Chapter Four

Foolish Reverie

Whatever I wish? There were so many things that I wished for, and I knew very well that Christine would not be willing to grant them if I had the audacity to ask her. I shook my head, silently cursing myself for the thoughts that were playing through my mind in rapid succession, returning my mind to the task at hand.

"Yes, that is what I wish," I told her with all the equanimity that I could muster. I guided her hurriedly to the center of the room, quickly withdrawing my hand from hers the moment that she was in place. "I wish to draw your portrait. The lighting is best here." As I helped to adjust her into a suitable pose, I was well aware of the fact that my hands were still trembling and that beads of sweat had begun to break out on my palms and torso. Those feelings had left Christine; that much was evident. However, I was still feeling their effects blatantly. I could only hope that she did not hate me for my actions a few minutes before. Keeping my gaze lowered, I collected a few candles and arranged them on various objects near the spot where she stood.

At last, I took a seat—drawing pad and lead in hand—and allowed myself to look at her. One glance was all that was necessary. As my eyes ran up the perfection of her form in meticulous scrutiny, my heart began to pound wildly, and all the effects of a few minutes before returned in full force. It was then that I realized my grave mistake. What was I doing? In drawing Christine's portrait, I would be observing her for several hours, studying every detail, every curve of her exquisite body. That was the last thing that I needed to be doing at the moment… not after the flame that I had so imprudently ignited. Forcing my eyes to the floor, I swallowed hard. This was insane. Insane! The distance between us was worth nothing against the powerful longings that I had fostered. I was only fanning the flames by drawing her, studying her. But my pride would not allow me to back down now.

Gradually, my eyes traveled up to her face. The subtle smile on Christine's lips caught me somewhat off guard. Surely she could not have enjoyed those wonderful moments as much as I did. Perhaps… But by now she had already put all thoughts of that sweet pleasure behind her, for as our eyes met, her expression showed only regret and a vague appearance of panic. I must put those thoughts aside as well. She was not yet ready. There was something else in those eyes… something that made me think of that boy. Christine was thinking of him. The very thought of Chagny quickly banished any remaining effects of the time that I had held Christine. She was still in love with that boy. Letting out a weary sigh, I began sketching furiously with cool, professional indifference.

There I stood with nothing to do but think. What is Raoul doing right now? Whatever he was doing, I wanted to be with him. For what seemed like hours, I stood still while Erik drew. Soon I became fatigued with my position and I spoke.

"Are you almost done? I'm becoming tired."

"Tired is it, Darling?" I questioned, raising my one good eyebrow as I glanced up from my feverish work. Christine did look a bit fatigued. "We mustn't have that, now must we? I could tell you that I will hurry, but after all, you cannot rush art, my angel."

My gaze returned to the large sheet of paper in my lap holding a full-length drawing of Christine and I smiled, lovingly stroking the paper. This drawing represented all of my dreams of Christine, as did my other similar works. Those sketches of my beloved would never hurt me, as she could, by loving someone else. They belonged fully and completely to me, for they were the creations of my imagination. I quickly brought my mind back to the present, forcing myself to avoid the blissful dream-like world in which I so enjoyed to live… a world where only Christine and I existed… a world where music reigned and love was triumphant and everlasting. I hated to think of what—no, of whom—she had been dreaming for those hours of drawing while I fantasized on the subject of our future. My shoulders stiffened.

"The sketch will be finished in a little while, I think." Without another word, I returned to shading the lower portion of her skirt, my eyes drifting repeatedly between Christine and her portrait. After a few minutes, I was quite subdued again. I could spend the entire day producing sketch after sketch if she would only allow me to do so. The work relaxed me, acting as a tonic to my weary mind and pulling me into a sweet state of euphoria. However, I saw that Christine was growing increasingly uncomfortable. "You may move your upper body," I told her calmly, "but please take care that your skirt stays just as it is. If you move it in any way, the shadows will reverse and I will be required to begin the entire sketch again. If there is anything that you need, I will be more than willing to get it for you…. Some water perhaps?"

I stared at him in cold silence. I didn't want water. I wanted to get this over with. Not only was I tired, the fact that his eyes were constantly searching up and down my body, made me uncomfortable. His gaze seemed to penetrate right through my dress.

I sighed. It must be the afternoon by now. The only way to tell the time of day in this place was by clock. There were no windows to let in the warm, bright sunlight. Would I ever again feel the comforting rays of the sun on my face? Surely sometime he would let me return the surface for some fresh air. There was no chance he would allow me to go alone. Even if he did, he would follow me closely. There was no escaping him. I didn't think anything but death could separate Erik from me.

My legs ached from standing for such a long time. Why isn't he finished yet? I became increasingly irritated. My worn-out nerves, tired from the past events, could not hold up much longer. When getting a portrait done, there is nothing to do but stand there and think. I was sick of thinking… sick of thinking of Raoul and what he might be doing right now. If I thought anymore, I would go crazy. I had my fill of this. I didn't care if he was done or not. I was done. I sat myself wearily in a nearby chair.

"I can't stand up anymore. You'll have to finish your drawing another time. I've had all I can take." I looked at him with indifference.

I looked up suddenly at the swishing of her gown as she took a seat, moving before I could voice a single word of protest. I watched her in wide-eyed silence for several moments, dumbstruck by her deliberate act of disobedience. Christine had never defied me before. Why would she sit now when I had explicitly told her that I would be done in a few minutes? Now my drawing was spoiled. She had done it to spite me. I was hurt by her willful rebellion, and I allowed my eyes to show my distress, knowing that she hated to see sorrow in my eyes. Then anger began to set in.

"You can't stand up anymore? You've had all you can take?" I questioned sharply. "Tell me Christine, are you the only one who you ever think about? Well, you have spoiled my drawing! I cannot finish it another time because it is ruined! Do you understand me? Ruined!" A hazy mist swam before my eyes. My heart thundered, but this time with emotions entirely different from the ones that I had experienced that morning.

Tearing the picture in two, I stood and approached her, furiously casting the useless paper aside. "How dare you defy me, you ungrateful little wench! You had better be glad that I love you, though sometimes that very fact makes me question my sanity. Not many confront me and live, you know. You wanted to sit, did you?" I growled. "Well, my love, if you like that chair so damn much then I will not stop you from sitting in it. In fact, you can sit there for the rest of the day for all I care."

Pressing one hand against her thin midsection, I held Christine to the chair. Our faces were only a whisper apart as I stared into her eyes, allowing my breath to pass over her face as I reached to the floor and gathered up the long rope that was normally used to tie back the curtain, the golden cord which now lay coiled before us like a serpent poised to strike. At the sight of the rope, she struggled, but not nearly hard enough to make the fight difficult. In a few minutes I had her securely fastened to the chair, the rope encircling her body several times and her hands tied behind her back. I stepped back and admired my work with a slight nod of satisfaction.

"Are you happy now, my love?" A bitter smile crossed my lips. "I do hope you do not tire of that position as quickly as your last one. After all, it is a comfortable chair, is it not?"

"Perfect," I sneered, my voice filled with sarcasm and anger. "I would take this comfort before any comfort of yours." Looking at him with a gaze of steel, I added, "You can tie me up, but you'll never tie my heart." This being said, I stared straight past him, biting down on my lower lip to keep myself from crying. Then muttering under my breath:

"I'll never love you."

Christine was staring past me as if I did not exist. I had isolated her, turned her heart cold to my love, but my rage and unyielding pride would not allow me to admit this inevitable defeat. I had heard her murmured words, and she knew it. She had intended that I hear them. They were a threat, a pitiful threat, and therefore they won her no sympathy. Her heartless comment only intensified my furry.

Letting out a caustic laugh, I tightened the cord that held her in place. Then I began to circle the chair, watching her every move.

"Oh, you will Christine," I corrected her self-assuredly, although I scarcely had reason to believe my own statement. I continued to move around her place of captivity, my circles of advancement growing smaller successively. "I promise that you will learn. It is only a matter of time, a matter of how quickly you learn to love me."

In a short time, I discontinued my pacing, coming to stand in front of her and looking down into her eyes. Those cobalt spheres that had once been filled with such pity now glowed with the fire of hatred, yet in spite of her loathing for me, I could not help but think how beautiful her eyes were. However, all thoughts of her loveliness quickly faded. The longer I looked at her, the more I was convinced that there was something triumphant in her gaze. Christine knew that she had won. She may have won this battle, but I would win the next.

"You will learn to love me, Christine!" I snarled. With that assurance, I spun on my heel and strode hastily away from her, thrusting back the curtain that stood in my way. Suddenly, a thought occurred to me. I knew why she was so confident. I stopped and turned to her again.

"And I will never let you free," I told her in an austere tone, stepping back into the small room. "Only death can part us, my love. I know the reason that you decided to put off our wedding. You see, you can never hide anything from your Erik. Somehow, you have convinced yourself that one day I will come to you, begging and scraping on my knees for your love, and you will refuse. Then I will be helpless and forced to say, 'I love you so much, Christine, that I have decided to send you back to Chagny so that he can marry you, and he can take you far, far away, and I will never see you again.'" I shook my head as angry tears began to form in my eyes. "Somehow in that infantile, impractical mind of yours you still think that life is a fairytale and you, the perfect little princess, will live happily ever after, that you and your little prince will be together forever. Well, my dear, I am truly sorry to shatter that foolish reverie, but life is not a fairytale. Life is hell on earth!"

That said, I left the room; there was nothing more to discuss. I closed the curtain behind me, not wishing to even glance at Christine anymore for quite some time. Letting out a heavy sigh, I sank into the divan and began to massage my painfully clenched jaw and throbbing temples. I had a pounding headache. That was quite usual. I was accustomed to such headaches whenever I had undergone one of my fits of rage.

In a few minutes, I had managed to alleviate the sharp pain in my head, though nothing could banish the pain in my heart. The soft sound of weeping echoed in my ears. I would not hear her crying now. Somehow, I had to block out that sound. I rose and moved quickly to my organ, selecting the one remaining score of Don Juan Triumphant. The fierce melodies and abnormal harmonies of my music soon filled the entire house, enveloping me in their familiar caress, shielding me from the grief of Christine's tears.

Tears of anger and weariness rolled down my cheeks. His words cut me sharply, and even now I could still hear them ringing in my ears. "Only death can part us..." My mind refused to believe what my heart knew to be true. He would always be here... inside my mind.

The sound of the organ reached my ears. How could he play when he knew he had hurt me? More tears of frustration blinded my vision. I hated him.

It wasn't working. My playing had always seemed to take my mind off of anything that I wished for it to in the past. Yet it seemed now that even if I played the clock round I could not expel her voice from my mind. "I'll never love you…. I'll never love you…. I'll never love you…." I heard it over and over again until I thought that I would be driven out of my mind. Although I was playing quite loudly, I could distinctly hear the sound of weeping somewhere in the back of my mind. Those tears were like knives to my heart. What had I done? Why was it that I always seemed to hurt those who I loved most?

I glanced down at my hands and found that I could not play another note. My fingers refused to move with their usual dexterity; they were worthless and numb, nearly as numb as my mind felt at the moment. My heart, however, was far from being anesthetized. It pounded out a painfully irregular rhythm, echoing the grief and regret of my very soul. A few horrendously sour chords sounded beneath my fingers before I rose in a flood of hot, frustrated tears.

As I stumbled away from my beloved instrument, the toe of my boot hit sharply against something, and then a small stack of papers skittered across the floor. I bent to pick up the score, gathering the sheets almost mechanically. A pang of sheer anguish shot through my entire being. Through my tears, I could read the title; it was the manuscript that was to have been our wedding mass. I had done my best to please Christine, telling her that I would wait until she was ready for our wedding. Now it was doubtful that she would ever be ready. All of my attempts to win her heart were futile; they only seemed to drive her further away. I cursed myself in every language that I knew, not caring if Christine did hear me. Could I do nothing right? Could these hands cause nothing but destruction? My knees gave way, and I sank to the floor, drawing the score to my throbbing chest as the burning droplets of sorrow continued to pour down my sunken cheeks.

It was quite some time later that I stood to my feet, wiping away the last of my tears. I knew very well what I had to do and it would not be easy. With labored steps, I dragged myself back to the room where Christine waited. I listened warily at the curtain. Then, hearing only silence on the other side, I gave three short taps on the stone wall. There was no reply. Alarm washed over me. Perhaps she had escaped… somehow… and I did not even notice.

"Christine…?" My voice came out in a feeble whisper as I drew the curtain aside and glanced tentatively toward the chair. A short sigh passed from my lips. She was sitting just as I had left her, fastened immovably to that chair, her hands behind her back, her eyes livid with hatred for me, her captor. I approached her silently, keeping my eyes fixed upon my feet. In a moment, I stood only a short distance away. Swallowing my pride, I lowered myself to the floor, crawling like a repentant dog at his master's feet.

"I am sorry," I whispered meekly, staring unseeingly in the direction of her face. A moment later, when at last my eyes were able to focus on hers, I went on. "I'm dreadfully sorry, Christine. I was wrong to behave as I did. I was wrong to say those things to you. I did not mean what I said about my love for you. Loving you is the sanest thing I have ever done. It is only the fact that you do not love me that is driving me slowly to the point of madness…. I know… that is not your fault either…. Oh Christine… don't you see? I cannot help but love you!" I closed my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath and then slowly exhaling. A moment later, when my tears were sufficiently restrained, I opened my eyes. I could not cry again. "And I was wrong to tie you up…" I added wearily. "My temper can be explosive. Sometimes… often, I let it get out of hand. For your sake, I will try to work on that."

Sighing mournfully, I stood and began to untie the rope that held her to the chair. I moved slowly, careful not to hurt her again as I had when those knots were formed. There, she was free. I stepped wordlessly to the curtain and tied it back with the long cord. Then I turned to Christine. She was going to stand, to walk away without a single word to me. She would lock herself away in her room for hours… perhaps for days. I stepped swiftly in front of her, holding up one hand in a gesture that forbade her to move, yet my eyes had lost all traces of their usual commanding stare. Instead, they pleaded with her.

"No… please stay…" I begged. A single tear rolled down my unmasked left cheek. "Please…. I am sorry, Christine…. What more do you want to hear? Please say that you forgive me…. I cannot live knowing that while you are with me in body, I have forever driven away your heart. I cannot live if you are to hate me…" Tears seeped unmercifully from my eyes. I could not control them. Once again, I lowered my thin frame to Christine's feet, burying my face in her skirt and grasping at her legs as I wept tears of remorse and love and—yes, I could admit it now, although only to myself—fear of her rejection.

At the very sight of him, I tensed. Those moments of anger had gradually given away to fear. I was afraid of what he might do next. Nothing on earth would let me show that fear, and I stared at him in stony silence. Slowly he approached me, and I held my breath... waiting. To my surprise, he knelt to the floor and crawled the rest of the way.

His upturned face showed the lines of sorrow and his words began to melt the ice I felt around my heart. No. I thought. Don't be like this. He acted as if he were about to cry at any moment. I was more terrified of his tears than of anything else he could do. His crying had some sort of hypnotic effect on me, and I was helpless against such a force.

No. You can't cry. Then an idea made its way into my head. What if he knew how his crying affected me and was acting like this on purpose? This thought made me clench my fists in anger. This was lower than any form of abuse. No. I couldn't, mustn't give in. I tried to ignore his pleas and stare blankly into his eyes, but I felt myself slipping… losing control. I couldn't give him the satisfaction…

He untied me. Rubbing my wrists, I rose to leave, but he stayed me with his hand. I saw a lone tear slide down his face. I must stay in control. I can't let his tears bother me. To my dismay, he fell, crying at my feet, begging me to forgive him. I tried my best to resist the force that was overcoming me, but I couldn't. Sinking to the floor, and cradling his head in my hands, I whispered:

"It's alright. You're forgiven."