Chapter 3: Christine's POV

I woke up and you weren't beside me.

I raised my head and saw you asleep on your piano, your head gingerly resting on the middle C. I smiled and pulled a blanket around your shoulders. You looked so different when you slept, almost as though you had never gone through the pains of humiliation, rejection, and hate.

I crossed over to your tiny kitchen and pulled out a piece of bread, nibbling at it casually as I slowly picked things up and put them in place.

I smiled when I saw a picture of me, onstage at the Opera House. It was the first night I had taken over the main role, and I remember how scared I felt until I heard you whisper in my ear to stay calm.

Swept up in memories of such sweet melodies, I didn't notice you sneak up behind me. "Good morning, Christine," you smiled at me from behind and kissed my neck.

I moved my arm to embrace you, and then spun out of your hold. "Would you like some breakfast?"

"Yes, please," you smiled.

I looked in your pantry and laughed. You only had two loaves of bread, an old block of cheese covered in mold, and a bunch of bananas that were relatively fresh

Holding it at a distance, I wrenched the cheese out of the cabinet and threw it out the kitchen window onto the street. "What are you doing? That was perfectly good cheese!" You yelled at me, running over to the window next to me. "That cheese was mold covered and disgusting! There was no way you could possibly eat that!" I looked at your bony frame. "Erik, have you even been eating?" You turned away from me, facing the piano. The gesture was an obvious no, though you lied and told me you had.

I wrapped my arms around your neck from behind and whispered in your ear, "You need to take better care of yourself." You rested your head on my arm and sighed. "I... I know, Christine. I just get so... swept up in the melodies for hours that I forget to feed myself." Your stomach growled, and I laughed. "That," I poked your stomach, "is the universal sign for hunger. Come on. Let's go to the market." You tried to plead with me not to go, but I pulled you along with me out into the fresh morning light and down the cobblestone streets to the local market. "Christine, I don't know about this..." you were nervous, as you always were, about the daylight and what society would think of your mysterious mask.

"Come on, Erik, it's alright," I pulled you along to a fruit stand and we picked out some kiwis and blueberries (our favorite fruits) to take home.

I led you to a dessert stand, full of pies and cakes and all sorts of treats. You were overwhelmed at first, and I laughed as you struggled to pick something.

"Don't laugh, Christine! This is hard work!" But you were laughing too, and that was something I rarely saw.

I dragged you to a butcher's stand, a bakery, and a fishery, where I got you enough food to feed a crowd.

You liked the butcher's shop the best. You thought it strange that someone could be paid for slaughtering living beings. Jokingly, I told you that should be your new American job: Erik Destler, Butcher.

You laughed and swept me up in your arms.

"I love you," you whispered in my ear.

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself in America?" I whispered in yours.

"Promise,"you whispered back.

"Then I love you, too," I smiled, and kissed you.