A/N - This is a shorter post than my usual. I just felt the 'end' was a good place to stop in this particular chapter. I hope you enjoy! Thank you to all of my reviewers - your support and kind words really matter to me!


Chapter 4

Longing

True to his word, I did not see Erik after that moment in the hall. Nor did I feel his presence in my room at night. Perhaps he still watched as I sang on stage, but I was beginning to doubt myself, every stray feeling or inclination that invaded my senses. I seemed to have become a shadow of my former self; an empty shell that lacked something I could not understand.

Raoul came to my room one night and I knew I had to lay bare the truth. I had him sit down as I carefully explained the nature of our relationship. I could see the disappointment in his eyes, but I knew what I had to do. I could not lead on this man that had offered nothing but kindness to me. We had been friends a long time ago, and I wished we could retain that friendship now, but I knew that by turning down his proposal, I was irrevocably hurting him. Our friendship would be fractured, no matter how I tried to repair it. He was reluctant to accept my explanations – he could not believe that I did not love him. Poor, dear Raoul. I knew it would not be hard for him to move on from this moment. There would be another women out there. His good looks, money, and charming though naïve disposition would see to a life not lived alone. We parted on good terms, but it was a bittersweet parting. I was going to miss the safety of his presence. I would miss how warm memories stirred up when we were together.

Life became very quiet again. Each day seemed the same and I began to grow restless. I could not forget that night in the secret passage when Erik had nearly kissed me. It had been a mere brush of the lips across my cheek and I knew that it was not enough. My dreams at night were haunted by him. I could not escape the inevitable destination each night when I closed my eyes, nor did I wish to. I spent many evenings in my dressing room, wondering if his vow was true – that he would not intrude upon me anymore.

Even though I had the basic necessities of life, and the companionship of my friend Meg, I was very lonely. I no longer took lessons with Erik. There was no one to confide in as I once did with my angel. I spent Sundays visiting my father's grave, despite Madame Giry's urges that I move on with my life and allow my father to rest. I had accepted that he would never return again, and that I was to live out my life before I would ever see him again. I needed to visit him because I had so many questions. I wanted to know what direction my life was to take. I wanted to know whom I was to love. I spent many of those days hovering over the snow or laying upon the first sprouts of spring grass and speaking silently to God and my father.

Sometimes, in those quiet moments in the cemetery, I longed for Erik to come to me as he used to. I longed to feel his arms wrap around me and lift me from my turmoil, but he was no longer here, and I had to endure. I missed him very much.

It was after a particularly poor performance that I was finally confronted about the situation. I passed Madame Giry who glanced at me strangely. Meg caught up with me backstage and clutched my hand.

"Christine," she spoke quietly, her blue eyes wide with concern, "tell me what is wrong. You have been silent for days, and your singing tonight was. . .well. . ."

"Awful?" I replied. "Inadequate? Wanting? Yes, I know. I'm sorry, Meg. I just cannot sing anymore. No, I don't want to sing."

"Does this have something to do with your teacher?" she asked, a faint glint of fear behind her eyes. Meg had learned around the time of the Masquerade who Christine's mysterious tutor was. Her mother had warned her to let the matter go, but it had only intrigued Meg even more.

I glanced at her with saddened eyes and nodded softly. "Perhaps, it does," I replied quietly.

Madame Giry suddenly appeared beside her daughter with a frown on her sharp features. "Meg, I need to talk to Christine alone."

"Of course," she replied, casting a worried look in my direction before turning slowly and moving quickly offstage.

We stood alone among the props with the glow of the stage lights diffusing through the heavy curtains. I bowed my head slightly, prepared for a chastisement. Instead, I felt a gentle hand move beneath my chin and raise it. Her eyes had softened and did not reflect the sternness that I was more than familiar with.

"What is wrong, Christine?" she asked.

I bit my lip for a moment, unsure whether I should tell her all that had transpired. "He left me," I replied.

"Who? The young Vicomte?" she asked.

"No," I shook my head. "Erik."

A worried look flooded her gaze.

"I told him to go. I was afraid of him, perhaps more confused than anything, but I could not think of anything else to do. He vowed to stay away from me. Now, I-I. . ."

"It troubles you that he is not near?" she asked.

"Yes," I admitted, looking up at her with misted eyes. "There is no joy in my singing anymore. I thought it would always give me pleasure. But this gift is bare and lifeless without. . ."

"Are you in love with him?" she asked, her voice almost unsteady.

"I think so," I replied in barely a whisper. "I do know that I am not in love with Raoul. I could never love him the way. . ." I stopped myself, almost choking back a sob.

Madame Giry encircled me in her arms and I wept quietly into her shoulder. She gently patted my back and I suddenly felt very safe in her embrace. She brushed back my hair and pulled me away, regarding me closely for a moment.

"Have you told him?" she asked.

"No," I cried. I pulled away from her, disgusted with myself. "I am a fool. A child! I cannot even admit what my heart is telling me."

I heard a soft chuckle from her. "You would not be the last, my dear, to make such a mistake. You are young. You have never been in love before. It is frightening and exciting, all at once. It is natural to shy away from the unknown. I cannot tell you what you must do. You must decide for yourself."

"Please, do not tell him of this," I begged.

"As you wish," she replied.

I spent many evenings sitting quietly in my dressing room, staring at the mirror with a fixed gaze. I imagined him coming to me, as he used to, and I could feel the false sense of excitement rising within. My mind fabricated the whole scenario. He was behind the mirror – I could sense his presence so strongly. His beautiful, unearthly voice would fill the room and capture my mind. I would be powerless then, completely under his control, but I would not be afraid. The voice made me feel safe. It bewitched me, captivated me, seduced me, and ravaged me. I began to feel emotions that I had never recognized before, emotions that had been there before, but which I had not allowed freedom to grow. They stirred within me like a tempest and I could feel myself drowning in their waves. I knew he was behind the glass. My fingers sought out the glass in hopes of touching my angel. They brushed across the cold, smooth surface and tingled in anticipation. He would come through at any moment now. I closed my eyes and could feel the rush of cool air and hear his footsteps upon the floor. His arms encircled me and drew me closer, and I did not want to be free again. His hands would hover above my skin, hesitant and unsure, but finally gather enough desire to caress me.

My eyes shot open from the vivid daydream and I moaned softly. So this was what I had become. I had tasted from a forbidden spring and could never quench my thirst from any other again. I yearned for something that I had denied myself, something which I had turned away in fear, but which I now wanted so desperately. I was sitting on the floor beside the mirror, my hands pressed firmly against the glass, almost clawing at it. I felt fresh tears upon my face and cared little for moving my hands to wipe them away.

"Dear God, forgive me," I wept. "I am a foolish girl."

I pulled myself up from the floor, glancing in the mirror at the shell of a girl that stared back at me. My face was pale and my eyes haunted with a pain I recognized. I turned away quickly, ashamed to see anymore, and struggled to clean myself up before I left to stay with Meg. I could not endure a night alone in my dressing room. In my haste, I neglected to hear the mirror slide open as I left the room. I did not hear the footfalls upon the thin carpets. I did not see the dark figure standing in the midst of my room. I heard no voice whisper my name.