Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.
Title: Songbird
Summary: After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.
Author's Note: To start off, I want to admit that I was very nervous about this chapter. I don't know that it is terribly in character for Erik. I don't know that I dislike it, though. I really wanted his past to come out somehow and I thought it was too typical to be in a lovey-dovey sort of way, or however I mean by that. This seemed a little different, which is nice. Please forgive any discrepancies that may arise.
And, just to let everyone know, I am going to be MIA for about four or five days where I will not have access to a computer or the ability to update the story. I will be going to a convention where there shall be lots of fun had. I wanted to leave this just beforehand so that everyone won't get too antsy about updates. Thank you for your reviews and ideas/suggestions so far. They are much appreciated. ^.^
Chapter 10 – A Past Better Left Forgotten
"I won't do it," Christine insisted, striding heatedly past him with her arms crossed over her chest.
"You don't have a choice in the matter," Erik snapped.
It had seemed to Christine that Erik had made that day particularly difficult on purpose. Where she typically received little or easy work in the morning, Madame Giry had dumped a load of the most strenuous tasks on her, most of which were normally completed by two people instead of just one. She somehow managed to scrape through it, though it had ultimately put her behind in her day.
She ended up running late for her lessons, in which Erik had so understandingly greeted her with, "You're late." She hadn't even been positive that he still wanted to see her after what had occurred the previous evening. But, when he hadn't sent word otherwise, she figured the best thing to do would be to continue on as normal.
Even her voice lessons seemed colder and tougher. It was like they were back at that initial stage. Erik was short and terse with her. He always found something to berate her for, even as she attempted to appease a previous complaint. She quickly found that this unpleasant side of his was not to attractive, and she wished that she had not deserved it.
Christine stared out the window, pretending to be distracted. However, she was much too angry to find interest in anything else. If it wasn't already evident, Erik was the cause. She determined that she was merely acting in response to his already outrageous mood.
"You can't force me," she argued, much like a child.
Erik let out a brief chuckle of disbelief. "Like hell I can't. Be careful what you wish for, girl."
Christine whirled around on him, her fists now clenched at her sides. "You give me a three day notice that I am to be lead in your newest opera in the biggest opera house in the city and expect me to be flattered? You are setting me up for failure and you know it."
"You're being paranoid," he dismissed with a wave of his hand.
Christine took a step forward. "Do you blame me? Why would I think otherwise when you are still trying to punish me for last night?"
He seemed at a loss for a moment, though his eyes shone defiant and rueful. "I don't know what you're-"
"Don't give me that." It was her turn to snap back at him. "Do you think that I am dumb—that I wouldn't be capable of seeing what you are doing? I made a mistake last night that you are making me pay for. Yes, I know that for a certainty. Do you also not think that I don't regret everything that happened? Do you think I wanted to cause you such pain and embarrassment?"
"Wait a moment." He stopped her. "What makes you think that you learned anything about me through your snooping last night?"
"My snooping?" she asked incredulously, finding offense in the use of that particular word. However, she gave up as soon as she had asked, and sighed in frustration. Her hand rubbed the tension at her forehead. "I really didn't mean to pry, and I am sorry that I caught you off guard. That was not my intention. But, you don't have to worry because I am still here, obviously."
At that moment her eyes darted inadvertently to the side of Erik's face that the mask was plastered to. Despite the well covering, she could still see as clearly as she had the night before the deformity hidden beneath it. It did send a shiver down her spine that she did her best to not react to. But, it was apparent why he thought he would receive no sympathy from the outside world.
"I don't plan to be frightened away so easily," she added softer.
Erik paused a moment, sticking his nose up, and then he pivoted away from her. He stepped to his favorite armchair and eased down. She heard him hit the cushion, his back now facing her. "Most don't plan to be," he seemed to muse more to himself than to her.
Christine strode to his side and kneeled at his feet. She stared up at him with sadness and adoration in her eyes. "Monsieur, I would like to know everything you keep locked away. Can't you impart to me how this mask came to be?"
He stared down at her, distrustful. Yet, he seemed to be having an internal debate on whether to tell her his dark past or not. She had crossed the line by sneaking upon him last evening and seeing something she never should have seen. She expected him to be honest and open with her after she had pulled a stunt like that. It was laughable. It was also laughable that she hadn't run off in fear. Or that she hadn't chosen to ostracize him, as others in her position before her had chosen to do. He couldn't pinpoint whether she was being sincere or merely toying with him in order to impact a larger blow later.
Erik moved his hand to place it delicately, comfortingly atop of hers. Just as he was hovering over her hand, though, she retreated from his touch. He immediately withdrew his hand as well, hurt and embarrassed. "It's not contagious," he hissed at her then pushed himself to his feet. He couldn't look at her.
Christine cradled the hand he had been about to touch close to her body, as if for protection. Realization of what she had just done washed quickly over her, and she immediately felt guilty. "I've never thought that," she whispered.
"Do you recall when I said that you were not ready to see what lay behind my mask, Christine?" Erik asked. He paced the room away from her, his hands grasped lightly behind his back. At least he didn't sound angry at her anymore.
She eased to her feet, attempting to be as silent as possible in all of her movements. "Yes, I suppose."
"It is all you see now, yes? Every time you look at me. We can't go on in the way we have previously done because the deformity is constantly hanging in the air around us." He spoke calmly. "You were not at a place to accept it yet. You were still learning and growing." He spun on his heel, his eyes finding her in an instant. "You had not gotten rid of all of your fear yet. This is precisely why I deemed you not ready."
"And what gives you the right to say if I am prepared for such things or not?" she breathed, quite dumbfounded.
"Because I've had my entire life to study people's reactions!" he screamed, losing himself to his anger. He stomped closer to her, an imposing and intimidating figure, but she didn't flinch at all. "I've experienced how quick to judge and act people are when encountered with the strange and disturbing. I know how repulsive a deformed face is—how confusing and disconcerting it can be." His voice began to crack with the sadness building up. "Do you think it is easy to have your own mother loathe the sight of you?"
Christine's eyes went wide and she swallowed hard, but managed to resist the urge to react in any other way. She hadn't realized that it had been that sort of a situation. She had barely had a mother, but she also couldn't imagine having her detest her own child. She especially couldn't ever know just how that would feel—when all you want as a child is to love and be loved. The only thing she knew she could feel for certain was his pain and anguish.
Erik whirled away. He closed the distance to the piano and leaned on the top of it, his head bowed. His breathing was audible and heavy. Inside, he felt like he was breaking. He was always so strong and so controlled. He never revealed his past to anyone. He never revealed any weakness.
"Take a seat, Mademoiselle Daaé," he instructed, defeated.
Though it was hardly commanding in any way, Christine felt compelled to listen. She felt like she didn't have a choice. She found a seat on one of the divans about the room and fell onto the cushion softly, expectantly. She wasn't exactly sure what was about to happen, but she knew for certainty that Erik was exhausted from constantly being on the defense.
Though he didn't glance over his shoulder to confirm if she had done as he requested, he continued on. "Some children are born with dimples or curls. I was born with this hideous deformity on the right half of my face. How, is still a mystery to me. Needless to say, I was quite the subject of horror to my family. As proof, my mother presented me with a mask the first chance she got. I suppose I should be grateful to her for teaching me that it is necessary to disguise such things." He sighed and began to slowly walk alongside the piano, running his fingers across the smooth surface.
"So I ran away. I left them. Who wants to be a stain upon their family's existence, anyway?" He chortled briefly. "How I got from there to here is of no importance. I will simply say that I discovered places that put my parents' treatment of me to shame and others that made them look like angels. But in the end, they all disappointed me."
Silence pervaded the room. Christine dare not speak. She was like a sponge, soaking in all that he imparted to her, grateful that she even got a small glimpse into his life. She watched him slide onto the piano bench and hover his hands over the ivory keys. She waited. She didn't know whether he was done talking or not. She wasn't going to be the one to interrupt him and cause him to retreat back into himself.
"I found myself with a chance opportunity. I was able to apprentice, in a way, with a great composer." Erik's fingers fell lightly onto the keys and a soft, sad melody issued forth. "He taught me everything I know, and I like to think I taught him something, as well. He wasn't the most social person. In fact, I can clearly remember something he had said to me. He had said, 'You must understand the true nature of people to be able to write something as personal as music. But, that doesn't mean you have to like them.'"
Christine could hear the small, nostalgic smile in Erik's voice. Then he went silent again. She allowed herself to be carried by the notes he played, knowing they were coming from a place in his past that he didn't often venture to. She felt humbled and appreciative. Yet, it made her uneasy all the same. For, she didn't know where this would lead Erik. She had never known him in this state and wasn't sure how it would conclude. It was unsettling in that sense.
The song drifted to an end a minute later. Then the room was truly filled with silence. A moment later, however, Erik cleared his throat and stood. It became very obvious that their time had passed. It had been birthed and had died just as bluntly.
"You will step onto that stage in three days and perform as expected," he ordered, much himself again.
Christine got to her feet, as well. The magic was gone. She patted out the front of her long skirt and moved toward him. "If I agree to this arrangement, will you do something for me?" she asked. There was no resistance in her voice.
Erik stared at her, studying her face. All possible emotion had been drained from his the moment he had stopped playing. "Not that I will or that I feel the need to in order for you to do as I say, but what are you asking for?"
"I know of your involvement with Meg—sponsoring her ballet lessons and all, I mean." She looked down at her hands as they nervously intertwined each other. "She's never had the pleasure that I have had of meeting you. It would mean a lot to her to finally get to see her generous benefactor." She paused a moment then added, "It would mean a lot to me."
"I suppose I will take it into consideration," he grumbled, "but for now, you must practice." He slid back behind the piano, a surge of energy finding him. "If you were to perform in that opera at this time, you would be a laughing stock."
"Thank you," Christine replied sarcastically with a roll of her eyes.
"We can't have that, obviously. We have only three days and a lot of work ahead of us."