A/N: I'm finally posting this chapter. The man in the shadows immerges. Mwahahahahaha! Please send your reviews. I will try to update regularly, but unfortunately the writing process is going kind of slowly right now. My co-author and I are both in college, and she still hasn't sent me the first part to chapter 14. Yes, we are currently writing chapter fourteen. I just want to space out the next three chapters so that hopefully, when we finally do post 13, 14 will be done too.
Chapter Ten
A Painful Ordeal
I leaned forward towards the open window, a little perturbed by the flurry of questions that Erik had posed to me. Remaining silent for a while, my eyes came to rest on a man's form a little in the distance. With nothing else to occupy my gaze, I kept my eyes on him as the brougham's slow pace brought us closer and closer. His well-dressed form was leaning against a lamppost, in what seemed a dejected attitude. Poor man, he looks as if he just lost his lover. When we were a few yards away, I was able to make out the man's features. I gasped, clutching the leather seat in utter shock. Raoul! It is him! It can only be him!
"Raoul!" The surprised cry of his name flew out of my lips before I had time to think. He had heard, and was looking about wildly, in search of the voice that had called him. My heart was hammering within me, and I felt my head beginning to swim. Just as the carriage passed, he glanced into the window, and a flash of recognition passed instantly across his face.
"Christine!" He broke into a run, trying to catch up with the carriage.
"Raoul! Oh, Raoul!" I leaned dangerously out the window. I needed to tell him. I needed to tell him who I really loved. A jerk from Erik's arm pulled me back inside. "Erik, please make the driver stop! I need to tell him! Erik, please!"
"Tell him what?" I asked in a voice that came out more as a low growl than anything else. The severe hurt that had flickered in my heart at her request had quickly transformed into pure rage. "Tell him how miserable you have been with me, and how you love him, and how you plan to escape? Everything is going to work out wonderfully? Indeed! Christine, did you honestly expect me to wait patiently here as you were reunited with your lover, as you two schemed on where and when your flight would be made? I think not!"
Tightening my hold on Christine's arm, I turned my attention to the cabbie. "Driver! There is a man attempting to run down and overcome this carriage. Do not be deceived by his clothing. I know him for a vagabond and a thief." The Vicomte de Chagny was a thief indeed, for he had stolen the one thing that I treasured most: the heart of the woman I adored. "Hurry man! We must lose him!"
My lips fixed in a grim line as I loosened my grasp and then released Christine altogether. For once, I did not wish to touch her. An instant later, the blinds were closed, blocking out the harsh light and shielding us from the sight of that boy. The carriage sped away, and I turned to face the darkly curtained wall. Heedless to Christine's protesting cries, I sunk back into the seat, folding my arms and allowing my mind to slip into an ominous, detached state of malevolent brooding.
Wildly, I shrieked in fury. I did not wish to escape. I only wanted to release Raoul of our engagement. Of course, Erik didn't know that, but in my anger, I failed to realize his ignorance. How dare he not listen to my request? I clenched my fists, boiling.
"There was no reason for you to go off in a rage like that!" I seethed, kneeling on the seat next to him, trying to get his attention. "How could you think that I would try to escape?! And who said I was miserable? Did I give any indication that I was miserable with you? All you think about is yourself... that's all you think about! You would think, by the way you act, I belonged to you!" By now, I was shaking with passion. The fact that he was ignoring me didn't help soothe my heated emotions. "Well, I don't yet, and don't you forget that! And I might never belong to you in the first place! What right have you to be telling me who I will and will not speak to?! I don't know if any woman would love you anyway, even if you weren't in the state that you're in! How dare you! You're so self-centered! Heaven forbid that your woman even thinks about talking to another man! Who would want to be your wife anyway? Say goodbye to all freedom!" I could see Erik's eyes growing dark, and his body growing tense. "You're not listening to me! Look at me when I'm speaking to you!" Raw fury took over me, and I slapped him across the face. The instant I did so, I regretted my actions.
A resounding slap to my left cheek brought me instantaneously out of my black stupor. Even through the full mask, it stung blatantly. With renewed furry, I turned to Christine fighting to keep my own wrath in check. I would not strike her. I could not. Even in rage, familiar longings stirred in my heart at the sight of my beloved. The fire of anger blazing in her eyes, like two blue flames, only served to enhance her spectacular beauty, arousing fresh desires. Despite my best efforts, my first response was the sudden, unbidden yearning to take her into my arms and kiss away all traces of anger and bitter sorrow from both of our hearts. But I would not allow myself that liberty. It would do no good. It would not resolve anything. Most likely, it would only earn me another slap.
"You do belong to me," I told her coolly. "You gave your word that you would be mine. We are engaged to be married, Christine. And I do not care to discuss this matter any further until we are home."
Christine was wise enough to obey that command. The rest of our journey was passed in solemn silence. When we arrived at the Opera I stepped out of the carriage, helped my lady to the ground, and then removed my precious violin with an outward calm completely contrasting our shared inner turmoil. I paid our driver and thanked him. Then, taking Christine by the hand, I strode quickly toward the back entrance. Our pace did not slow until we came to the lake. There, at the edge of its shimmering waters, I stopped to look at the woman beside me, placing my instrument on the floor of the boat. A soft cerulean glow reflecting off the lake bathed her face in its light. She was gorgeous, but I would not allow the sight of her to soften the blows of her words in the carriage.
"Mademoiselle," I said, taking hold of both her shoulders, "you will not strike me a second time. And you will never speak to me like that again." My voice was rising, and I did not attempt to control my emotions any longer. "Never! Do you hear me, Christine? I will not have it!"
The carriage ride back to the Opera had somewhat eased my anger, and I had started to regret the words that I had spoken. I was ready for the argument to come to an end, but Erik's raised voice and vice-like grip on my shoulders, immediately rekindled my rage.
"Well, you're going to! It's about time someone stood up to you! What makes you think that you have the right to go off in a rage at someone who doesn't give into your every whim? And what are you going to do? Kill me like all the others who interfered with your precious plans?" I struggled in his grasp, trying to get free. "I almost think that death would be better than to live with an egotistical bastard such as yourself! Raoul is a much better man than you'll ever be." I fought to get loose, my conscience pricking me for being too harsh. Erik's eyes showed the hurt and anger that my words had produced. That look in his eyes made me melt, and I was on the verge of tears. But no, I couldn't let him have the victory of seeing me cry. I pushed against his chest, trying to loosen his grasp.
I was getting tired, and my head ached terribly. No matter how hard I tried to keep myself under control, hot tears began to roll down my face, and before long, I was sobbing into Erik's shirt.
Closing my eyes, I stood motionless as Christine wept, believing wholeheartedly that she meant every word of that little speech. The fact that she was crying in my arms did little to ease the agony that her words had brought to my throbbing chest. My heart was bleeding, breaking. The pain was so real, so physical, that I fully expected it to kill me at any moment. I would have much preferred that she hit me again and remain silent.
A whim? I thought to myself, as tears of anguish began to stream down my own cheeks. Is that what she thinks of my feelings for her? Was it a whim that drew us together in the graveyard, a momentary inclination that brought that expression of love into her eyes? The memory of her words tormented me. "…Death would be better than to live with an egotistical bastard such as yourself!Raoul is a much better man than you'll ever be." For a few wonderful minutes that morning, I had dreamed that Christine Daaé returned my feelings, but my reverie was shattered now. The pretense of her love for me had vanished at the sight of her true lover. I cursed myself a thousand times for falling for that ruse. She did not love me. In all probability she never would. No one could love me.
Curse the woman! She was still crying, clinging to me as if she expected me to comfort her, perhaps visualizing the vicomte in my stead. I could not take another minuet of this.
My shoulders stiffened, and I backed away. "Come, Christine," I instructed in a hushed tone. Pausing, I extended a hand to her. My eyes trailed to the floor. I would not look into those accusing eyes. Then, for the first time, I noticed that the hem of her garment was drenched. She too had been kneeling in the snow. "You are wet, covered in snow," I murmured. "We must get you out of that dress and into something dry."
She took my hand, and I guided her to the boat, helping her into a comfortable sitting position at my feet. When that was done, I began to poll along the subterranean waters, my strokes as quick and uncalculated as the beating of my disenchanted heart. My eyes moved from the blue lake, and settled upon my beloved. In my mind, I could hear her questioning even my thoughts. "What right do you have to call me your beloved?" Thankfully, she could not read my thoughts.
She sat there in silence. Silence. It was driving me mad! Christine Daaé would be the death of me yet. If she could not love me then my life was worthless. The sweet vision of love had come to me only a short time ago in her heavenly eyes, and now it was gone. Her cruel words had driven away all my hopes that she could care for me. But what were her true feelings? She was constantly contradicting herself in action as well as in word… so like a woman. If my question would produce yet another argument, then so be it. I had to know the answer, and I would know it now.
"Christine, did you mean all that you just said?" I asked. My voice quavered beyond all control. "Do you…" It was almost too terrible to say; yet I had to ask. "Do you hate me? Do you loathe me so much that you would rather see yourself dead than become my bride?"
I dug my nails into the folds of my dress. No, I didn't mean a word I said, and no, I don't hate you. Quite the opposite. I know I love you, but I can't bring myself to believe it, much less tell you. I couldn't bear to look at him. The pain in his voice showed me how deeply I had hurt him.
"No…." My voice was almost inaudible. "I… I'm sorry I said those things to you. I didn't mean it…. You're… I…" I wasn't ready to tell him that I loved him, even though my heart ached to do so. Bravely, I took a long breath, keeping my eyes on the water. What I was about to say was not going to be easy. "What I said about Raoul… I didn't mean it…. You're… you're… better… than he is. You're the kind of man… I… dreamed of having." He couldn't believe me now… not after I was so cruel.
A sudden thrill ran throughout my entire body. My heart pounded fiercely, and for one sweet moment I believed her. She is ready, I thought joyfully. We can be married now. That will fulfill both of our dreams. A smile crept over my lips as I froze in place, the poll motionless in my trembling hands. The lake seemed to be spinning around us; then it faded completely from view. I could see only Christine in my mind's eyes, dressed in her wedding gown, seated on the edge of the swan bed and reaching out for me with a smile of purest adoration on her perfect lips. In that euphoric state I wanted nothing more than to take my place beside her, and to draw her into my arms… to feel her little hand caressing my marred cheek… her soft lips moving against mine. I wanted to experience the pleasure of her warm, soft, exquisitely molded body nestling closer and closer until there was no space left between us. I longed to feel those familiar, exhilarating yearnings… to lose myself wholly in her embrace of love. To spend every night lying beside her and each day in her company. To shut out the cruelness of the outside world and share our music with each other alone.
For that wonderful moment, I imagined that my fondest dreams were about to become realities. Christine was fulfilling them all now, if she spoke the truth. Her love was all that I lived for, and if she truly loved me, she would become my wife.
But why did she not look at me as she spoke? A frown creased my brow beneath the mask. There was only one answer to that question: she was lying. She had spoken her heart a few minutes ago. Those unfeeling words were more than proof that she cared nothing for me, and her apology was merely another falsehood. Christine was only saying these things to appease me, fearing my tears—although I could never understand why she dreaded so ardently to see me weeping—and fearing my anger.
Releasing a long, mournful sigh, I plunged the poll again into the dark, sapphire waters. I kept my eyes fixed upon the passageway ahead as I propelled the small craft hastily onward, not daring to look at Christine again. She would not see my tears or my anger; I would keep them to myself. Love does strange things to a man, I pondered. Who would have thought that one day I could be so dependent upon a girl? She really was only a child. Doubtless, I was at least twenty years her senior, old enough to be her father. But still I loved her, loved her and wanted her with all of my being.
Soon, the boat glided beneath the rising portcullis. I brought the craft almost mechanically to a stop at the shore, and stepped out, offering an arm to Christine with equal impassiveness. The remainder of our journey had passed before either of us had spoken another word. I did not look at her as she took my proffered arm. Instead, I helped her out, gazing down at my violin case, immediately detaching her hold on me when she was safely on dry ground, and gathering the instrument lovingly in my arms. It would be my comfort now. I would take refuge in my music, as I so often did.
After lowering the grating, I strode toward my room, and then stopped a few meters from its entry. "Now Christine," I said, turning to look at her, but still not allowing our eyes to meet, "I expect you to change out of that wet gown, and then you are to take a warm bath." The last thing that I wanted now was for her to become ill. I could treat her, but after all that she had said to me it would be a painful ordeal for both of us. It had already been a painful ordeal. I was certain that the hurt would not heal, and it was best to avoid one another's presence at least until my anger had cooled. "If you need anything, I will be in my room. But I do not wish to be disturbed unless it is absolutely necessary. I will not be joining you for luncheon, and most likely I will not require any dinner either."
My gaze swept the room by way of a quick inspection and then came to rest on a table to her right holding a decanter of brandy and a large glass. A bitter smile formed on my lips. That would be my next resort of consolation. If I found that I could not bury my sorrow in my music, I would have the liquor with me. Slowly, I lifted my eyes to look into Christine's stunning blue ones. There was a look of distress on her lovely face as I walked past her to the table and collected the decanter and glass in one hand.
"These are all that I will be needing for a few hours." I indicated the drink and my instrument. "I trust that you will find some way to occupy yourself this afternoon."
"Yes, I will." With that, I turned and went to my room, half slamming the door behind me. He was hurt. I saw it in his eyes. It was obvious that he did not believe the things I had just told him in the boat. I strode over to the vanity and began to remove my hairpins, tossing them angrily on the floor. So he was going to sulk was he? Trying to make me feel guilty like all of this was my fault? Brooding, I undressed and got ready for my bath.
I sank into the warm bath water, sighing contentedly. Soon, the warmness calmed my agitated nerves, and I began to regret my sharp words. It really wasn't his fault. He was just afraid of losing me. I shouldn't have gotten so angry. I deserved to feel guilty. How was I going to make him believe that I did not mean what I said? If he hadn't shut himself up in his room, I would go now and beg his forgiveness… but it would be useless. Worried, I got out of the bath, wrapped myself in a robe, and returned to my room. What was I going to do?
Rummaging through my dresser, I looked for something to wear. One of the drawers held a large assortment of undergarments and lingerie. I blushed, remembering how Erik had purchased them. A playful smile curled on my lips. He knew what I liked. Laughing at my thoughts, I reached for some things, and soon was clad in white lace and a lighter robe. It was almost the same thing I wore the first time I met Erik. I smiled, brushing my hair, while remembering the hypnotizing song he had sung to me that night. Will he ever sing to me like that again after how much I hurt him? A chill ran down my spine as I re-lived how he had held me.
That was the first time I had felt that way… that warmth in my lower body… that need for more. I always felt like that when Erik held me, and I knew he felt the same. Who knows if he would ever hold me like that again? How could I have been so cruel? Maybe, if I went to him… maybe if I let him—my cheeks flamed crimson. I wasn't ready for that. Not now, it was too soon. Oh, but how else could I get him to know that I was sorry? Slamming the brush down on the vanity, I sat on the bed, leaning back against the fluffy pillows, frowning. I wanted him to hold me, wanted him to tell me that everything was alright, wanted to feel his strong arms around me, wanted to rest my head on his chest, wanted to feel his lips consume mine…. Now that was going too far. I pouted. But I did. I wanted him as much as he wanted me, and at this rate that wasn't about to happen. Frustrated, I buried my face in a pillow. How could I go from despising him to loving him in such a short time? Maybe it was because I never really despised him…. I didn't know. I felt like screaming. This was all going too fast for me to get used to.
Snatches of Erik's violin playing reached my ears, and I twisted the blankets in my fingers. I wanted to be with him right now. I could start shrieking…. That would bring him running. Christine, you're acting like a child! I laughed. This was ridiculous. I was going to go crazy, and I didn't know why. I could have cried, screamed, and laughed all at the same time, but instead I decided to relieve my whirling brain by trying to sleep.