Author's Note:Hello again and thank you all for your kind words and encouragement! So, before we begin, I would like to comment on the chapter you're about to read a little bit. I've been reading some chatter recently on various POTO blogs and forums about a theory that Erik might have had a borderline personality disorder; I was diagnosed with the very same thing some time ago, and in putting the pieces together based on my own experiences and research on the illness, I must say that it makes a lot of sense that Erik might have been plagued with the same thing. It would seem that his behaviors - fits of rage, extreme depressions, rocky relationships, etc - and the presence of abuse in his childhood would make him very likely to have developed this disorder. And so, having read this chatter and known the reality of it myself, I decided to incorporate it into the story; it fit so well, and it's somewhat of a comfort in some way to think that our beloved Phantom was not truly evil, just had some fucked up things going on that the was powerless to control. Anyway, that said, I hope that this chapter is satisfactory. Also, the title for this chapter comes from lyrics to the song "Demolition Lovers" by My Chemical Romance. Please remember to review, and enjoy!
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Chapter 4 – All We Are Is Bullets
Erik
I exhaled slowly, "You're right," I said softly, finally realizing the truth in her words and coming to my senses once more. I was ashamed of myself for my lapse in control, and I needed to consciously maintain my composure if we were to get through this evening safely. Something in me softened and I felt ready enough to at least listen. For better or worse, we were facing the results of a situation that had grown to overpower us, and we needed to face our demons somehow if we ever hoped to recover – I couldn't deny it. To answer her would be another story, but I knew then that I could take in her words without losing control of myself yet again, "Forgive me, please, Christine. You are absolutely right in this. Please, sit. I'll listen."
"Will you answer my questions?"
"As is see fit, yes."
"I suppose that's all I can ask for, at this point," she sighed as she took her place by the fire once again, "There's so much I need to know. I scarcely know where to begin."
"May I start, pose a question of my own, then?"
"Yes, you may."
"This isn't easy to ask," I said softly, directing my gaze away from her eyes, "There are so many rumors, and Madame Giry feels that my knowing information could only harm me at this point. Christine, what exactly became of the opera house? After the disaster, was it…was it as bad as they say?"
"What have you heard?"
"I'd rather not say."
"Well, it," she paused before collecting her thoughts again, "It was mercifully a short-lived disaster."
"What does that mean?"
"The fire was put out quickly. It only spread through the auditorium and into some of the foyer. Honestly it truly did look worse from the outside. I remember leaving and thinking the building would be long-gone the next day," she put her hand over mine in a gesture of comfort, "It is all entirely repairable."
"How many people died?" I whispered the part I dreaded the most, unsure if I wanted to hear just how much blood was on my hands after all.
"One woman. A long-time patron."
While I was relieved that the death toll was nowhere near what I had thought it was, I raised my eyebrows sardonically, "Well, you would think I had slaughtered an entire village for all that has been said about me."
"Erik, all rumors aside, you have to realize that mobs were formed because you had finally given them what they needed to find themselves at their wits end. The straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak. Anyone that had lived through your time at the opera house was weary of living in fear but otherwise confident that they were not in immediate danger, but the acts of violence, the murders, those could not be brushed off as cruel jokes."
"I understand that. Believe me, I'm aware of that fact," I laughed humorlessly, "I enjoyed my time as the Opera Ghost far more when the title didn't leave me dreaming of spilled blood and fighting for air."
She looked very solemnly at me, "What changed? You were for so long a person of a tragic beauty, your confidence, my God your arrogance, for so long had been something so oddly wonderful. Why did it have to turn violent?"
"You're asking me why the evil inside me finally surfaced? It's not as if it was the first time."
"I don't think you're evil – "
"– Oh, but it's true," I couldn't contain myself once again, suddenly desperate to share what had troubled me for so long, I looked into her eyes and made my confession sadly, "Can't you see that, Christine? There's something deeply wrong with me. For so long, for my entire life it seems that I've had this darkness following me, no emotion could I feel without this shadow looming over my heart. I cannot remember a time when I could feel happiness, even with you it was tainted by this…this nagging feeling that I didn't deserve it,"
"But you did. Everyone deserves to be happy."
I stood up, suddenly feeling unbearably restless at my hasty admission, ignoring her small attempt to comfort me again, "There's more, though. I cannot let go of anger, it is so deeply ingrained in me that at any moment I feel that I could snap, and in those moments when I do lose myself, my eyes turn to coal and a red mist overcomes me that makes me feel absolutely murderous. You've seen it, Christine. I don't want it to be that way. I've never been fond of society, to put it lightly, never have been treated well by people, but to have become such a being as I was the last thing I wanted. Anyone that's died by my hand, oh no, I didn't want to be the one to snuff out the candles. And any time this happens, any time I lose control of my emotions, my very behaviors, I'm aware of it – the wrongness – the entire time. Yet I can do nothing to stop it. It makes me sick, the guilt I feel is so consuming that I fear any day it might be enough to send me over the edge. There is indeed something very wrong with me, an evilness that has me so ensnared that to even consider that I may have a chance at redemption is laughable."
"Oh, Erik."
"Everyone has been right about me, my dear," I continued sadly, "I have truly gone mad. I never have been, nor will I ever be the angel that I had wanted to be for you."
"Madame Giry fears that you're going to kill yourself any day now, that you'll either drink yourself mad or you'll become so desperate that you do it by your own hand. Is that true? These feelings you have, are they going to lead you to that decision?"
"I'd be lying if I didn't say I had thought about it," I responded with a sigh, "I had hoped Madame hadn't picked up on it, but yes, I think there is a very real chance that my resolve to live won't last much longer. I'm sorry to have to tell you that, but you said you wanted the truth. Part of me thinks it's for the best, just one less bit of evil on this earth."
"But I don't think you're evil," she said thoughtfully after a small pause, the silence filled only by my attempt to control my breathing and the crackling of the fire, "I don't think it's an evil that has overtaken you, Erik."
"You give me far too much credit," I said, shaking my head slowly, "You're oversimplifying it."
"No, I don't believe that," she said pleadingly, "I cannot condone your actions, but it's clear to me, now that I'm learning this, that you are no less the victim of circumstances beyond your control than anyone else."
"I am no victim," I sneered, turning to her once more, "Far from it, I'd say."
"Not in so many words, but you cannot deny that you were tossed out to the world with a very unfair disadvantage. All you've known is abuse and suffering," she put her hand on my shoulder when I turned my back to her, but continued despite my tension, "You are not evil. You may be sick at heart, an illness brought on by your burdens, but you are not evil."
"What does it matter? It doesn't change the past. What's done is done, either way I'm a murderer, either way I live a life of madness."
"You didn't enjoy the deaths. That's why it matters."
"You'll be hard-pressed to try and convince me, my darling. But it doesn't matter. So answer me now, why did you need to know this so badly?"
She looked very intently into my eyes, "I had to know what led to that last night we were together, what had happened in your mind to go from one extreme to the other. Now that I know that the person I love is truly a man and neither an angel nor a monster, I had to know what had broken that man's spirit. That's it, that's what I most needed to say to you tonight, why I came to find you. Because I love you."
I narrowed my eyes at her, "Don't say that word. You cannot believe that you love me."
"I do. I love you. I've known it for a long time, but I couldn't find the words until recently, couldn't allow myself to feel anything beyond childish affection for an old friend. But for you I feel love, I know it."
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't mock me."
"How can you say that? I have been entirely honest with you. And despite your foolishness, your terrible actions, I can still say without a doubt that I am in love with you. That must mean something."
I shook my head, "Maybe you don't mock me then, and you know how I feel about you, but this cannot happen between us," I took her hands gently, my eyes pleading with her to take my words to heart, "I have loved you for so long, Christine, I love you so much. Please remember that. But knowing this, knowing how we feel about each other at last, it is not enough. It won't repair the damage of too many hasty decisions and hurtful actions, nor will it make the future guaranteed to be a pleasant one. I don't even know what is going to happen to me, you know that. We cannot live under such uncertainty. I love you, and because I do I will not curse you to a life with me. And from what you told me earlier, that seems to be exactly what you want. Am I wrong in assuming that?"
"You're not. That's what I want to see, if we can somehow build a future together, or at least consider going down that path to begin with. And where is my say in this, Erik? Do you believe, after all of this, that I am incapable of making my own decisions? Coming here was not easy, and I knew from the beginning that we would struggle. All I'm asking is for you to say you will continue to return my love after tonight, that you're willing to take the risk with me and see what comes of it."
"This is far more complicated than you seem to realize. The marriage that I yearned for during our time at the opera house simply cannot be, far too much has happened. I think it would be best if you left me now. Go back to Madame Giry and forget me. Let your heart heal, let mine," I brushed a lock of hair from her face tenderly, reveling in the contact.
"I can't," she had begun to cry then, "I thought it would suffice to see you one last time, but I cannot bring myself to leave like this."
"Please."
"You're a liar, Erik."
"What?" I asked, shocked by the abrupt statement.
"If you truly loved me, you wouldn't be so willing to let me go again."
She didn't move after that statement, she simply crossed her arms over her chest and sobbed helplessly. I hadn't wanted that at all; it broke my heart to see her cry because of me yet again. I knew we had to stop this, we were walking a tightrope trying to balance the burdens of our lives, and each moment we spent arguing this point was only adding more weight, threatening to topple us into a disastrous fall from which we would certainly never recover. If we ended it now, for good, there might still be hope. I had to keep telling myself that; I was certainly in no emotional state to be able to give myself over to a love so strong that it had already altered our lives once, to think of entering into that uncertainty again was sure to be too much. It would only be a matter of time before I lost control once more and let my black emotions drown me slowly before finally taking me at last. I wouldn't put her through that again.
But to see her crying, to think she believed that my heart was not entirely devoted to her…I was moving toward her before I realized what I was doing. I took her in my arms and pulled her close to me. We looked in each other's eyes for a long moment, the turmoil apparent for both of us as we stood on the precipice of an action that would bridge the gap between us. She knew what I was intending; it could be felt in the very air around us. I put my hands on either side of her face, gently letting my fingers entwine into her soft hair, and slowly I leaned in and kissed her. It was soft, at first, an affectionate reminder of what we once shared, but it wasn't long before the kiss deepened. She raised her arms to put around my shoulders, and the contact made me long to be even closer to her; I moved one arm to her waist and brought her to me until there was no longer any space between us. In kissing her, I felt my soul want to come alive again, I wanted nothing more than to throw my hands up and let fate take control from there. There was so much passion in that contact, so much desire for closeness and love that it had to be right, our coming together after so long had to mean something.
But I couldn't let it continue, couldn't raise false hopes and allow a moment of her suffering because of me. Reality was not going to alter to meet the desires of my lovesick heart, erasing the past and healing us completely. When the kiss ended, the nightmare in which we lived would continue all around us, more pain ensured so long as we attempted to be together.
"Go," I said gruffly, parting us forcefully. She looked at me with hurt and confusion as I continued, "We can't. I'm so sorry. We can't let this happen. Please leave me, please understand why I do this." I backed away from her, trying to calm my racing thoughts. So much had happened in one evening, it was hard for me to believe those events even shared the same lifetime.
"I don't understand," she cried helplessly, "I thought – "
I couldn't meet her eyes, "You must go," was all I could bring forth.
She didn't protest then, but the energy in the air around us had turned angry. Before I knew it, the front door had slammed. I knew it was over, I had effectively cut off the last bit of hope she might have held out for us. In talking to her that evening, I knew she held onto it like a sacred artifact, but it had to end. I could still feel her lips on mine, her arms around me in a gesture of love and acceptance; it was a burning ache that left me wanting nothing more than to take her up in my arms again and never let go. That moment of true bliss, that perfect expression of love so long denied and finally realized caused me immeasurable pain; I knew it had to end at that for her sake and my own, and I would never know such a moment again.
A brief moment of happiness once again overshadowed by the darkness of my life, my past.
God is cruel indeed.
