Author's Note: I'm actually surprised at how quickly I got this finished... and it wasn't that quick. There was a point that I struggled to actually write what I did, but once I got past that one point, I sort of flew through it in a night. One detail that I am still not sure about even adding is Erik's writing. He'd write ten times better than I could, but I also wanted to get the general idea of what he would say down. Just imagine what I wrote, but WAY more awesome and original. Thank you all for your wonderful comments and encouragement throughout the story! As of now, I don't see an end in sight, because I really am having a great time writing this piece. Though I do have another idea up my sleeve, I will not start that until I am at least almost done with this... between this, my (almost completed) OUAT fic and an original fiction I still need to get back to, I can't add another to my plate, especially with my work being so busy now that summer season is started.
I really hope that you enjoy this section... it was tough, but I hope it was worth it. I'll assure you now, you will get more on what happens at the end in a following chapter. My plan is to have one small chapter in Erik's POV after this leading up to this moment, and then I will detail what happens immediately after the drop off of this chapter. :)
One final note... I've wanted to try this for a while and even started outlining, but... I've always wanted to attempt a screenplay for a very faithful to Leroux screenplay. Even if it is just as a fun project, I've wanted to tackle the order of the story in which Leroux wrote, as well as adding those little details that people love to see in movies. What do you think? I'd totally blog about it all, too. Anyway, that is just another huge project to add to my list, but thought it was worth mentioning. Who knows, maybe a group of phans could get together and make a small film to circulate around? *shrug* anyway, enough rambling out of me. Without further ado...
- Phantom's angel
Christine emerged early the next morning, more fully rested than she'd cared to be. The moment she awoke, she could sense something in the room was different. She'd spend enough time in that room to have a full understanding of it, yet as she looked toward the chair that Erik had once sat in, he was not there. Instead, there was the outline of a black mass. Christine sat up and tried to focus her eyes enough to identify it, but it was no use. Cautiously, she stepped out of the bed and approached the chair, watching as the shape begin to make sense. It was a tote bag – Christine's bag – black on the outside with a red bandana print on the inside. Christine pulled the bag over onto the bed, closer to the candle flickering on the bedside table, and pulled the items out.
There was a great deal of her clothes rolled into the bag, stacked and piled to provide the most space possible. Each article of clothing he'd picked out was well matched, like he already knew what it was she liked to pair together. His sense of fashion for a woman fit her perfectly. Amongst the clothes, he also packed socks, two pairs of shoes, hair accessories, brushes, a dryer, a tooth brush with paste, and her favorite cross necklace. She pulled the necklace out of the zip lock baggie and examined it, surprised that Erik would have known to grab it. She knew he had to be responsible for the bag, after all. Christine nearly forgot about the necklace. She didn't wear it during her gallery. She wasn't sure why she didn't at least keep it on her, because she normally always had it on. It was a gift from her father years ago, and ever since she had kept it close to her. It was the first thing she put out of her delivered items.
After finding a shirt and jeans to change into, Christine looked down at the black cocktail dress she still wore from her night at the gallery. It was all she had and she'd been living in it for four days straight. She knew it was a goner as far as future wear, so she threw it onto the bed and slowly emerged from the bedroom. She could see the sun was still blazing red from the parting with the night just from the small sliver of light coming from the partial underground window in the room with the ice chest. She wasn't afraid to step out of the room this morning. Christine felt revived as she entered the far room that was normally so dark, seeing that a few embers were burning inside of the tin trashcan. To the side, Christine saw two plates full of eggs, sausage, bacon and potatoes with Erik staring at her through the darkness.
"For you," Erik said gesturing to the food before she could say anything.
"Thanks," Christine said, impressed at the display of food before them.
She sat and placed the plate in her lap, savoring the mixture of smells and textures. It was a real feast the two of them were sharing, and she didn't think she would see it during her time with Erik. She didn't care to comment on it, though. Christine was too mesmerized with the food to even talk about anything. She was perfectly content with the sound of plastic scrapping against the paper plates and their shadows against the diffused lighting.
"I see you found your bag," Erik said.
Christine continued cutting at one of the sausages.
"I retrieved a few of your belongings so that your stay here will be more comfortable," Erik said after taking the last bite on his plate.
Christine looked up to him, uncertain what to say. She looked down at the change of clothes and nodded for confirmation.
There was the obvious question of how he was able to get into her apartment to collect these items in the first place, but then there was the thought of when he had left her alone in the first place. Had anybody from the outside world been looking for her? Was she given up on? How did he know what she'd need? Everything was filling her mind, but all she could do was nod her head and stare right back at him.
"Thank you," she said slowly.
"If you'd like, there is a running shower I can escort you to as well."
Christine thought of the wrinkled dress lying on the bed in the abandoned room. She thought how grimy it looked even in the darkness, then imagined how she must look. Any trace of make-up she once wore was surely gone, she knew despite the absence of mirrors. Her hair was knotting and stuck to the top of her hair, in desperate need of attention, yet as she looked back to Erik to acknowledge his offer, he still stared at her like she was the most enchanting of beauties to behold. Christine blushed and turned away from his gaze, holding her hand to her lips.
"Yes," she said, still managing to nod. "I'd like a shower."
They traveled together to a small communal restroom later that afternoon, where Christine was allowed to fully freshen up. She hardly took note of where they were going, she spent so much time watching Erik as he led her. The same went for their return back to the basement dwelling as her hair hung soaked and dripping down her back in the winter chill. She accepted Erik's offer to shield her against the cool with his coat, tucked beneath his arm.
Their return back to the shelter brought a strange relief over Christine as she immediately made herself comfortable on the chair she'd been using beside the tin trashcan. The fire inside was extinguished, but Erik immediately went to the pile of wood and paper in the corner and got to work building a fire.
On one of his trips between the corner and the trashcan, he paused at Christine's side and held out a sketch book filled with clean white paper and a set of colored pencils. Christine looked up from her locked stare at her knees and drew her hand to her lips in surprise. She looked over the rainbow of freshly sharpened pencils and crisp clean papers, her mouth parting with a hint of tears filling behind her eyes. They were nothing special compared to the tools she was used to crafting with, but this small gesture of kindness, though inferior to what he had already done for her, set her over the edge.
She took the items and held them in her lap, her lips trembling as she fought back a tear.
"Thank you," she managed.
"I'd love for you to fill that wall," he said, gesturing toward the single lined sheet of paper that was still hanging across from them.
Christine looked over her shoulder to him, smiling weakly as a chill ran through her spin. She nodded graciously, accepting the challenge as she opened the pack of colored pencils and turned to the first fresh page.
Ideas flowed through her mind, colliding against one another as she tried to sort out the best way to manage everything she was feeling. From such a simple way of living, so many emotions were building inside of her. She scribbled notes on the backside of the cover to the sketch book, legible enough to read, but probably only to Christine's eyes. After clumping words together and drawing lines with small symbols along the cardboard page, she was able to organize her mind's jumble.
The first drawing took some time, not being complete until later that afternoon, but once Christine got going, she was able to answer questions in her mind with her own answers; those that she wished to hear. All of what she wondered about Erik, the abandoned shelter, and herself were sketched in a language only she could understand, yet she was praised each time by Erik with a gentle graze against her cheek with his cold, long fingers and another posting on the wall. By the end of the night, she'd completed four drawings, and by the next day, she'd finished another seven.
They begin to scatter across the wall, taking what was once a blank space to fill it with her stories and emotions. On moments of silence between the two of them, Erik would get up and walk down the row of drawings, pausing in front of each one for some time to try and find more to Christine's story hidden inside. Erik's ability to decipher what Christine was depicting grew stronger as the drawings covered the wall. Erik was always made as something dark, mysterious and foreboding, but as their time together continued, he grew to be less of either of those, at least in person. But in her art, Christine always made him as something more like a shadow. He was darkness itself.
One day, Erik was going over Christine's new pieces he'd pinned against the wall. The wall was covered and he was now ready to start filling onto the next wall over, but Christine had realized she had only two pages left inside of the sketch book. She wanted to make the next two especially meaningful. Erik stopped at the last drawing she had completed and stared at it for quite some time. Christine watched as he stood in front of the piece involving the burial of a feather beneath a pile of bones.
"What do you see when you look at those drawings?" Christine asked from her chair by the fire.
Erik didn't turn to address her.
Christine realized she trusted his opinion greatly when it came to this matter because she admired his honesty.
"I see you."
Though hardly surprised, Christine was taken back by his response. What did he mean? What did he see in her artwork and how did it embody her? She wasn't trying to put emphasis on portraying herself, but more her feelings. If anything, Erik was shown more in her artwork than she was.
"What do you see of me?" Christine ventured cautiously.
"You're much more honest about yourself in your artwork," Erik said.
"Oh?"
"This piece here," Erik said, pointing to the bones and the feather. "You always make yourself weak."
Christine knew she was weak, and chose to portray what she saw as herself that way. She had been fragile for so long now, but she was surprised at how easily Erik caught on to it. Nobody in her department had noticed.
"Why do you think that, Christine?"
Christine let her silence take the moment away, removing any more talk about what Christine felt about herself. The answer remained unanswered as she turned away from the drawings and went back to staring into the fire, with the sketch book resting closed in her lap.
Their time continued to be spent with more drawings, Erik's writing, poetry readings and insights. Christine discovered that Erik was quite smarter than she'd expected and was impressed to learn that he dropped out of high school.
"Why?" Christine asked.
"Because I hated it," Erik said coldly.
This was Christine's queue to drop the subject, so she moved onto his family, which he took even more harshly.
"I have none," Erik seemed to breathe.
"None at all?" Christine tried.
"No."
"I'm sorry," Christine tried, truly pitying his situation.
He looked to her and shook his head, urging her not to fret on his behalf.
"It's better like this," he said.
Time continued to drag on slowly, but Christine had grown thankful for this. She began to enjoy her time with Erik. She was beginning to understand what his solitude was like and thrived off of it. She took the loneliness she put into her drawings and immersed herself in it on the outside, taking in the heavy sent of the dust filled room with ashy filtering around them, and the weight of wondering if she'd ever be discovered. It was a thrill in itself waiting to know if she would ever be found out, but in her new state of thinking, she didn't want to be.
Erik made her safe. He removed all of the anxieties of the world around her and gave her what she truly craved: purpose. Erik gave her an array of ideas to fulfill her artistic needs as well as made her feel needed. Aside from feeling meant only for him, there were no more obligations. She didn't have to please anybody else in the world because they no longer existed. For so long, Christine had just wanted to do what she loved and stick to those she trusted. In the strangest of ways, Erik was catering to that exact criterion.
She still had much to learn about him, but she was a willing student and craved the knowledge. Though the two weeks were soon coming to an end, Christine didn't intend to leave Erik. With the way she was feeling, she knew she needed to learn more. The only problem was Christine didn't know how to get this information across to him.
"Two days," Erik said as Christine emerged one morning.
How could she forget? She'd been counting the days and it had been a full 12 now. Two days left, indeed, were all that remained. But what would happen after these next two days?
Christine remained silent and took her normal spot in the wooden chair beside the fire. She didn't want it to end because she was afraid of how it would change. How could she make things stay the way they were?
"Are you hungry?"
"No, thank you," Christine said.
She was hungry, but she didn't want to waste her time with meals.
"Very well," Erik said as he crossed to his corner surrounded by books.
He opened to a page in his personal journal, where he kept his works and began to scribble away on a clean sheet of paper. From the beginning, Christine had known Erik to use the same papers repeatedly, adding on notes and details to one sheet of paper before cluttering another page with similar effect. He didn't even stop to tap the pen, he was so enthralled on his work that he didn't notice Christine leave her seat by the fire to sit at his feet and look onto the book in his lap.
"Are you on the final draft?" Christine asked.
Erik looked up, surprised by her being beside him so suddenly, but hardly showing it. He smirked at her comment and put the pencil back to the paper for some time, leaving Christine's comment unanswered. He wrote quickly in his sloppy penmanship and hunched over the page until he stopped suddenly and put the pencil down on the floor. It rolled toward Christine, running into her knee. She looked up to Erik as he looked upon her now attentively.
"Never a final draft," Erik said after a moment.
"Oh?" Christine asked.
"That would restrict the ability for growth," Erik said.
Christine looked to the notebook set on his lap. He'd closed the cover over his ring finger, keeping the spot easily accessible, but still covering the writing he had just produced so quickly. His hand ran over the cover, as if protecting it from being broken into, but with a heavy sigh, he flipped the book open back to the page he held the spot of and rested it back in his lap.
"I've been working on this for a while," he said slowly. "but these past couple weeks, I've been especially hard at work with it."
So this was what he was working on this whole time.
"And you just finished it?" Christine asked.
"No," Erik said, pulling the page up close to look over. "I've just begun."
Christine turned her head to the side, unsure what Erik meant. Rather than explain himself, Erik turned the book up to his vision and took in a steady breath before reading:
Her beauty matched the sky; it was clear she was from the heavens. Sent to this earth for another, she has found me by error. Her lips, envied by all heavenly beings, make even other angels turn green in envy, risking their wings and place amongst the clouds. My angel longs to embrace her demons, but holds me instead, a demon far greater than those she fears most. Each stare through my eyes brings her closer to looking through the devil's gates, but she cannot resist; she needs the sins I deal. For I, a demon, aberrant offers are never apprehended, but for the purity of an angel, she risks damnation with every touch of my hand. As we cross to an afterlife, I shall regret null, but she will regret it all. The beautiful creature holds onto me like I can save her, but she will never be free after one oppressing kiss. Forgive me, sweet angel, for the wicked I must serve, and in your alliance with me, I draw you down.
"That was beautiful," Christine said.
Erik didn't respond, but stared at her as if she were greatly mistaken. His eyes seemed to plead to her, to beg her to understand, but she already did understand that it was all about her.
"Erik," she said slowly, hoping her words would come easily if she just spoke from the heart. "You shouldn't think so highly of me…"
"Why not?" Erik asked quickly, as if the idea were foolish.
"Because," Christine said. "You mention demons, but I have my own."
Erik didn't react. He seemed surprised more that Christine was actually admitting this to him than presenting him with news. He nodded his head for confirmation and held a hand out for Christine. She didn't know what to make of the way he was responding to her, but she felt the need to continue anyway. Her hand grasped onto his.
"When I was 16, I was sexually assaulted," Christine said.
Erik held his free hand up in the air.
"You don't have to do this—"
"I spent the weekend with my aunt and uncle, out in New Jersey," Christine went on. She didn't want to hear Erik's protest. She'd already begun.
"I was given special privilege to sleep in the guest bedroom while my cousins all stayed in my youngest cousin's room, in sleeping bags on the floor."
She'd never given this much detail to anybody before, not even to…
Oh, God. Don't say it.
"I was almost asleep when I heard the door open. My uncle was coming in and he saw that I had woken up. He knew I was awake…"
Christine began to tear up. Erik slid down from the chair and onto the floor beside Christine. He held onto her elbows, trying to support her weight, but she was crushing down from the weight on her shoulders. In his botched effort, Christine shook her head, unable to continue. Anybody could have told where the story was going. In her distress, Christine began to sob, holding onto Erik's wrists as he continued to try and keep her sitting up.
"The worst part," Christine breathed between gasps, "is that I still see him from time to time." She could hardly breathe. "Nobody in my family knows or would believe me." Everything was crashing down around her. "It happened all that weekend, and sometimes, when I have to visit with him, he still looks at me like…"
"Hush," Erik said, pulling her up onto her knees again.
Christine wrapped her arms around Erik's waist and pressed her face into his chest, pulling him in close against her. She could feel Erik grow tense and his arms drop to his sides, but she pulled him even closer, burying her face into the black jacket he always wore. It smelt of mildew and dust, but Christine cherished its scent. It was truly unique to him.
The tears faded slowly and Christine noticed suddenly that Erik now had a hesitant hand resting against her back. She nestled her nose out from within the folds of the jacket and looked up to Erik, waiting for him to catch her glance as he always did. All of the fear in the world Christine held vanished the moment he did look to her. She'd made the decision to inform him of her debilitating past, and he was still with her, willing to work past it and console her. He had been working with her the entire time, and now their meeting in the alley was colliding with her already established anxieties of her past.
But despite the past, he needed her now. Erik always seemed to need her, and it seemed almost as much as she needed someone who understood her. Erik understood her need for beauty, like her art, and her need for protection. In what once seemed like a horrible ordeal, Christine was now thankful for the time she'd had as his captive in the abandoned basement below ground. She was thankful that she'd met him, and she didn't want to lose him now. She needed his protection. She needed her angel.
She looked up into his eyes and shivered.
Like a jolt rushing through her body, Christine threw her arms around his neck and pulled Erik in close to her, pressing her lips hard against his. Erik struggled, pushing his hands against her shoulders, urging her away from him, but Christine wouldn't budge. She tenderly fought against him, pressing one hand on his chest while the opposite arm remained wrapped around his shoulders, drawing him into her.
His lips were timid against hers, but as she held on, his hands began to press against her. His arms wrapped around her shoulders rather than push her away. She released herself for a breath and looked into his eyes, shaking from the exhilaration.
This was a first for both of them.
Christine went back again, pressing her mouth even harder against his and parting her lips. Their tongues met as Erik's arm wrapped around Christine's waist, pulling her whole body against his. Christine tensed as her chest grazed against his, but as his fingers ran through her air, she forced herself onward, pursuing further. Her senses were on fire and she was frightened of where they would take her.
She didn't want to look at him like any other person, but she wanted to experience him in a different way. Like a sculpture with his clay, Christine longed to handle every detail of Erik like she was studying him. She wanted to know everything about Erik and what created the man who was still such a mystery to her. She could feel his body, shy and anxious against hers, and already knew his commonplace gestures and mannerisms, but she was still blind to one of his most alluring features.
Her fingers drew up to his cheeks, pulling him even closer to her, which she didn't think was anymore possible. She could feel his chest contracting and inhaling heavily, pulling more of her soul deeper into his. She could feel the cold, smooth surface of the mask underneath her fingers and the heat rising from beneath its cover.
She only wanted to truly know him…
What is he hiding, after all?
Christine broke the kiss and kept her eyes closed, regaining herself as she slid the mask from off of his face. Her fingertips lined his jaw, preparing her to fall back into his lips when her eyes parted and her breath cut short.
"Damn you!"