Chapter 12
Erik and Christine spent the remainder of Christmas morning lounging about leisurely, Christine reading her new copy of Pride and Prejudice, and Erik feigning interest in his own novel he'd pulled from his bookshelf. He truly had no intention to read it, only wanted an excuse to remain in close quarters with her, and he did just that, sitting a few inches from her on the couch. Christine shifted uncomfortably several times, her constant energy never allowing her to sit in the same position for long, and she sometimes found herself leaning against Erik, her shoulder and arm lined up against his.
Those were the moments Erik was in bliss.
The moments she leaned against the left arm of the couch, spreading her legs, her foot just barely touching his thigh, however, were torment for him. He nearly had the audacity to suggest she prop herself up against him and stretch her legs in the other direction, but he knew this was far too bold, even after their kiss.
Their kiss. They had kissed. Christine had kissed Erik, and he had never thought it possible, not even as he sat there trying to remember every detail of her soft lips against his partially thin, partially mangled ones. It was almost as though he had finally succumbed to his madness, hallucinating so vividly that it seemed like a real moment in time; a genuine memory.
But it had been real, and she had kissed him, and she did not run afterwards. Instead, she read her book in a comfortable position beside him, seeming completely unbothered by his presence. Perhaps even content to be in his company.
He couldn't begin to wrap his head around it, and found himself in need of fresh air.
He couldn't bring himself to be parted from Christine for a single moment after what happened, though, and suggested they see what establishments were open for dinner in the city. She eagerly agreed, excited to utilize this as an opportunity to wear one of the new dresses he had purchased for her, and immediately rushed into her room with it, shutting the door loudly behind her.
He cleaned himself up a bit while waiting for her, though there was not much to fix; his appearance was always perfectly maintained, not one stray hair out of sight or one clump of lint on his suit. He felt had so little to offer with his face and body that he had to make up for what he lacked by constantly being impeccably dressed. Running a comb through his wig one last time, he heard Christine retreat from her room several steps down the hall, the clicking of her short black heels coming closer. She knocked on the door of the guest bathroom.
"I'm ready when you are!" She announced, her voice contagiously cheerful. He was alarmed by the sight of a smile on his lips in the corner of his eye in the mirror, and it faded immediately. He cleared his throat, straightening his jacket once more before exiting the bathroom.
The sight of her nearly caused him to immediately retreat back into it like a scared schoolboy. She was breathtaking, the wine red dress a beautiful contrast against her ivory skin, her deep brown hair and the shining blue of her eyes.
"Christine," he croaked, and she seemed to rock on her heels expectantly. He opened his mouth, but closed it, unable to find the right words, and she raised an eyebrow. Several moments passed before he was able to come up with a response. "You look...you look well,"he stammered.
Well? She looked well? That was the best he could come up with? Dear god, it was almost as though his social skills had worsened since their first meeting when he told her he found her voice to be "sufficient." He groaned inwardly, but his dread was alleviated when she simply gave a light laugh in response.
How things have changed, he thought to himself. The first time they met, she was so appalled by his atrocious social skills. Now, she simply laughs.
It was certainly an improvement.
Dinner was splendid, the pair surprised to find such a fine establishment open on a holiday. Specializing in Italian cuisine, they ate pasta - Christine's favorite, of course - and shared a bottle of champagne. Erik's tolerance for alcohol had clearly decreased over the years, finding himself oddly sleepy by the time they returned to his home. He sat with her on the couch as she put on some Christmas film - what film, he was too tired to even notice - and his eyes shut against his will after no more than five minutes.
Christine was shocked to see Erik asleep, the sight nearly startling. He looked far too relaxed, and she suspected that he rarely slept this contentedly, if he ever slept at all. The champagne had clearly dulled his mind enough that he was able to find a bit of peace. She smiled at this, pleased that he, for once, was not tortured by his own thoughts the way that she suspected he often was. She grabbed a nearby folded blanket, placing it over him and leaving the living room.
She knew it was wrong to see this as an opportunity to explore again, but she could not help herself. There was one room in the penthouse she had yet to see: Erik's study. He had previously explained that it was simply lined with important files regarding his architecture projects, nothing more, but she wondered if she could find documentation of what sort of threats he had made as the Phantom. Sure, it hardly mattered now, as he had frequently hinted at giving up the role of the Phantom, and she assumed it was true as he rarely went to the opera house these days, but her curiosity once again overruled the more rational parts of her that warned her not to betray his trust when it was so difficult to gain.
The room was not locked, surprisingly, and she supposed Erik had not bothered to lock it when he was always around her and would see her enter it. She pushed the door open quietly as possible, finding a humble space filled only with a desk and two bookshelves: one lined with several classic novels, and others on history, poetry, and obviously music, and another with files, as he had previously mentioned. His desk had several papers littering it, some of which were music sheets with multiple bars scratched over or crossed out, some of the papers even crumpled up into balls. The trashcan on the floor was already filled to the brim with balled up parchment. She sifted through some of the papers on the desk, finding nothing of interest.
The files on the wall were exactly as he had previously stated, and she felt guilty for doubting him. There were blueprints, contracts and printed emails, none of which were from the "operaghost" email address, she noted to herself. She wondered if that address was simply for personal use, or even as a joke.
She would likely never understand him, not even the smallest things like his email address choices. She found herself smiling fondly at this thought, shaking her head.
She had always wanted a mystery to keep her occupied, and she had found one she would likely never solve in the form of a man. A genius, surprisingly considerate, astonishingly talented, and admittedly handsome (on the side of his face that was exposed, at least) man. A man that was, from what she could gather, enamored by her. Possibly in love with her.
She could no longer deny to herself that she was able to return those feelings, unequivocally and irreversibly. He had found his way into her heart the same way the mystery of the Phantom had crept into her mind, in a way that she likely should have tried to push away, or at least slow down, but she was unable to stop it from hitting her full force, rendering her incapable of stopping it from consuming her every thought and action.
Her final conquest in the room was a drawer in his desk, and she peeked out the door once more to ensure Erik was still asleep on the couch in the living room, blissfully unaware of her shameful snooping in his champagne coma.
He was still in the same stiff, yet seemingly comfortable enough position, his back straight and his head in his hand, his elbow on the arm of the couch. Despite his dark appearance, his black clothes or sharp eyebrows or perfectly slicked back hair, something about him looked so gentle, and it nearly stopped her from continuing her search. Nearly, but it did not.
She opened the drawer, finding a file labeled "C." She pulled it out, noticing that the label was different than the others she had seen - all of his architectural projects were labeled with the title of the building or company, never a single letter. She opened it, finding printed out pages of information about...information about her? Her heart, the very heart that just a few moments ago had swelled in affection for him, the heart that just ten hours ago had raced when she was pressed against him, sank into her stomach; an aching, empty feeling overcoming her, as she felt all what had been built over this six weeks being drained from her.
There were photos, photos of her from before he had met her; just a few, all taken on the same day, when she had gone to visit Meg in the ballet. She was dressed in the only nice dress she owned at the time, the same one she wore for her interview with the opera house.
The first photo was of her smiling backstage with Meg. The next was taken several hours later, a mile away from the opera house, at a karaoke bar Meg and the ballet corps had gone to. Christine had drank far too much rum and coke, so much that she was easily convinced to go on stage despite her insecurity about her voice.
Somewhere in the shadows, Erik had been there. He had been there, and their first meeting was not their first, simply the only one she had known of.
She was livid.
The part of her that had been dominant in recent weeks that always sought to see Erik's side of the story, always empathized with him and felt his sorrows as deeply as he did, attempted to remind her that he was likely too shy to approach her before or come forward authentically from the very beginning. Still, he had taken photos of her, and why had he thought to do so? What was he hoping to accomplish?
Was he planning to steal her away all along, or was that simply an added bonus when she had provided him with ample opportunity and justification to do so?
She stumbled back a bit, feeling lightheaded, and a pair of long arms caught her from behind. She swung around to see an astonished Erik, the hurt and betrayal in his eyes unable to pierce her as much as they could have had it not been for her discovery.
"You...you stalked me?" She whispered in disbelief.
"Christine, I...I simply wanted to…"
"To what, Erik? To collect photos of me, to collect information? What would you do with it, Erik? Would you find a way to hold it against me the way you manipulate the managers to get what you want? Would you use it to threaten me until...until I come stay with you? Did I even need to discover you were the Phantom and venture to your residence beneath the opera house for you to steal me away?"
"Christine, no - "
"Do not tell me what to think! Not when you have provided me with no truth, no clarity, only tangled metaphors presented through literary analysis and compositions that I can never understand. I don't speak music, Erik, not the way you do, and I'm sure you feel that you've divulged a great amount of personal information to me through your music, but I know nothing at all. I'm sick of the lack of transparency, Erik, I live here. Against my will or not, I hardly know, because like most things, we haven't discussed it, and I know nothing about you!" She was now raising her voice, gesturing heatedly with her hands, the paper in her hand emphasizing her dismay.
"Christine, I simply wanted to...to remember," he swallowed. "I had never seen such a radiant, incandescent woman, so full of life and love for her friend, and when you left to go to the bar, I decided to follow you, just so I might see more of your light. I'd stopped believing in goodness, Christine, but you were so lovely and I...I took pictures, just in case I never saw you again...I was drawn to you, Christine, like a moth to a flame. When I heard your voice, it was like I had found heaven. I wanted to preserve the memory of what I had seen, what I had felt watching you, so it might remind me when I felt all was lost…" He attempted to explain, but she would not listen, moving through the rest of the papers, most of which were legal documents about her she had no idea how he had obtained.
She looked up at him in disbelief once more. "I don't want your justifications, Erik. I want the truth, from the beginning, and you didn't give it from the beginning. You didn't give it when I first met you, and you've rarely given it in my time here. I have worked so hard to gain your trust when I have no reason to give you mine!" She exclaimed, her anger rising. "I don't even know what you look like underneath that god-damn mask!"
"Christine, do not dare ask of it," he seethed.
"Don't you dare try to tell me what I can and can't ask when I wouldn't be here questioning you if you hadn't trapped me!"
Her words cut like a knife, and the motion of her hand moving towards his face dug deeper. He thought she might slap him, and he anticipated the blow, shutting his eyes.
Instead, his mask was ripped off, and a scream tore through the air - his own or hers, he wasn't sure.
Christine had never seen anything like it.
She could not help but be momentarily alarmed by the sight of his deformity, the raw, red, flesh causing her to briefly wonder if she had ripped his very skin off with the mask. His scream of agony solidified that belief for a moment before she looked closer, seeing no blood, only twisted skin and muscle forming odd dips and ridges in the skin. The wild look in his eyes caused her fear to return, though, and she stepped back, clasping a hand over her mouth to hide her squeak of fear.
"You have tried my patience, my dear," he growled, advancing towards her. She continued to move away from him as he shouted, the words jumbling in her ears as she ran from him, some of them profanities and some of them words indicating his hurt and betrayal and most of all, his anger.
She was terrified by it, and so she ran into her bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind her, sobs immediately escaping her, mingling with the sound of his own down the hall.
A/N: Hello there! Sorry it took so long for me to update, it was just a busy week and it honestly slipped my mind. Thank you all for the wonderful reviews on the last chapter, and huge thank you to a-partofthenarrative as always for editing :) we've got some pain in this chapter, but there's definitely fluff approaching...and after that, we've got some uncharted territory for E/C ;) reviews definitely inspire me to keep going!
