Chapter Three: Flood
A/N: I'm so sorry that this has taken so long to upload! Someone accidentally threw away a great deal of my papers, which included half of this story, three chapters of "Voice of an Angel," and part of another story I was in the process of writing. I've just now been able to write everything again.
One other note: Some of you have very understandably asked if Christine is dying. No, she is not . . . Erik is planning on sending her away so that she can live a normal life. I should have this story finished very soon! Please review! :)
Erik
I closed my eyes as I reveled in the sound of my wife's voice. We were sharing the kind of moment that I had only dreamed about not two years earlier. Yet, my mind would never allow me to be fully happy and at peace. I had to fight a rising feeling of dread. How few moments like this one would I be allowed before Christine left? How was I ever going to survive without her? I was dead when she found me, and I would be dead again once she left.
I began to feel desperate and sang with her because I needed to hear our voices together. I needed to know that she was still with me.
Suddenly, I noticed that Christine wasn't singing anymore.
I opened my eyes frantically and saw that she was still standing beside me. However, the relief I felt dwindled away when I saw the pained expression on her face. Instantly, I felt concerned.
"Is everything alright, darling?" I asked gently.
She nodded but didn't meet my eyes.
"Would you like to begin the song again?" I pressed.
She shook her head. "No, I . . . I'm very tired. I think . . . I think I'll retire for the evening." Then, she turned quickly and left. A few moments later, I heard the bedroom door slam.
I sat, stunned and feeling rejected. Had I done something to upset her? I tried to think of anything I had said or done to offend her, but I thought of nothing to merit such behavior.
While I was wrestling with either staying in the music room or going to my wife, I heard the sound of her crying. All of my uncertainty vanished and was replaced by worry. I couldn't bear to hear her sobbing, and I knew that something was terribly wrong. So, I buried all feelings of rejection and hurt and went into the bedroom to comfort her.
o0o
Christine
I should have known that singing with Erik was a bad idea.
Erik's voice has always had a large amount of power over me. Though his unnatural voice had frightened me when he first sang to me as an angel, I had eventually fallen in love with it. In time, I grew to love the man who possessed the voice as well, but his voice . . . his voice drew me to him like a drug that I couldn't escape even if that was my desire.
Only one month was left to be with him.
His voice joined mine, echoing the sorrow within me. Tears came to my eyes. I couldn't bear the sound of his voice weeping . . . he mustn't cry . . .
"Is everything alright, darling?" Erik asked.
Startled, I realized that I had stopped singing. I nodded, unable to look him in the eyes, for I knew that he would see the despair in them.
"Would you like to begin the song again?" He still spoke in the same gentle tone, but I could sense his worry. I had to leave before he knew.
I shook my head. "No, I . . . I'm very tired. I think . . . I think I'll retire for the evening." Without waiting for a reply, I turned and all but ran out of the music room. Once I was out of his sight, I ran into the bedroom, closed the door, and lunged onto the bed, choking back my sobs.
I was furious with myself. How could I have been so strong for so long only to break down now? I had sworn to never beg again after that first night.
When Erik had first told me that I must leave him after my eighteenth birthday, I had pleaded with him to let me stay. I had told him over and over again that I didn't want to leave, but he thought it was unfair for me to spend my days with him and never be given the chance to have a normal life.
The irony of the situation was the fact that deep down, I knew that I would never be suited for a "normal life" again. The truth is that I have never been suited for a normal life, even without Erik's influence. He just made me realize exactly how unsuited I was.
I didn't know Erik had entered the room until I felt his hand on my shoulder. "Christine? Please . . . tell me what's wrong," he begged quietly.
At first, I didn't answer. Though he asked what was wrong, I wanted to know what was right. Why did he want me to leave now after everything he had done to gain my love?
His hand touched my back. "Please, Christine," he whispered.
Sighing, I turned. "I can't be strong anymore, Erik," I told him, broken. "I can't pretend anymore."
I suppose he understood exactly what I meant, for he wrapped his arms around me and simply held me. I cried into his shoulder, finally releasing the flood that I had been fighting back for so long.
Only a little time is left for me to be with Erik . . . so precious little time. I can no longer hold back the flood that's rushing around me; it can't be stopped. Tonight, I don't care about being strong. I just want to finally cry.
o0o
Erik
I can see the pain in Christine's eyes. The poor child; she believes she wants to stay. But she doesn't know what she's saying. I should have never been so selfish as to demand her love. Now, all I can do is try to make amends for what I've done to her by giving her freedom. I won't lie; I can't live without her. Yet, I love her enough to do right by her and let her go.
