Ouch. A happy ending in the last one, eh? By the way, the perspective switches in the middle of this one. I don't know Erik well enough and I want this from Christine's view.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Erik, despite his ever-present self-control, was worried. She had been gone for ten minutes—surely calling her mother was not such a difficult task!
He climbed up the stairs, wary of disturbing Christine and her mother, but upon noticing the open door to her room, he glanced in. She stood with her back to the door, not moving a muscle, as if frozen in place. He glided noiselessly, graceful as always, stopping to stand behind her.
Ah. This was a familiar scene. Her mother is dead. Erik took a seat on the chair, still silent, waiting for her to speak.
But apparently, Christine had no intention of saying anything anytime in the near future. She moved forward, picking up a note, not turning around, not noticing his presence.
It was her mother's elegant writing—as much as she tried, Christine had never been able to copy the beautiful, looping letters.
"There is a reason for this. Please don't think that it's anyone's fault but my own. All of these years, I've failed as a mother to you, all because of this disease—I'm sorry. You've been forced to grow up so quickly.
Your father understands and knew that this would happen, eventually. Take care of him, and keep up with your music. For me, and for yourself.
Love you—Mom."
And that would be the last time the stylish script would grace any sheet of paper. Tears pricked her eyes as Christine reread the tiny note. Her mother was dead. Despite everything, all the care she had given, all the hours her mother spent in her room, not talking, staring blankly at the wall—despite everything, Christine still loved her—her enthralling stories, her beautiful voice, her quiet elegance. And now, despite everything, she was dead
"We all die, eventually."
Christine blinked, too numb to react. When'd he get here? He moved like a ghost…
"It still hurts." She couldn't stop staring at her mother's bloodless face.
"Sometimes." He was suddenly at her side, and when she finally turned away to peek at his face, she noticed his gaze, looking morosely at her mother's body, as if recalling some bitter memory. "What was she like?"
"She was beautiful, and kind when she had the energy to leave bed. I remember, as a child, her voice lulling me to sleep—I always imagined that it was an angel's voice in my ear—it was so clear, so hypnotic…when she sang…" she glanced up, abruptly. "When she sang, she sounded like you."
Erik looked at her sharply, an odd expression on his face. "I am no angel, Christine."
For a moment silence dominated, as they stood awkwardly in the room with a corpse.
Then Erik broke it, his inhumanly beautiful voice cutting through the air. "Shall we call your father?"
"Probably," Christine said dully, and then hesitated. "On second thought, he probably already knows. He always knows when something happens to Ma." She shook her head, and her next words were barely a whisper, but Erik heard. "It wasn't supposed to end like this…Ma was strong, Ma was beautiful—Ma would be different than the others. She wouldn't succumb to the depression like everyone else, the doctor said. She had spirit and she would get over it. She would get better. She would begin to live a normal life with us, be a normal mother, like everyone else's. She would come to my concerts and pick me up and see me off to college…
"They lied, didn't they. They knew that she wasn't getting better, but they had to dangle that bit of hope in front of our noses, to keep us plodding on." She was crying now, but she barely noticed. "Damn them, damn it all! All these years—"
She broke off suddenly, for now Erik had his arms around her, his presence warm and comforting against her back. His scent engulfed her, and she breathed it in gladly—roses, spice, the fresh, natural air on a sunny spring day. Gentle, warm, soothing. He had never been so close…Christine wanted to drown in it, to turn around and hug him back and stay like that forever…but she contented herself with closing her eyes and resting her head on his chest. For that single moment she could forget, and escape from the world to wander in her dreams and fantasies—but then she pulled back in realization of what she had just said.
"I'm sorry, Erik. I'm sorry to draw you into this mess; I'm sure you have enough problems of your own…I'm so sorry! Let's go, wait for Papa, he'll take care of Ma, and when she's—she's…"
"Christine, calm yourself. Come." He led her into her own bedroom, settling her down on the bed before speaking, his voice velvet, muted. "Your mother will always be there, whether or not you wish her gone. She created you as a part of her, and she shall remain a part of you." Something in his tone made Christine look at him with curiosity.
"What happened to your mother?"
What a reaction those harmless, simple five words triggered! He stiffened instantly, fists clenching, eyes locking onto the blank white wall in front of him, as if he could bore holes into it with the incredible intensity of his stare. It seemed, however, that he had no intention of replying.
"You don't have to answer, you know." She hesitantly placed her hand on his tense arm, but he flinched lightly, and she gave up. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"
Awkward silence. Christine wasn't quite sure of what to do. Her mother had just died—and that in itself was shocking enough—but now Erik seemed angry at nothing in particular, though she noted that the topic of his parents had never been brought up in conversation. Ever.
After an eon, Erik sighed, shaking his head with what seemed to be remorse. "No, I should be sorry. I apologize for my…disturbing reaction. I do not often speak of my mother." And that was that.
Christine's father came home soon enough, already with the knowledge of what had happened. He wasn't surprised or extremely sad—just quietly accepting. He took care of things from there, with the small funeral and paperwork, and they slowly adapted to life without Christine's beautiful, depressed mother.
But that night, and the days after, would remain in Christine's memory for years to come. Erik's calm comforting while she wept, her own embarrassment at showing such foolish emotion, his light smirk as he pulled her into his arms and held her close, the feeling of peace and ecstasy that swept over her as this incredible, unattainable boy— this angel, no matter what he said—softly sang her to sleep…
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Meg, I'm going out for a bit. I'll be back before dinner."
"Are you sure you're okay, Chris?" Meg's voice floated down from the bathroom of the house they shared. "I can drive you around, wherever you want."
"I'm alright—I just need to get out, get some fresh air, you know. Too much practicing for the new opera at the Met lately. I need a break." Meg was so sweet to offer, though.
She came down the stairs then, hairbrush in hand, her blonde hair looking as gorgeous as ever. She was clad in a brilliant, strapless red dress that hugged her curves to her knees and flared out near the bottom. Christine rolled her eyes. "Another date?"
"Hey, I like to have fun, and guys like me! What can I say? You know, you do need a break. How about we both go to the party tonight?"
"Party?" Apparently, Christine was behind the times. "Juilliard students hold parties? Hmm."
Meg snorted, teasing. "Maybe not your group of high-achieving, academic-freak friends, but my friends certainly do! Anyway, we're graduated now, so we aren't technically students anymore. Come on, you need it—just come and relax, and we'll dance and have a drink or two. Maybe you'll even meet a guy…" she grinned mischievously, and Christine despaired.
"Oh gods. What have I gotten myself into now…perhaps I should leave for an extended amount of time."
"Loosen up, Chrissie! You're coming with me tonight." Meg's eyes strayed to the clock by the door. "Woops, I'd better not be late. Not a good first impression. Relax some—I'll make dinner tonight. And then we party." She held up her hand as Christine began to protest. "No arguments! We party. See you later!" And just like that, she slipped out the door, leaving an amused and irritated Christine to shake her head incredulously. Meg. This was why she loved Meg, despite all their differences—Christine's obsession with academics and singing to Meg's obvious love of partying and dance. But Meg was leaving in four months for London, as a dancer in one of their famous theatres, while Christine stayed in New York, singing and mourning the loss of both Meg and her father.
She sighed, moving outside, locking the door behind her. She would go to the party tonight, and she would not waste the time left she and Meg had together.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"You're coming, you're coming! Yaaay!" Meg squealed.
Laughing, Christine picked up a brush, running it through her unruly, irritatingly long, dark brown curls. "You sound like me…when I was four years old."
"Hey, no harm in being a kid. They're more fun than adults."
Christine pretended to be offended. "We are adults! …Sort of. Though that is a good point.
"What the heck am I supposed to wear?" She rummaged through her closet, finding only a few fancy old dresses, all of which were from various performances. "I really don't have any party clothes."
Meg thought for a second and held up a finger before rushing out of the room. She soon returned with a simple, elegant black number, with small ruffles decorating the bottom. "Try this? It'll fit you better than it fits me." Without waiting for a reply, she quickly ushered Christine into the bathroom and closed the door. "Let me know if you need help!"
Christine chuckled and slipped the dress on, examining herself in the mirror. Thin straps, figure-hugging. Pretty. Maybe tonight would be fun, after all. As she stepped out, Meg squealed for the second time in ten minutes, and this time Christine clapped her hands over her ears. "Eesh, I'm going to go deaf!"
Meg ignored her. "You look beautiful! All the guys will be falling head over heels for a chance to dance with you!" She grinned proudly, having already donned her outfit—the red strapless from earlier. "Makeup, heels, nail polish, hair, and then we're ready to go!"
Christine groaned loudly. "I remember why I hate social gatherings now."
An hour of makeup, nail polish, hair and heels later, they finally had managed to get into the car with directions to the restaurant at which the party was held. Christine had to admit that the beautifying paid off, and for the first time in the two and a half months after her father's death, she allowed herself to feel the mildest bit of excitement.
The restaurant was fancy, with a bar and formal dance floor. It wasn't one of those get-drunk-and-make-out parties—in fact, it reminded Christine of something more nineteenth-century—of ballrooms and waltzing and elegant classical music. She wondered briefly who could afford to host such a party and rent out this place, but that thought quickly flew away as Meg dragged her over to a table with a few guys, who greeted Meg with familiarity.
"Hey guys, I want to introduce Miss Christine Daae—single and completely up for grabs!"
Christine sent her a very, very hate-filled, murderous glare. "I don't believe that would be a good idea. Single for a reason." The three men laughed. One stood and extended his hand. "Hey, I'm Mike."
"I'm Vince." Another handshake.
"David." Yet another handshake.
Christine smiled and nodded to them. "Nice to meet you all. I think I'll get some food now," she said, glancing pointedly at the buffet tables.
They chuckled again. "Food-minded, like guys. Interesting girl you are," said one—Vince, was it? Christine smirked, waved and headed off with her friend. "Nice people."
Meg beamed. "They're good friends. Before you go off and gorge yourself, though, I want you to meet the host of the party. He's another friend of mine, from the Chicago area, like you." She apparently caught sight of him, for she stopped and said, "Wait here, I'll bring him."
So Christine stood for a moment, examining the many figures on the dance floor, swirling to old classical music. Ah, the wonders of a musical school—no rap, no country, no irritating music that really isn't music. Classical was much more fun to dance to!
"Christine!" Meg was behind her, and she turned to find a man following behind her friend, dressed in a crisp black tuxedo and silk blue tie. He and Christine both froze.
"Christine?"
"Raoul?"
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wee, and I will leave you here. Have fun, and drop off some reviews, please! I'd like to know what parts are good, what parts are not, so that hopefully such parts may be improved. Sorry for the long time between updates—school, unfortunately, gets in the way. Thanks to all my readers and reviewers!