She thought I already knew, and so she confessed everything.
The boy had come to her dressing room in search of her.
Curse you, Carlotta! If I hadn't been running around trying to set things right, I would have been there with Christine. That's where I should have been… at her side.
But, no, I was away and it was the boy who came to her instead.
According to Christine's version of the story, she told him to leave as soon as she realized who was at the door.
My mind… sometimes it argues with itself. Not like I am hearing voices… rather it's like the different parts of my brain are fighting with each other. If that makes any sense.
On the one hand, I want to believe her. Christine was—is—such a good girl. Besides that, she would've had no reason to lie since she thought I had seen the whole thing (I was an angel, remember… all-seeing and whatnot).
On the other hand, I wondered if it was not some sort of act on her part. I know I had forgiven her—she hardly knew any better after all—but my heart still stung from her betrayal last night.
The second part of what she said was implied. I told him to leave (but he wouldn't). She never said that part, obviously, for fear of what I might do to the boy. I don't know why she thought I'd hurt him… I never threatened anything of the sort!
Besides, I could hardly blame the boy. Christine was… glorious. And that dress! Egads! Frankly, I think any breathing male over the age of seven would be hard-pressed to leave her presence so easily.
But that didn't change the problem at hand. Actually… that made it worse.
The fact that Christine was afraid for the boy disturbed me. That told me he must mean something to her. The prospect made me feel like I had a rock in my stomach.
But then the anger came.
I think I like the anger sometimes… and the madness. It's familiar territory… like an old friend. I can deal with that so much easier than all these new feelings that had come upon me so suddenly.
Anyway, it settled over me like a blanket.
And why shouldn't it?
Christine was mine.
The possessiveness I felt then was overwhelming and unprecedented. She belonged to me. Why? Because she was my creation! The way she is… her music, her personality, her habits… that was all my doing! She was dead when I found her… and I brought her back to life. That makes her mine.
This is going to be difficult to believe, so you'll just have to trust me when I say that it's the truth… I think.
I believe I may have been content to be an angel—that I could teach Christine and continue to love her from afar—had it not been for Raoul de Chagny.
After all the years I invested into Christine, he comes along with a weeks worth of fond memories from the past and seeks to spirit Christine away.
The worst part was that it almost worked!
I seethed as I walked down the street towards my car.
For all intents and purposes, I suppose you could switch that boy's name with any other. Christine was perfect and she was mine. But there would forever be someone or something trying to take her away from me. They would introduce to her to all their outside ideas and… fears… and worries.
The world would ruin her.
I looked up. I was in an alleyway behind a restaurant—the kind actors work in between jobs—and saw a pretty young woman, about Christine's age, walking out with a burly man in a dirty apron.
Is this how Christine would end up? Without my influence… would she just be another out of work artist, trying to make it?
I surveyed the woman's appearance… her dress, her makeup, her hair. Perfect for your next pop-star teen idol… but my Christine was above such things. She shouldn't be held down by the standards of society.
"Thanks for walking me out to my car," the waitress said cheerily. The man waved as she got in and drove away.
Christine was above the fears of the world… she should not worry about finding someone to walk her to her car… she should not be afraid of muggers or carjackers or… anything at all.
And who would protect her if not for me?
Could Raoul de Chagny shield her from all the darkness of the world? Christine Daae does not deserve fear and worry and struggle. She deserves only happiness and love and music. Could he shelter her and nurture her and help her grow?
No. But I could. I could give her the life she deserves. I alone knew how to treasure someone as sweet and fragile as Christine. I could make her thrive, I just knew it.
I spent a good portion of the night contemplating my newfound revelations. In the end, though, I was certain.
The only way to protect Christine from the world was to remove her from it.