why are you bringing me such information?"
Nadir feigned ignorance, and he truly hoped his acting was good enough then to fool Erik. The man who lived off of music and performances, though, should be able to pick out a false truth from a mile away.
"You are my friend, and I am in distress. Christine must be somewhere, but even the wretched Vicomte doesn't know. You were a detective, couldn't you help me?" He wondered frantically.
Christine had spoke of Erik not wanting her, but why exactly was he searching her out?
"I thought you were done with Christine?" Nadir spoke, hoping he wouldn't jump to any conclusions about why he knew that, "You let her go with the Vicomte."
"I did," Erik confirmed, "But she came back to me, Nadir… and I sent her away. I spent weeks thinking about it, and the awful things I told her. I love her so much, Nadir, why did I think all the things she spoke were a lie?"
Guilt washed over Nadir. If only he had forced Christine to wait in her hasty decision to become like the eager man before him. Maybe she would still be perfect, and he wouldn't be putting his life on the line currently.
Erik filled the silence Nadir chose to take, "I went to see if she returned to the Vicomte as I commanded, but he hadn't seen her since he left for the sea and returned just a few days later to her gone. No one has seen her, not even the Giry's, who are her dearest friends."
The masked-man was in a panic, but not nearly as much as Nadir was in.
"I haven't been a part of the police in years, Erik, I wouldn't be of any use to you in finding her."
Erik cursed and pulled on his suit jacket. The month Christine had been in Nadir's care had brought a warmth to Paris, and Nadir wasn't sure how Erik wore so much clothing like he did and remained pristine.
"Nadir, we both know you never lose skills like that."
He sighed, hating to lie, but Erik was much too distracted by the missing status of Christine to notice Nadir's bad acting.
"I can't help you, Erik, I'm-"
Nadir was stopped by a hand in the air, stern and forceful. His features changed, and they were extremely betrayed. What could he be…
The soft gasp by the bottom of the stairs gave Nadir his answer.
Of course that little soprano would find her way down those stairs when Erik was sitting in the place where she'd begged for her torture that had nearly killed her! It was in the fire of Erik's eyes, and the lights of the sitting room that Nadir saw how awful she really looked, and how she was hunched over from the pain of her ordeal. The ordeal that he had put her through by his very own hands.
Erik shot up like a ghost from a grave, and Christine finally took her eyes from the steps she so diligently took herself down. She had the cane Nadir supplied, and the young brunette looked so very old in her sickness and weakened state.
Her face was lit with joy and fear, and Nadir felt like he was interrupting something most intimate between the two.
"Christine I-"
"Erik," she gasped, interrupting him with her weak words.
"Christine," he gushed, running towards her and grasping her face between gentle hands. "I am so sorry for turning you away, for turning your love away! I thought I'd never find you again, and that your disappearance would be the end of me if I couldn't accept your love that you so blatantly offered."
She was in tears, and Nadir felt the guilt still, but Christine looked excited even to ease him over the brutal blow that would be her scars.
They kissed, and it would have been a gloriously happy sight if Erik didn't immediately turn on Nadir the moment after and inquire as to why he hadn't told him of her presence there.
Nadir stuttered, and he felt floundered under the pressure of an intense mismatched gaze.
"I ran when you'd denied me, Erik," Christine stepped in, her hand pulling Erik's attention with her touch. "I got myself into some severe trouble, and came to your friend here in secret to heal the damage done to me."
Christine made Nadir sound like the savior of the situation, when in reality he was the assailant she'd 'fled' from.
"God," Erik replied to her, pressing his masked forehead to Christine's perfect one. "The torture you must have gone through, will you show me?"
"Later," Christine assured the man, and somehow he listened, nodding along in agreement. Nadir admired her hold on him.
"Well, Daroga, seeing as you've taken such good care of her, I'll relieve you of your lies."
Nadir felt the relief of that, and he thanked Erik for stopping by, letting them go and decided he may want to pack a bag to flee with just in case Christine's resolve fell, or Erik realized exactly what happened.
The catacombs were warm and clean, and far more homely than Christine had ever imagined they would be. She was carried there, in the arms of her love, who made it seem like no problem at all. Christine still limped, however, with her cane so she wouldn't fall under the pain of her back. The twisted and marred skin would soon be Erik's to see, and something in her anticipated it. He wouldn't ever think her too perfect to keep, and his doubt of her needing the Vicomte would go with it as well. She felt only benefit could come from her doings, but she remained blind to the truth in what she really did.
The young soprano never thought to the fact that one of the reasons Erik loved her so was because she was perfect. He didn't hate her for it, but Christine was naive, and was in love so deeply, that none of it mattered but the words he had said prior to his acceptance. He'd made her own flawless skin a curse, and she no longer possessed the curse that had once torn them apart.
Their passions were unique, and Christine bestowed upon Erik the only thing he'd never gotten from life. Her affections were all his, and their affections led them straight to her room in the catacombs. Erik had carried her there, leaving her cane and shoes in the parlor. To no surprise, the pink and white room sparkled as though it were cleaned every day, and her bed corner was upturned as though he expected her to be staying there that evening.
The way Erik looked at her was thrilling, and she took it in with much appreciation when he settled her down to sit on the bed. His jacket fell from his shoulders when Christine eased it down, and her loose blouse, unaccompanied by a corset due to her back, was gone as well. She shook when the damp air hit her wounds, and his hands graced one of her lashes.
"Christine?" He questioned, his masked face now curious as he knelt before her, and his desire for her muted with her look of pain.
"I told you I got myself into trouble before I ended up with Monsieur Khan."
He nodded, diligently awaiting more of her story.
"I said I would show you as well," she conceded. Her hands were on his face, the mask mildly annoying in her grasp.
Christine slipped the barrier away, and felt her lover's hands squeeze her sides in shame.
"You need not worry my love, I simply want your view unobstructed."
She began to shed her top, the bindings over her chest and back becoming visible when her chemise was shimmied to her waist, bundled at the top of her skirts. The cloths were next, and as those fell away, remnants of blood and salves coming with them, Erik's eyes opened in horror.
The man raced up, mask forgotten, as he rushed to sit behind Christine and aid her in removing the binds. His gasps were full of anger, but his touches were light upon her scabbed and quite painful back. The wounds were closing, the flesh white around them, and the dark process of healing looking much worse than it should have.
"They were infected," he deduced first, and Christine turned back to look at him, but she reeled in pain, and settled for just nodding.
"Monsieur Khan was dutiful when I fell prey to the fever."
"I'm sure he was," Erik mulled behind her, and his voice drifted into thought as his lithe fingers graced her back. She hissed, but Erik simply lightened the touch so Christine could feel the comfort.
"What happened to you, my darling Christine?" The man breathed aloud, placing a kiss to the back of her neck.
"I found myself lost, and this man captured me just after I'd left you. Apparently I had wandered upon his property, punishable by whip." She tried to feign tears, but Erik's light touches of adoration made it hard not to shiver and want the man more desperately. It wouldn't have worked, however, as she would have to eventually lay down or bend, and Christine could hardly stand with her wounds.
"They're horrendous… such a monster to do such a thing." Erik mulled his words, and his fingers continued to lightly trace the outlines of the pattern upon her back.
Christine felt loved in his adoration, and her back had chills running up it. Though they hurt, they were of such bliss that she didn't notice him tracing the same pattern over and over.
"Christine…" his words now sounded suspicious, "The marks of this whip are… coincidental, I must say."
Fear struck Christine from a red blush to a white visage, and she felt very lucky that Erik could not see her features. She wouldn't let Nadir take the fall for her wants, and she wouldn't let Erik push her away again. It wasn't happening.
"Coincidental?" She echoed, shaky breaths betraying everything.
"They're patterns I would recognize anywhere, my dear… they're… familiar. Do you know your assailant?" He wondered, curiosity sounding like a manipulative weapon off his tongue.
"No, I didn't know him. The moment I received my punishment I fled, finding all the strength I had left to acquire Monsieur Khan's assistance." She hoped mentioning him would keep him from suspicion.
"You wouldn't have had any strength after this," he replied hoarsely, hands coming over her shoulders to give her shoulders a firm grasp. It wasn't harmful, but it did retain its frightening hold. "This was executed with utter precision… the man must have been practised in whipping. Practice I recognize."
"Erik-" Christine sighed, but was interrupted almost immediately.
"Do not cover up for him! Why would he do this to you, Christine? Did he think his friendly fealty to me made him obligated to hurt the only thing I love? Was it because you tarnished any emotion I had? Or did the insane Daroga finally snap!"
Erik was menacing as he stood from the bed and jostled Christine painfully, though he didn't see his results. She was in forced tears, attempting to wonder why the Daroga would ever do such a thing to her body when he knew of Erik's adoration for it! She begged and pleaded for his belief, but again Erik only heard lies. This time, however, Christine had to admit that his accusation of a falsehood was correct.
"You claim he only helped you, but it must have been Darius' pity on you for his master's faults!" Erik accused, and in the anger Christine saw in his face, she broke.
The only thing she had wanted was for him to be in her arms, or for herself to lie within his musical embrace, but he was frustrated and wouldn't even touch her! Christine wanted him, and he wanted revenge. She had done so much for him, and there was no denying it any longer.
"I wanted it!" Christine bit at him forcefully, his motions stopped as though someone had frozen time, "I couldn't stand being perfect, and you being completely flawed in everything but your music! I hated myself for every little perfect part of me, and I wanted something to match you! Erik, I love you so dearly that I could no longer be turned away, so I changed for you," she admitted.
Christine took the adrenaline from yelling at her lover to stand, grabbing his strong hand for support. Despite the rage and sheer surprise she could feel emanating from him, he held her tightly so that she wouldn't fall.
"You tarnished your perfection so that I would love you?" He asked bluntly, not looking at her, his head face forward, the marred side of his face completely visible.
"Yes," she stated proudly.
Erik turned on his heels, anger and sadness his only emotions.
"You daft girl, if you think that you had to do that for me to allow you to love me, then I do not deserve your love! If it had been true I would not have loved you! You must have thought I detested your beauty, when it is one of the many reasons I love you, you ignorant angel!"
Christine wasn't sure if she was being insulted or not, but she took his loving hold as that he wasn't.
"Erik, I just wanted you to love me…" she stuttered over a pout, "I would have done anything."
He ran a thumb over her cheekbone, shaking his head, as he pressed their forehead together, Christine gripping his hips for the life of her to make sure she was standing for this moment.
"I will always love you, my angel of music, for you were always mine to love, no matter how you looked."
They were both crying when their lips met. Christine allowed that wonderful feeling to crawl over her of their hearts intertwining as one. She was in a pure state of bliss that could truly be found nowhere else on the planet.
"I love you, Erik, and I'm sorry for this. But you must understand that Nadir only did as I begged him to do. I was desperate for you, my love, and I nearly forced him to appease me."
"He agreed, Christine! And complied," Erik sighed, his discontempt for the Daroga suddenly coming back in full fury.
Christine sat down in her weakness, her lover kneeling before her again.
"Do nothing of it, or I will be unforgiving, Erik. He saved my life."
"He was the one who put it in danger in the first place," Erik whispered, feeling helpless that he couldn't reep revenge upon he who had harmed her.
"Just hold me," she begged, with the warmth of her bare, upper body against his. "Please."
Christine felt his resolve break, and she grinned happily when arms fell low around her waist and squeezed.
"As long as I get to heal your wounds until you forget they are there. I will not have you hurting any longer," Erik asserted, their eyes meeting happily.
Christine nodded, joyful tears falling down her perfect face.
She didn't miss her perfection at all, and when the wounds healed, it only made her more glad she did it. The scars were beautiful, and in time, they would provide wonderful stories of her fight for the man she loved because all Christine had wanted was to be loved by the one who she herself loved most dearly.