AN: This is kind of a long author's note. Sorry! I've been sick and VERY VERY busy. I have one more chapter finished but about 4 more to write for this phic. I'm not sure how quickly I will be posting, so please hang with me! These next few weeks are going to be insane busy for me!

Eriks Angel Forever, xNinjaxBunnyx, You are Love, CountessofRothes, lks358, Eriksangelofmusic4ever, Anyanka Jenkins, erikmylove, Foreverec, leslieljs713, NoCookies4U, and xo-theteddybear-xo: Thank you so much for the reviews and for putting the story on alert.

I love getting feedback, and so if ever you have a question or concern about the story, please let me know. In fact, I'm very interested to see what everyone thinks of this chapter. I was pretty nervous when I sent it to the beta readers, but they both thought it worked well and made sense for this version of Erik. If you think otherwise, let me know! I don't believe an author can improve unless they know what they aren't doing correctly to communicate to their audience.

Kryss LaBryn and Erik'sTrueAngel, thank you for the corrections and the help.

Also, if someone could direct me to a great place to post phantom phics other than here, I would appreciate it. There is a notice on the main page here that says they don't allow fanfics that describe sexual situation. Now, I've been around for a LOOOOONG time, and I have read LOTS of sexy fics. But I was warned by a fellow friend that several of her favorites have recently been pulled without any warning. So I'm concerned for this fic and a few others of mine. Since this is the current phic and there is a sex scene (and at least one more) I don't want those of you who have been following it to be left high and dry. Let me know of a good archive in a review or send me a PM.

Castigation

As I lay there in the silence for an indeterminate amount of time, I mentally scolded myself for every step that had brought me to this point. It was wrong of me to accept Christine's charitable offer of intimacy. It was ludicrous for me to believe she had wanted to marry a freak of nature such as me. It was foolish to believe I could try to live without her, and even more unwise to use my murderous ways to force her to choose me over that foppish boy. It was reckless to take her on as a student when I knew no good would ever come of it. It was impractical to believe I could live in the underbelly of an opera house and convince the world that I was a ghost. I had set this whole thing in motion. The madness of it all was my own fault. I should have never been tempted to put my influence over the Garnier!

Which meant it could be seen as his fault. But no. He had nothing to do with my tortured relationship with Christine. It wasn't even his work, really, that brought me here, but rather my own insatiable need to build something that would last. Maybe that blame could be placed on the Shah for making me build something that wasn't really mine. Or perhaps it was Giovanni's fault for teaching me and making me believe that I could have something of a conventional life. That thought only led me to Luciana, the first female I ever wanted – the first female to tease me past my own ability to resist. The result of my lust had been her death. My mind came full circle to Christine and the fact that my lust, while not physically killing her, had most likely murdered her hopes and dreams and spirit.

And that was my fault. I couldn't be trusted with a woman. They screamed in terror at the sight of me, and rightfully so. Consider my own mother, the first woman to ever look upon me – the woman who created me! She couldn't even bear to touch me. I was too ugly, too deformed, too much of a demon for her to tolerate. She'd only dared touch me to punish me or push me away. It's no wonder I can't tolerate – why I can't properly respond to being touched.

That was the solution! It was her fault! Yes! My malevolent, vile, bitch of a mother. She was to blame for the way I behaved towards Christine!

Christine...

My mind shifted back to the dark room and to the figure lying on the opposite side of the bed from me. She was so quiet, so still. I wondered if she had fallen asleep, but shook off the thought when I considered how ridiculous that idea was! A woman who had been mistreated so cruelly would never be able to peacefully sleep next to her attacker. No, Christine was awake and doubtless in shock over the whole gruesome situation.

I haven't any idea how long we had lain there. My mind kept circling through the blame trying to find the point where it all went so horribly wrong. The moment that I settled on was the only logical conclusion. The precise incident that brought about these events was my birth. As simple as it sounds, I was born and no one I'd come in contact with had ever truly been better for it.

The burdensome silence was broken by a sniff. Christine was crying again. By the stars, I should be drawn and quartered for the injury I'd imposed on her. Focusing my mind on the ability to speak reasonably would be challenging, but she deserved something of an explanation or apology after all I put her though. How does one explain a lifetime of self-loathing and rejection?

"Forgive me," I started softly. I kept my face hidden behind my hands, almost buried in the pillow. "I am... not used to..." I shifted even further away from her. "I am not accustomed... to being... touched." Knowing Christine, she would try to touch me. That was the last thing I wanted at that moment. My sanity would have snapped, I'm sure. "Especially... intimately," I added.

"Are you..." she whispered, "... are you all right?"

She was concerned for my well being? How very self-sacrificing of her. But was I all right? No. I would never really ever be all right. Especially after tonight. How to explain it to her though?

"I was... unprepared," I offered. "I didn't fully... realize... comprehend... I didn't know. I mean, I knew, but it isn't something one really knows until it happens, is it?" The words were a jumbled mess, just like my thoughts. "Like being stabbed. I've heard – I've seen someone who was stabbed and wounded. I've been witness to their pain and I realized what they must have suffered. But I've never been stabbed, so I don't really know, do I?" Leave it to me to liken sexual intercourse to being gutted with a knife. It was almost poetic.

Christine completely misunderstood my ramblings. "Are you hurt? Is there something I can do to help?"

I almost laughed. "Hurt? No. Not really. I just... was unprepared."

"Unprepared for what? For love?"

Was she mocking me? Or was she just truly that innocent? I gave her the benefit of the doubt and tried to explain myself more fully. In a broken-sounding voice, I said, "I've read books. I've heard arias. I've even witnessed the act of love-making between various sorts of companions. People who love, people who hate, people who use it as a weapon or as a means of escape. I've known the mechanics of the act. How it's done has never been much a mystery. But the result... the act itself... the emotion... the sensations... those were lost to me." I kept my face hidden as much as I could, buried in the crook of my too-thin arm or the fluff of the pillow. I knew she was looking at me, and the weight of her stare was a heavy burden. "There is no book, no poem... there is no song or art work... there isn't even a word profound and expressive enough to explain the full complexity of... what just happened here."

"But you aren't hurt?" she asked again.

I chuckled darkly. "How very true to your character that you worry if you have hurt me."

"Of course I worry about you. I love you."

The more she said it, the guiltier I felt. "And that, my dear, is a stupid mistake."

Her tone and the mood in the room changed instantly. "How dare you!" she spat out. "How dare you suggest that I am stupid for loving you... or that my love is a mistake!"

"But it is," I countered. "You could have anyone."

"And I want you!"

"Christine!" I groaned in ultimate frustration. She would never understand. I'd abused her so much that she'd lost all common sense and ability to reason. "When will you accept that I am unlovable?"

"What?"

"From the moment of my birth, I was unlovable. My own mother couldn't tolerate me enough to love me. What makes you believe you are more capable than she was?"

"Because..." She paused then, the wheels spinning in her brain so fast I swear I could hear them. "Because I fell in love with you – with your soul – and not your face."

Now I really did laugh. "You've used that argument already. It could be said that my soul is just as distorted as my face!"

She sighed heavily, "And yet it's not. It's beautiful." I felt the smallest brush of her fingers on the back of my hand. "You are beautiful."

Even though I was afraid to meet her eyes out of the shame I felt, I forced myself to look at her now. Face-to-face, unflinching from her gaze, she wouldn't dare make such a statement about my appearance. But to my surprise, she didn't look away from my mismatched eyes or the disaster of my face. She only smiled at me.

"I don't have time for pretty lies, Christine. Dress them up however you like, they are still lies." She winced at my words and looked upon me with such sadness. I detested that look, and I told her so. "I do not want your pity!"

"I don't pity you in that way," she explained softly. "I only pity the fact that you are incapable of seeing your own beauty."

Her voice was so calm, so pure, so honest. I wished I could believe her, but I would never be able to escape the horror of my own appearance. "How can you," I asked after a long pause, "who is the epitome of beauty, look upon me and not feel the urge to vomit?"

"Because I love you," she said simply.

I shook my head. "Which I still don't understand."

She took a deep breath and moved ever-so-slightly closer to me. "Tell me, Erik... why do you love me?"

I blinked. Stunned. Wasn't it obvious why I loved her? I would hardly be a man if I couldn't love her. It was so easy to love her. Why did she even question it? She looked back at me with expectation and I knew she was being completely serious with her question. "I love you because you are everything that is joyful and lovely," I said somewhat shyly. "I love your smile, the light in your eyes. I cling to darkness, but I am like a moth to the flame of light that seems to surround you. You are kind and gentle and sweet. And your voice..." I closed my eyes, remembering the first time I heard my Angel of music. "Your voice is the closest thing to Heaven I have ever experienced..." I thought for a moment and then correct my final statement. "That is...until... tonight..." I swallowed. "Your voice brings such joy to my tortured existence. I could listen to you sing every moment of every day for the rest of eternity and never tire of the sound." I met her eyes again. "You are the most exquisite, beautiful creature that has ever crossed my path. How could I not love you?"

Carefully, Christine covered my hand with her own. "If I were to lose some of my beauty, would you still love me?"

"Of course!" I said without hesitation.

"You love me for more than just my face, don't you?"

"Yes..." And then I realized the true meaning behind her line of questions.

"If you love me for more than just my face, why is it so impossible to believe that I love you for similar reasons?"

As she spoke, I shook my head and pulled my hand from her grasp. "It's different, Christine."

"Why is it different? If I were wrinkled or had thinning hair or warts, why is that different?"

"The problems you are describing are somewhat acceptable, where as my face is nothing more than a monstrosity!"

"Do you think I don't know what you look like, Erik?" I stopped cold at her words. "I am not blind. I can see your face. I know very well what your face looks like. And I still love you for reasons that have nothing to do with your appearance." After a pause she added, "And even then, I do find you attractive."

"No," I groaned.

"If only you could see yourself through my eyes, maybe then I could convince you."

I wanted to hide from her piercing yet perplexedly loving gaze. "You challenge my sanity when you say things like that!"

"The first time I saw you... no." She stopped and regrouped her thoughts. "The first time I heard your voice, I was enchanted. Your voice is so soothing, so captivating. I couldn't ignore it, couldn't resist it. I believe I fell in love with you based solely on your voice alone. And that was just your speaking voice. Nothing prepared me for your singing voice. There is a reason why I liken you to an Angel, Erik, and it's not for the mysterious way you seem to be everywhere and nowhere at once. It's your voice. The intelligence in your voice. You are the most intelligent man I've ever met. And that intelligence seeps into your music. Oh God, your music!" Her head tilted back and her eyes closed in a manner indicative of pleasure. "Words cannot describe the effect your music has on me. You are music, Erik. It's in your pulse; it seeps from your veins.

I was engrossed in the way she described me. Music had always been a part of my life. I'd never known a time without it. It was, for all intents and purposes, my first love. I had known from a young age that I was able to control others through some sort of hypnosis with my voice. However I had always believed, thanks to my mother, that my voice was wicked and devilish. I used it for wicked purposes, certainly, but never did I expect to hear my voice described so appealingly by Christine.

"You even move musically," she continued, focusing her eyes on mine once more. "You seem to glide through space. You move so fluently, so gracefully. It's almost as if you float. I don't think you are even aware of it, but the way you move is very elegant. Your posture, your very presence is commanding and dominant and so very... masculine. And your hands... your hands captivate me. I could watch those long, elegant fingers stroke the piano keys for hours. I have often imagined them stroking my skin..." To my surprise, she blushed and hid her eyes from me. "I know that sounds strange, but I want you to know that I am genuinely am attracted to you. I have been attracted to you for such a long time. I have wanted to touch you, to feel your solid body against mine. I feel... safe... loved... adored..."

Her gaze met mine again in the thick, revealing stillness. My voice was lost, my throat dry, my mind reeling from her interpretation. What could I say in return? How was I even to respond?

Taking my hand again, Christine meaningfully laced her fingers with mine. She nudged her body even closer to mine. We were now so close, lying side by side, faces only a breath apart. She brushed a kiss on my knuckles and looked up at me through her long lashes. "I love you, Erik. What more can I say? What more can I do to prove it to you?"

For the first time, I completely believed her. The love I felt for her was reflected in the way she gazed back at me. She loved me. She loved me. Despite my ugliness. Despite my need for darkness. Despite the fact that I threatened her and held her against her will. For reasons beyond my comprehension, she loved me.

Christine sniffed and bit at her bottom lip in that way that always appealed to me more than it should. "What do I have to do to prove it to you?"

"Oh, Christine," I sighed. "It isn't proof I need anymore. It's that... I am unworthy of it."

She licked her lips. God, she was always biting and licking at those plump, perfect lips! With one more shift of her body, she was able to nuzzle her face into the crook of my neck under my chin. Our hands were still grasped between us, so I couldn't feel the full pressure of her body against mine, but I could feel her warm breath. And then I felt her lips. She kissed the tender skin at my pulse point. And then she kissed the place just beneath my ear.

I pulled away so that I could look into her eyes. There was no fear – no disgust. Only love. Love like I'd never seen or felt or experienced. I may be unworthy of this love, but I had it none-the-less. I had her love. It was mine. She was mine. I'd given her the chance to leave again, and she had argued her reasons to stay. And now she kissed me and pressed against me. What else could a man do when faced with such love?

I didn't have a choice any more. The choice had been made, and my body moved toward her on impulse, commanding my thoughts to forget my face and just feel the love that was offered. For just one night, I would allow myself to forget.