Author's Note:Welcome back again! I'm hoping everyone is finding this piece satisfactory so far. I'm hoping what I'm doing here progresses the story well enough to keep the readers' attention without either dragging or rushing. The title of this chapter also comes from lyrics to the song "Drowning Lessons" by My Chemical Romance. Remember to share your thoughts, and enjoy!

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Chapter 3 – Your Twisted Shell

Christine

The carriage rocked and rattled ominously on the uneven country roads as Madame Giry drove through the darkness back to Paris. Although we were side-by-side, we rode on in complete silence; I had no words left for anyone for the moment, my thoughts focused and oddly determined. I had been expecting just that reaction, had known all along that I wouldn't be met with open arms into the strong embrace I so desperately longed for. Still, even in convincing myself to be realistic, I was hurt by the sound of the slamming door just the same. You're not welcome here, his low, steady voice echoed in my mind. He looked me in the eyes as he said it, seemed to be determined to sever the last bonds that remained between us. I had to let that thought go if I had a chance to see this through to the end; somehow I couldn't completely believe that this was over for any of us. No, he would put up a fight, I had known that all along. He felt cornered, his mind so full of darkness and despair by then; I knew he wasn't going to let his guard down, not without some effort on my part.

I wouldn't let his clouded judgment deter me from going to him once more the following night – and every night if need be – trying to compel him to listen to me, to give me answers. If it ended with us proclaiming our love, then all the better. But I knew, still resolved to the possibility, that even if this fateful turn of events would be the end of us, that I would have at least have been given the chance to know for myself exactly how it all turned out. I wouldn't be left to wonder about the endless possibilities and long for absolution, wouldn't have to face my own end thinking I hadn't done all that I could to give him the love he needed and that I longed to return to him from my own poor, sincere heart. If all I could have from him were my memories of a brief time long since passed, then that would be enough – it would be all I deserved after all I had done to those I loved the most.

~~oOo~~

The following night, I set out on my own and pushed through the blackness of midnight on a solitary mare, knowing she could propel us faster unhindered by any cart or carriage. My sense of urgency grew with each passing mile; the look in his eyes from the night before stood out in my mind's eye like a terrible omen. The emotions that lie just beneath the surface of his guarded expression spoke volumes, haunting in their depth and intensity, swirling in his hurt expression as though twisting spikes through his very soul. I knew the longer it took for me to get through to him, the farther he would fall away from any chance of rescue. The thought terrified me; after everything Madame Giry had told me, my greatest fear grew to be the vision of finding him alone in the house, his gun still gripped in his cold hands as he lay lifeless before me. I tried to push the horrid thought away as my horse panted on through the night, but I could not entirely rid myself of the fear. He was close to his breaking point, and God knew how much he had been forced to endure to get there. He hadn't much strength left to give himself, no matter how hard he fought for it. I couldn't lose him, not that way.

For three nights, in spite of Meg and Madame Giry vehemently protesting my mad flight into darkness, I made the long journey to Erik's secluded house. Each night was the same, nearly down to the last detail – I pounded away on the door as if in a frenzy, calling out to him and begging admittance, and each time he opened the door only slightly and refused my company, cutting off all communication before I could say another word. I knew he wasn't reveling in that act of rejection; each night his eyes said what he could not, please stop this, leave me, just forget me. But I refused to abandon my pursuit – if anything I continued to go back if only to prove to myself that he had made it through another day. Even just that brief glimpse of him standing tall and unharmed was enough to calm me for a time. But by the fourth night my patience grew very brittle; I was so frustrated by his rejection that I was more aggressive than I had intended to be, and when he opened the door yet again, I rather unceremoniously shouldered my way past him.

"Do you mind?" he said, quite shocked at my sudden display of rudeness, "I believe I've been making my point quite clear, mademoiselle. I don't want you here. I honestly cannot understand why you're insisting upon invading my solitude, but it needs to cease."

"No," I said as I looked him squarely in the eyes, "I'm not leaving here, Erik. I'll keep coming back until you speak to me, I promise you that. You owe me that much."

~~oOo~~

Erik

It's a strange feeling, wanting to die. After spending so many years fighting to give my life some semblance of peace and normalcy, it seems my efforts have been in vain. I don't want to fight anymore; taking my own life just seems like the next most practical step. The gun is cold and heavy in my hands, its weight taking on a power of its own. One shot, one bullet aimed just so, and I could be done with it. But I cannot make the next and most final move. And that's what strikes me as so strange – this feeling of such utter hopelessness that I feel physical pain at the idea of having to carry on, holding my ticket out of this world freely in my hand, yet every time I try to raise it to my temple, I am frozen on the spot. I cannot do it. Oh, the desire is there, but the fear outweighs that need for eternal escape.

I recall the priest from my childhood discussing the matter; there is no way around it, suicide is a sin that cannot be absolved. We are simply supposed to let our Father give us the comfort we need until He decides it is time to depart from this world and travel to the next. It is supposed to be a benevolent notion, that somehow even the pain of our darkest moments being acknowledged and quietly comforted by God is supposed to bring some sort of redemption, but it stings me just the same when I think of that lesson. Whether I can still trust in a master that I've felt long since abandoned by, benevolent or otherwise, I cannot take the risk of having to endure an eternity of torture. I would be trading one life of pain for another far worse, all in the pursuit of being released from the cage of suffering that is my existence. All I long for is peace, but I can take no such idea into my arms of my own choosing – the choice is not mine.

God is cruel.

But even so, the feeling, the strange and alluring urge to take my own life persists, and I am left once again at a standstill; I cannot bear to stay, I fear going out by my own hand. It truly scares me how bad it's gotten, how deeply this despair runs this time around. I'm no stranger to the feeling, but each time it comes up on me, it's worse than the last. The more it worsens, the more I want out – a very vicious cycle indeed. The demons within me and the ghosts of my past continue to come back at me with a vengeance, and I fear they are closer to their victory than ever before. Whatever it is that's wrong with me, no relief seems to be in sight, nothing calms my troubled mind or numbs the pain for any substantial amount of time. What I thought might finally do so was only a fleeting thing; the love I sought to take me out of Hell only proved to sink me deeper into its flames.

But there's no way out of this. I put the gun away once more; I'm sure the debate will continue on tomorrow evening, and all after that until something finally gives, but for now I'm too exhausted to do anything but concede.

I sighed and suddenly felt very foolish; once the worst of the pain had passed, I was left once again with a sense of shame and regret. It all felt so hopelessly melodramatic, and I certainly would rather have skipped the whole ordeal altogether. I would much rather set myself up to fester in the aftermath of my most recent actions at the opera house without all of this horrible melancholy to boot.

It was past midnight when I glanced at the clock. She would be calling for me again any moment now, if the past three nights were to be relied upon as a sign of things to come. I loved her for her persistence, yet resented her trying to force her presence in the first place. I still had no desire for learning the truth behind her coming here; to learn the truth, I'm sure, would be far too painful, and I am entirely unprepared to add another event to my list of woes.

I hear the pounding on the door before long and take a deep breath, steeling myself for the words that I know I must say to her, if only to make her realize that she's not wanted here. She can assume what she wants of my meaning; I simply don't want any more pain.

~~oOo~~

It was hard enough to have her so near as she ushered me aside – the contact might have been just enough to thaw my heart had I not been so convinced that she only came meaning to do me harm. But when she told me what had happened these last several weeks, her long nights of contemplation and her ultimate decision to leave a life of guaranteed comfort, I felt veritably ill. No, this was all wrong – she was being entirely childish, jumping so hastily into a situation that could only serve to break us even further. She wanted answers, wanted to make confessions, but as much as I wanted to simply hold her and be grateful to be in her presence at long last, I refused to let my guard down. On top of everything else, my pride was writhing within me. I had done the gentlemanly thing once she made it clear that she was not leaving then, playing the good host by offering her a warm seat by the fire, but as she told her story, I wanted nothing more than to take back what little hospitality I could offer.

"I should think you would have learned to stay away from me by now," I said bitterly when she had finished speaking, "I don't know what you expect to achieve in coming to me now."

"I've already told you," she retorted impatiently with narrowed eyes, "I need answers. There are things I need to tell you, but I need my answers first. Please, if you can only do me one last kindness now, let it be this."

I exhaled in a huff of anger, "We owe each other nothing."

"You can't mean that. I should say you at least owe me a great deal."

"And you?" I snapped raising my eyebrow in a challenging expression.

"I owe you the respect of telling you the truth. At least, that's all I'm willing to give you for the moment should you continue to fight me on this."

"And what is that, exactly, this truth you're holding onto so dearly? I'm not going to sit here and grovel and bear my soul to you in the hopes that what you have to say might redeem me," I spat, "I will give you no more fodder for this game."

"What makes you think I'm playing at anything, Erik?"

"Hasn't that been what you've been doing all along?" I whispered viciously, and continued without thinking, "It's been that way since the beginning, hasn't it? You aimed to use me, to use anyone you could, to take care of you. Stupid, foolish child, I should say, yet it was I that acted foolishly in believing that you truly might have cared for me."

"How dare you? If that's all you think of me, then I might as well go back to Madame Giry's home right now. You're obviously too pigheaded to see that I did nothing but practically worship you, thought of you as so awe-inspiring and powerful that I was lucky to merely hear your voice. I never intended to use you," she stood up and I mirrored the gesture, "If you won't give me the courtesy of hearing me out without insulting my character, then I will leave to Madame without hesitation."

"Please, my darling," I bit back sarcastically, "Do that. Go to wherever and to whomever you please. It's no longer my concern, I assure you. Go to Madame, go back to the De Chagney estate, damn it, you could off and find yourself a place in a brothel for all I care."

She slapped me then, and with enough force to turn my head and leave a stinging sensation behind where her hand had made contact with my skin. My temper flaring dangerously once more, I grabbed her wrist, trying with all the consciousness I could muster to not hold her too tightly.

"Enough of this!" I yelled, "You need to leave. We cannot continue this farce. I cannot be responsible for my actions if you continue to push me, Christine."

"I'm not leaving," she said with deathly evenness.

"Excuse me?" I let her wrist out of my grip, tossing her hand from me in an effort to convey that I wanted to discard her from my heart.

"I am not leaving here now. And you will not be permitted to speak to me that way ever again," she yelled, "You will not hurt me with your words. I will not allow you to build a wall of spite to deter me anymore. We've gone too long under that regime, the pretense of the past needs to end now."

I took a deep breath.