Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera. I only own the idea and some of the minor characters.
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Chapter 7: First Name Basis
xXx Christine
It's been a couple weeks since that frustrated day. Mr. Damson has kept himself distant, more than a regular teacher/ student relationship. He avoids me and when I raise my hand to answer a question he picks someone else to answer it. At first it was really annoying, but now I think it is really smart. It keeps me from thinking about him too much.
Although when I am asleep is a different story. Images of Erik and I kissing instead of singing during that lesson. Some would be romantic and others would be… full of need and passion, on both sides. I have woken in sweat more times than I can count. A couple times I have had to get out of bed and take a cold shower before sleeping again.
One dream sticks out in my mind as bizarre. When I have this recurring dream I feel like I am in a coma and living a past life. Everything around me is from a different time and it is just me and him. Erik is wearing a black suit with a bronze colored vest. The only thing different about his suit from normal one's is he has a cravat instead of a tie on and there is a tail on the back reaching the back of his knees. His hair is slicked back and he is wearing the familiar white mask.
I look down at myself and notice I am wearing a large green dress. Now I definitely know I am in the wrong time. My breasts are right under my chin being propped up by the restraining corset.
I look around the room we are in and see a large organ covered in music sheets with scribbles all over them. There are drapes all over the walls covering broken mirrors. Everything is covered in dust, books, curtains, sculptures. The organ is the only thing that is impeccably clean. Always in use.
As I looked around I had my back turned from Erik so I didn't see him come up to me from behind. I felt his hands grab my hips to pull me back against his hard cock. I felt moist, soft lips touch my shoulder, drifting up to my neck. One of his hands moved to my shoulder to push my sleeve down.
I started to have trouble breathing and almost fell to my knees. He held me close to keep me from falling, but it didn't help. We both lost control and fell to the floor. I was pinned underneath his body and my lips were covered by his, our lips molding to each other's and our tongues playing together.
He finally released my lips to take a breath and started singing Music of the Night. He sang it perfectly, with that rich baritone voice that makes me melt.
Before anything else can happen my alarm goes off. I wake with tears in my eyes from the loneliness I heard in his voice. I also feel my face burning from the intimate acts we made.
After waking this morning from another of the passion filled dreams I got dressed and went to work. It is a Saturday so I don't have school, but I am working all morning. A few hours ago when I walked into work my boss had me stock shelves and I have been doing that ever since. I quickly checked the time on my phone that read, 11:00am. Putting my phone in my pocket I got back to work. 'One hour left, time flies when I keep myself busy.' I thought when I opened a box full of packets of music sheets.
I started to take them out of the box and pile them on the empty shelves. As I absentmindedly placed the packets on the shelves I saw a hand outstretch to pick one up. Shocked out of my thoughts I turned to see Mr. Damson standing there.
"Miss Dawson." He said shocked as well to notice it was me.
He had that rich voice from my dreams that made me want to kneel at his feet. I looked at his lips and thought of their touch on my shoulder and lips. I realized too late that I was staring and he cleared his throat. I looked down to hide my blush and felt completely embarrassed.
Trying to keep the subject from being more awkward I asked, "You compose?" I motioned to the packet in his hands.
"Yes, often. I just ran out of blank paper. I didn't realize you worked here." He said.
"Ya, have to pay the bills somehow. My parents didn't want me getting a job, but I wanted some kind of responsibility."
"Good for you." He gave me a smile saying he appreciated that. "Well I should be going."
"I would love to hear your music sometime." I said before he could walk away. I like talking to him we seemed to have a lot in common and both have a great love for music.
"One day, maybe." He said before he walked past me to go to the register.
I watched him leave and then got back to work. I again absently stocked the rest of the music sheets and when I finished I went to open another box. The rest of the hour went by fast and I got to leave at twelve.
I went outside where the sun was still high and hot in the sky, luckily I wore capris and a t-shirt so I wouldn't get over heated. I made my way through Lincoln Center and across the street to my apartment building.
As I came through the door I saw Meg standing in the kitchen making a grilled cheese sandwich.
"Hey, Christine. How was work?" Meg said cheerily.
"It was ok; I just stocked shelves the whole time. Mr. Damson came in." I said the last part softly to try and hide the fact from Meg.
She heard me and said, "Did he ignore you again?"
"No we actually had a conversation. He was buying music sheets and I asked him if he composed. He told me he does and I told him I would love to hear his music sometime." I told her.
Meg placed a sandwich and bowl of tomato soup in front of me on a plate and finished cooking. "What did he say?" she asked as she sat across from me to eat her lunch.
"He said maybe one day I could listen to him play. He sounded like he was just being polite though." I said. I finished my sandwich and put the plate in the sink before grabbing a glass of water.
"Does he know that he is avoiding you?" Meg asked suspiciously.
"I don't know." I said with a laugh. "But this whole ignoring me thing he is doing is messing with my concentration. I have no idea what my homework is for this class. I have been having trouble processing anything when he is around."
"Didn't you say he lives in this building?" she asked.
"Ya, on the twentieth floor. Why?" I said curiously. I remembered the conversation we had on the elevator a few weeks ago.
"Why don't you go ask him? It is a real question and that way maybe you can get him to stop ignoring you." She said.
"I have the syllabus. It probably says our assignment on it."
"Say you lost it." she said. "Come on, he is probably up there right now composing. You get to hear his music and get help with the class."
"Smart. Meg you are a genius." I said as I patted her on the back.
"Just because I am blonde doesn't mean I am an idiot."
I laughed and passed her to go down the hall to my room. I grabbed my backpack and went to go to the living room when the mask caught my eye. It still sat in the glass enclosure on the top shelf in my closet. My closet door was slung open so I could see it.
'Why does Mr. Damson wear a mask?' That thought rolled through my mind every day when I saw the Phantom's mask in my closet. It was very curious that my teacher happened to wear a mask that could be the Phantom's masks identical twin. They were too similar.
I walked out of my room to the couch and sat down to get all my homework done, besides Music History.
I pulled out my composition homework and started studying for the upcoming quiz next week. The only thing I am worried about is if our teacher wants us to play a certain instrument sometime this semester because I am limited in my knowledge of playing anything. Only instrument I know how to play is the flute from when I was in band in elementary school.
Once I finished that I grabbed my sheet music for chorus and started reading over the words. I always save singing for when Meg isn't home so I can be free and open with my voice and she can get her homework done without interruption.
My acting teacher hasn't given us any homework, but she is setting up a sign up sheet for the Christmas concert. She hasn't decided if it is going to be a play or just different students singing or playing Christmas carols on stage. I hope she will be making it a play because then I will get my chance to act and sing on the Juilliard stage.
That left Music History homework. I grabbed the syllabus and looked at this week's date assignment. It said we had to read Chapter 11 on Composers in the 1800's. That seemed easy enough, but I still couldn't get Meg's idea out of my head. I decided to be more forceful and spontaneous.
I got up, left all my school work on the couch and went to the door. As I opened the door I heard Meg say "good luck" behind me and that made me chuckle.
I hopped on the elevator and road it to the twentieth floor. As the doors opened a man in a suit stood there. He had blond hair and green eyes and he held a briefcase in his hand. He looked like a Wall Street man.
I got off the elevator and saw a door to my left and a door to my right, two penthouses on this floor. Before the doors could close in between me and the stranger I turned and asked him, "Could you tell me which apartment belongs to Erik Damson?"
"He lives in 20B." he said as he pointed to the door on my left.
I thanked him and made my way to door 20B. I could hear music playing inside and I stopped to listen. It sounded sad one moment and then passionate the next. After a few notes the music stopped and I came out of the trance I was held in. I knocked on the door.
After a minute the door swung open and Mr. Damson stood there looking surprised. I took a moment to admire his form. He usually wore a dress shirt and pants when he taught and earlier while I was at work. Now he wore a black beater and jeans. His hair was still as perfect as ever in that ruffled look and the mask was securely in place.
"Christine? What are you doing here?" he asked with a disheveled look.
"Sorry, I… I came up to ask you…" I started having trouble talking and couldn't remember for the life of me why I came up here.
He looked confused and after watching me struggle he stood aside and asked politely, "Would you like to come in?"
Without trying to talk I walked through the threshold and into his apartment. The first thing I saw was the grand piano in the center of his living room. It was more elegant and professional than the pianos at the school. I looked around and saw a leather couch and chair facing a large flat screen television. There were bookcases on the far right wall filled with old music and classic books.
I turned to the left to see the kitchen. Everything was open so I could see it clearly. It was bare, but it had all the basic appliances, refrigerator, stove, and sink. There was nothing on the counters and everything was brand new and sleek.
I realized Mr. Damson was still standing behind me waiting for me to give him an explanation. I turned to face him and saw his intense eyes were watching me. It unnerved me and made me shiver with fear and anticipation. That look was given to me in every single one of my dreams.
"I'm sorry for coming unannounced." I finally said. "I just had a question about class."
"What's the question?" he asked trying to get right to the point.
"I lost my syllabus and I can't remember what you assigned for homework." I lied.
He looked at me for a moment and then walked by me to go down the hall. "I'll be right back." He said.
I looked around some more and made my way over to the bookcases. A lot of the books looked very old and worn. I knew that if I were to pick one up it would shatter. I looked at the titles and saw Pride and Prejudice, Sherlock Holmes and even Phantom of the Opera. I remembered seeing an edition of Sherlock Holmes in Christine Daae's bedroom, his looked just as old. 'How did he get such an old copy?' I thought curiously.
I heard him come back down the hall and turned to see him holding a paper in his hand. He passed it to me and said, "That's the syllabus and I would like you to read Chapter 11 and write notes on it for Monday. I will have an additional assignment given on Monday also. It should be on there."
"Thanks, Mr. Damson. I heard you playing and I am sorry to have interrupted." I said shyly. I hoped he would play some more before I leave.
"You heard that? I don't play my music live for people, so you were lucky to have heard that." He said.
I knew now there was no way I would be hearing it again. "Thanks again. I'll let you get back to what you were doing. See you on Monday, Mr. Damson." I said as I headed to his door.
"Christine." I heard him say behind me.
I turned inquiringly, "Yes?"
"Call me Erik." He said a bit reluctantly.
I was shocked that he said that. He seemed surprised he said it too. "Are you sure? Can I call you Damsee?" I said jokingly. I remembered that on the first day he set ground rules on what people could call him and 'Damsee' was one of the names we were never allowed to call him.
He laughed at that, the first time I heard him laugh. It was musical. "Don't push it Christine. See you Monday."
"Bye." I said as I grabbed the doorknob. I closed the door behind me and went over to the elevator. When I got on I waited for the doors to close before I jumped for joy.
xXx Erik
The second Christine closed the door behind her I felt ready to kick myself in the ass. Why did I allow her to call me Erik? I want to put more distance between us, not get closer to her. Being on first name basis with someone is intimate in its own right. Now Christine is on an intimate level, instead of student/teacher level.
I can tell that she knows I am trying to be distant and put a wall between us and she just wants to tear it down. I have been doing a great job with building that barrier, dodging her at every turn.
The first singing lesson I taught in over a century was overwhelming. Her voice was beyond anything I could have imagined; it was almost as perfect as Christine's. The quality of both their voices was matching and perfect. I almost thought Christine Daae was standing before me.
In that moment when I thought she was my Angel of Music I had to have more proof.
Seeing Christine with her hair down, it was exactly like Christine Daae. The beautiful chestnut curls falling around her face and back. The textures close enough to touch and feel the silkiness. There was one last test, singing.
I had her sing Think of Me, to hear that glorious voice sore as I heard it a hundred and forty years ago. She butchered it. She explained that she was nervous and once I corrected her posture and instructed her to sing she did it perfectly.
I almost didn't want to let go. I held Christine in my arms again. Everything was so similar. 'How is it possible? Christine Daae has been gone for a hundred years. Who is Christine Dawson?' As I held her a devastating feeling came upon me.
I wanted her blood. I have controlled my thirst for a long time and now out of the blue I want to drink fresh blood. Thoughts of blood bags in my refrigerator at home weren't going to help. The only thought that brought me back was, 'the last person I craved blood from this much was Christine Daae.'
I pulled away and put distance between us before I did something horrible. I knew from that moment on I had to stay away from Christine Dawson, her life depended on it.
Now after making one stupid mistake, everything I have done was for nothing. I gave her permission to call me Erik. 'What was I thinking? Why can't I just keep my mouth shut?'
Instead of kicking myself which wouldn't do anything I left the apartment and took the stairs up to the roof. The roof was private and only accessed to myself and my fellow penthouse neighbor. He was always at work or busy so he never had time to himself to go up there. It was all mine.
I opened the door to the roof and looked upon the New York view. I could see all of Lincoln Center and buildings beyond. On the roof there is a pool with a hot tub connected to it and when I moved in I had a punching bag put up here for such a special occasion.
I didn't use protection on my hands because it would just heal within seconds so I went over and started taking out my anger and frustration on the bag. After about half an hour of punching I looked down at my knuckles to see the blood and cuts covering them. I started to watch the wounds slowly close up and disappear.
I started to wonder what my life would be like if I didn't become a vampire. I probably would have lived life as a recluse and died in the sewers, hating myself and wishing things were different. If only I could be human in this time where people respect me and don't turn from me when I pass them on the street.
If I were human I could do all the things other men do, go drinking at a bar, have dinner with a woman, have a one night stand. As I walk through the dark streets at night I see men partying with their friends or wooing a girl to come home with them. If only I could be among them. I never will though, because of my hunger for blood and my mask. Women are very curious in this time, just as curious as ever.
I went back down to my apartment and grabbed a blood bag from the fridge. I drank it within thirty seconds and threw it away. I went into the bathroom and stripped down to nothing before getting in the shower. I scrubbed the sweat and blood from my skin before wetting my hair. I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around my waist and went into my bedroom to change into a t-shirt and black pants.
I went into the living room again to sit at the piano. I started to play where I left off before Christine knocked on the door. I played for the rest of the day and night.
xXx
Monday ended up being the hottest day of the year and everyone was wearing as little as possible. The weather never affected me, I didn't get hot from the sun or cold from the snow, I could wear a dress shirt and pants every day of the year with no problem.
At noon the hottest time of day where the sun is at its highest I was in the lecture room waiting for students to arrive. As I watched I saw girls wearing halter tops or spaghetti strap shirts and short shorts or short skirts. Boys come in wearing khaki shorts and beaters. All of them are sweating from the 100 degree weather. As they sit in their seats they take out papers and fan themselves.
I paid little attention to the students and their ways of cooling down until I turned from the board to see Christine walk in. Unlike the other girls that walked in, she was a vision. Instead of looking like a pool of sweat and wearing clothes that are clinging with damp spots, she is wearing jean shorts and a white beater with a black bra underneath. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun so it isn't touching the back of her neck. Instead of looking sweaty she looked glistening.
She came over to stand before me and wrote her name on the attendance sheet. As she bent down to write her name I couldn't help but see her breasts showing from beneath the thin white material. They were propped by the black bra and looked delicious. She straightened and went to her seat and sat down before gathering her notebook from her bag.
I watched her leave and tried to hide my attraction to her from the other students. Hopefully no one saw my staring at her breasts or saw my looking at her butt as she made her way to her seat. She is a complete beauty. I had to stop before my attraction showed on my body.
Once everyone arrived and got to their seat I started the lecture. I chose to teach about composers and operas in the 1800's because I learned music from the famous individuals and their pieces of work from that time. I thought it would be interesting to see what my students thought of this topic, most especially Christine.
After going over the chapter and having the students make sure they have the right information in their notes I gave another assignment. I told the class they were to choose an opera or composer and write a paper on their choice.
I let the class go and turned to erase the board. After a minute I heard Christine say behind me, "Can I ask you a question, Erik?"
I turned to face her and saw that she was the only one left in the room. 'Thank God no one heard her say my first name.' She stood on the other side of the table with her notebook in her hands.
"Of course." I said.
"I know this may sound ridiculous, but there is an opera that was only played once in 1870 that I would like to do my paper on."
"What is the opera?" I said curiously.
"That's what is strange, it's Don Juan Triumphant." She said anxiously.
I stared at her for a moment in complete shock. Everyone knows that my opera is fake and part of another opera written by a 20th century composer. Why would she write a paper on something so ludicrous?
Trying to hide the truth I responded, "You realize Don Juan Triumphant is a fake opera written into Phantom of the Opera to build the plot?"
"That's the thing, I know for a fact it is a real opera." She said. "The reason I want to use this opera for my paper is I have a lot of primary sources I can use."
I was getting more confused by the second. "What primary sources?"
"They're kind of personal." She said hesitantly. "I know I have to write them into my paper, but for now I would like to keep them secret. You wouldn't believe me anyway."
"If you have some kind of primary source then I don't see why you can't use Don Juan Triumphant as your paper topic." I said. I wasn't sure what kind of sources she had, if she was this dedicated to write a paper on it I wanted to read what she thought of my very own opera.
"Thank you. I promise you will enjoy reading it." she said as she put her backpack on and headed for the door.
Once she left and the door closed behind her I thought to myself, 'I hope so.'
