Please forgive me for my very, very long absence. I'm a bad, bad author. I have to admit that writer's block was the primary reason I haven't posted sooner, but after my recent reviewers contacted me, I felt that I needed to get something out there pronto! I hope you enjoy this posting. If there are any grammatical/spelling errors, please overlook them. . .I wanted to get something to you ASAP. I value each and every person who reviewed!
Chapter 7
Confession
I did not remember much of the night beyond our time on the roof. My angel and I had spent a while gazing up at the stars, while he shielded me from the cold with his cloak wrapped around us both. I must have fallen asleep in his arms, for I vaguely remember being carried back down the stairs in the dark, with only the sound of his steady breaths and his heartbeat at my ear.
When I awoke in the morning, I found a dozen red roses, red as blood, laid upon the small table beside my cot. I inhaled their fragrance and smiled gently at the gift. Lifting my hand, I examined the glittering ring upon my finger. I had never owned such exquisite jewelry and somehow I felt unworthy of it, but my angel had been clear that I wear his ring and so I did.
I had been rehearsing Don Juan for several weeks, though my angel had remained strangely aloof during that time. He had insisted upon practicing as we used to, in my dressing room, as he remained hidden behind the imposing mirror. I was confused and questioned him several times about it, but he would not answer me directly, and seemed to have perfected the art of changing the conversation. Practicing without being able to see him was becoming disconcerting, to say the least. Yet, each morning following our rehearsal, I would find a red rose waiting for me.
The opera itself was so strange and passionate. I would find myself trying to hide a blush as I read over some of the lyrics. Had Erik really written this? A tremble ran through my body, though I was not cold. The imagery of the opera was fiery and bold. I kept wondering if there was a meaning to the body of work. Erik had me practice continuously until I had perfected each score. Often I would end a song, and thought I heard the sound of ragged breathing behind the mirror, but I quickly dismissed it as my own. Each time I sang the lyrics he wrote, I would find myself falling deeper and deeper into a place I was afraid to discover.
Many nights, after he bid me goodnight, I would find my sleep riddled with dreams that left me strangely warm and shaking. Most often, I forgot what I had dreamt about, but whenever Erik returned for another rehearsal, I could feel my body stir at the sound of his voice and I knew that I had been dreaming of him. In the sparingly few moments that I remembered, I would lay silently in the dark of my room, aching for something that I could not define.
It was the night before the first performance. Our last practice was brief, as Erik wished me to get as much rest as I could. However, he did not leave as quickly as he had every night. As I sat on the chaise near my fireplace, he spoke to me words of encouragement.
"You have pleased me greatly, my dear," he said.
I smiled softly and replied to the empty room, "Thank you, Erik."
There was a long pause before he broke it with a question. "What do you think of my opera?"
I looked up quizzically and chose my words carefully. "It is a passionate opera."
"Is that all?" he asked.
I turned away from the mirror and clutched at the cushions with nervous fingers. "There is something disturbing about its theme."
"What do you find disturbing, mon ange?"
I hesitated for a very long moment. Was his opera about me? Was I Aminta? Was I the girl to be seduced and conquered by the great Don Juan? Was I mere object of desire?
"Don Juan seduces Aminta, but does he. . .does he love her?" I blurted out.
My question was met with silence and I waited nervously for his reply. Did he love me? I know that he desired me, but I had not heard him say the words.
"Why do you ask this question?" he finally responded, his voice strangely affected.
"Am I Aminta?" I asked, emotion rising in my voice.
I felt a draft and shivered slightly, my body still turned away from the mirror. The mirror had slid open and I could hear Erik stepping into my room. My heart began to race – he had not come to me for weeks, and the only contact I seemed to have had with him had remained in my dreams. I could not turn and face him, for I feared the reaction he would have to my question. Footsteps sounded on the carpeted floor and still I did not move. His mere presence still made me quake.
A hand reached out and grazed my shoulder. I stiffened slightly and caught a glimpse of a gloved hand lingering on my skin.
"You tremble, my dear," he said softly. "Do I still frighten you so?"
I let out an unsteady breath and turned slowly towards him, my eyes still resting upon the floor. I felt his finger move beneath my chin and gently raise my face up towards his. Erik. My angel of music seemed even more glorious now than ever before. Perhaps it was the time spent apart, but I felt more drawn to him than ever before. I had missed the intensity of his green eyes, the firmness of his jaw, and the elegance of his demeanor.
"I was inspired," he began, casting his eyes beyond me. "I began to write it long ago, but I was inspired by a young chorus girl."
His eyes settled upon me once again and I felt a surge of warmth fill my face. "You are not convinced," he said flatly.
"Angel. . ."
"Please, Christine. For god sakes, call me by my name! I am not some perfect, ethereal being. I am a man! Or is that what frightens you most? That the perfection you once believed in is gone, and is replaced by a man. A man who. . ."
"Stop! " I cried out.
"Say my name!" he roared.
His hands were gripping my arms, bruising the tender flesh beneath my gown. I tried to fight back, to beat at his chest with my fists, but I found my strength draining swiftly from my body. The Phantom was more powerful than I could ever be, and I had invoked his wrath.
"Please, stop it! You're hurting me!" I cried out bitterly.
"I'm a monster, aren't I?" he hissed. "That's all you see when you look at me. You doubt my intentions because you see a monster before you. A monster incapable of human feeling. This thing you see before you would only bring you harm. . .would sacrifice you to his devilish desires and throw you away?"
His chest heaved with exertion and suddenly he ripped the mask from his face and let it drop to the floor. He pulled me closer and forced my face upwards.
"Look at the monster who desires you, Christine!" he roared again, his hot breath fanning across my face.
"Erik," I cried softly, tears rolling down my cheeks as my body began to sink to the floor. "Forgive me. Please. You are no monster," I cried.
He let me slide to the floor and watched with a strange detachment as I rubbed my sore arms and wept violently upon the carpet. "I didn't mean. . .you are no monster to me. You have always been my angel, even when I learned you were a man. You're my angel. Erik, my angel. Oh God, what have I done? What have I done?"
Suddenly, I felt his presence beside me and found he had sunk down beside me and quickly gathered me into his arms. I could feel tears fall upon my temple and realized they were not my own. I whimpered when his hands brushed along my bruised flesh and he responded by lifting my body into his arms and standing up. I could feel his chest heaving and his harsh breaths in my hair.
"My beautiful angel," he sobbed. "Forgive me. What I have done is. . .inexcusable!"
He carried me over to my cot and laid me gently upon the sheets, lifting the blankets over my quivering body. My face was ruined with my own tears, but he carefully, as though touching a porcelain doll, brushed away the moisture with his long, exquisite fingers. I looked up at him, maskless and vulnerable, and wept for us both. He laid his head against my shoulder and began to sing a gentle melody, calming me down. My hand moved slowly upward until it found his hair and tenderly stroked the raven locks. I heard him sob again, my shoulder becoming damp with his tears.
"I love you, Erik," I whispered brokenly, feeling myself being pulled into a dreamless sleep.
I did not hear him as I fell asleep. I did not hear the whispered response to my declaration.
"I love you more than you will ever know, my love. Forgive me, Christine, my angel. You will know tomorrow. "
