The Long Walk Home

~{x}~

As the second half of the opera began Raoul found himself gripping the edge of his seat, staring past his date over towards the direction of box five. Even though the box suites of the Leroux Theater had privacy walls they were still not fully intimate, and what he'd just witnessed through slated curtains had made him want to gag. At first he had been joyful, spotting that rich blue dress across the way and knowing that Christine was so near to him. Every ounce of that joy had vanished though as he'd watched the man she was with tonight lean in and kiss her. It was not a chaste kiss either, but the kind that showed a certain degree of familiarity. Raoul wondered how long she'd been seeing this mysterious masked man, and also wondered what it was he was hiding beneath that guise of his.

Raoul had tried desperately these past two years to move on after Christine had left him. In fact, he was still trying tonight. At the moment Emily Monet was nestled to his right, a smiling model of girl whom he'd been seeing for three weeks now. They'd met at a charity event, and right away she had been sweet and polite to him, offering him a seat next to hers at her auction table. Since then they'd attended all sorts of events throughout Bradbury together, often ending the night in the most pleasant of ways back at his condo. It was an amicable enough relationship, and each morning when they awoke together he found himself staring at her lean body draped in the sunlight, wishing desperately that he could develop feelings for her.

He simply couldn't though. For his heart still beat solely for the young woman over in box five, for some unexplainable reason that simply beguiled him, to the tattoo artist with a nasty temper and a cabin full of baggage. He wished he could stop feeling the way he did for her, he truly did. Yet every time he tried to reason with himself, to say that she was no good for him, he returned once more to try and win her back. Maybe it was because he'd felt responsible for her back when they'd been in college, knowing the life she'd lived before, or maybe it was due to the fact that she had become bold and untameable since she'd left him, an adventure and challenge in every step. She was so different now from the woman she'd been before, and he still couldn't believe that he had ever let her go without getting to explore that more wild side of her. Where had this Christine been in the four years they'd been together? Gone was the depressed little girl he'd known, quiet and compliant and oh so pliable. Now across the way was a blazing fire of a woman. One he still loved deeply, and would never do wrong by again if she'd only give him a second chance.

Granted, he should never have spoiled what they had together in the first place. He'd acted pompous and entitled around her in public, even though he'd known it had made her squirm, and had coerced her into doing things she wasn't comfortable with in their bedroom simply to satisfy his own curiosities. Yes, he'd been young and stupid at the time, and blamed a lot of his younger self's behavior on immaturity alone. He'd been well off straight out of college, and had let his quick success and ease of life go straight to his head. He'd wanted to impress his family and influential friends so much that he'd gone and hurt Christine in the process, acting like a fool at every turn. So much so that she simply took off one night like a ghost in the wind. There had been no note, nor any goodbyes. She'd simply vanished.

He'd come home that evening from a weekend at the shore with his secretary Veronica. Another mistake on his part, and one he regretted to this day. At first their banter in the office during the early morning hours had been innocent, her coy little remarks humorously suggestive but still only playful. Then one night he'd had to stay late to work on paperwork, and the sultry little blonde had slipped quietly into his office, closing the door behind herself and flicking the lock, a not so innocent look on her face. Those late night meetings continued throughout the following weeks, and at the time he'd lived for them, his heart racing at the excitement an affair could bring. Christine was never so easy to arouse at home, always saying she was tired or ill feeling, yet Veronica was a firecracker who came to him with advances. Advances he took full advantage of.

Coming home to a darkened house that night though had made him realize just how badly he'd screwed up. Christine's side of the closet had been left wide open, hangers half on the floor as if she'd packed in a hurry. Her cellphone, keys, and ring had all lined up neatly on the counter, next to a photo of them in their freshman year, which she'd turned face-down so hard the glass had cracked. As he'd wandered the apartment shaking he'd realized all the photos they'd ever taken together had been turned down. He'd picked back up each and every one, staring at her smiling face with a rock in his stomach.

At first he couldn't believe that she'd left him of her own accord. He'd called all of his friends, as well as his family, asking if she'd come to stay with them. No one had seen her though. Feeling destitute he'd begun to drink, wondering if he should call the police. That was when an acquaintance of his downtown called to say he'd spotted her. She'd been walking out of a store, Kyle had said, head held high. Free was the term he'd used to describe her. He'd said she looked happy and content, humming to herself as she passed by his pawn shop. At that he'd dropped his phone, flopping back against the couch in defeat, wishing he could turn back time and do right by her. That he could show her he could make her happy and love her right.

Yet his feelings were obviously one-sided now. They had been for years. He could see that plain as day as he watched her leaning against Wells' shoulder, holding his hand in her lap. Had she ever looked that content when they were together? He couldn't recall, and found that the more he tried to think about it, the more it hurt.

"Everything alright, dear?" Emily asked quietly.

Raoul nodded at her and smiled what he hoped was a convincing smile, seeming to satisfy her curiosity as she turned back towards the show. Emily was always thoughtful like that, always mindful of his feelings. How he wished he could love her. She deserved his love, for he knew she was falling for him more and more with each passing day. The two of them could be great together, the perfect couple in the public eye. There was no reason for him not to be content with a woman such as she. She was as poised as she was elegant and classy, everything Christine had never managed to be. Yet Christine was still all he'd ever wanted.

He eyed Erik Wells with daggers, clenching his fists in his lap, wondering how much of an obstacle a man in a mask could truly be.

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Erik watched as Christine once more fell into the trance of the opera, a content sigh escaping her lips as Carly once more took the stage in a flowing white gown. She leaned into his shoulder as the lights dimmed down again, and as she settled into that nook she gently raised their intertwined fingers to rest on her thigh where the fabric of her dress ended. A small bit of his hand could feel the smooth skin of her leg there, and he smiled wickedly at the sensation as he casually reached up to pull his mask back down over his mouth. As he did so he let his fingers linger there just a moment, trying to process all that had just happened.

She kissed me!

He was in total disbelief, truly he was. In his wildest dreams he had never thought that she would, not after she knew. Yet she had guessed, and it seemed as though she had known for some time now, that there lay a horror beneath his masks. Yet she had kissed him anyways, allowing her sweet lips to grace his with their soft touch, holding him closely and allowing him hold her in return. His breathing was still ragged from the intensity of that intimate moment. She had no idea what her kiss had done to him, how it had sparked that long since dormant flame of passion pent up inside of him. After all, how could she? She walked around everyday, beautiful as an angel. She didn't know what it was like to have people flinch at the mere sight of her. To believe for ten years that she would never again know the kiss of a lover.

Though she was not an angel without flaws. She had scars as well. He'd felt them, all across her arm, and assumed they ran up the other one as well. Those grey and black wildflowers that trailed from her shoulders down to her forearms each held secrets, small and dark, and she'd allowed him to feel them in return for what he'd allowed her to see. It had been a mutual moment of trust between the two of them, and right then and there he knew that their relationship had drastically changed, dynamically shifting in a whole new direction. Suddenly there were questions they both needed to ask, stories they both needed to hear. Yet he assumed she would be just as reluctant as he was to share her tale.

He should muster up some courage and offer to go first. After all, he'd withheld everything about himself from her so far. The other night at the cafe he'd made sure of that. If he were in her shoes he would already be suspicious. He'd have had a thousand questions right from the very start!

Which now he did. Those scares of hers...to say he'd been shocked by them was an understatement. He couldn't for the life of himself imagine what she had gone through to get so many identical markings upon her perfect skin. The first guess to cross him mind was that she'd once undergone an illness like a pox at some point. Had her parents never vaccinated her against the preventable? Had she nearly died as a child, riddled with fever and sores? If they were due to an illness then those splotches would also be spread across her torso, just as his were. Could they truly be that similar?

He wanted to ask, he was dying to, but couldn't. They were only mid-way through the opera and all he could do was sit and pretend to listen to it as his runaway thoughts drove him mad. A multitude of scenarios ran through his head as the hour ticked by, each one worse than the last. What suffering had this kind angel known? Had whatever scared her been the thing to kill her father? She'd mentioned before that he'd died, but for the life of him he couldn't recall if she'd mentioned how. Had it been cancer? No, that would ruin his theory. Cancer wasn't contagious.

Oh, this opera would never end.

Towards the finale his anxious eyes ended up drifting throughout the audience below, taking in the sights of the other patrons as a much needed distraction. When nothing there seemed to catch his eye his gaze rose to that of the other suites, and far away he noticed the man in box one struggling to conceal a lighter as he quickly lit up a cigarette in the shadows of his box, stealthily smoking it near the back curtains. His wife gave him a pointed look and muttered something scathing as she flicked her wrist at him, to which the man simply shrugged off with an annoyed and dismissive wave of his hand.

Erik found himself staring at that awful man, squeezing Christine's hand a little harder as his eyes followed the wisps of smoke he blew from his mouth. If she noticed the change in his grip she didn't say a word. It was then that a lump formed in his throat. He let go of her hand, once more trailing it up her forearm to the first of her many scars. She tensed slightly as he brushed them again, then relaxed and released a content and breathy sigh as his fingertips traced her skin soothingly. He made it seem as though those touches were meant to be casual, yet in reality he was investigating a sudden dark and terrible thought. To his horror those scars matched the exact size of this new theory, and all at once he knew without asking what had caused them.

He wondered if it had been the ex-boyfriend. He recalled that he and his friends had been smoking the other day when they'd passed by. Oh, what had his name been? Raoul? Erik would kill him if that were the case. He looked down at his date's arms, over all the beautiful flowers that covered her skin. How could anyone have hurt her so, and so many times at that? It made him sick to his stomach to picture her weeping face cringing each new time her skin was burned.

The opera ended with Christine rising to her feet with the rest of the crowd, clapping furiously with tears in her eyes. She smiled up at him and took hold of his arm, gesturing that he lead the way out the box. He did so numbly, opening the door and letting her step out first as the harsh lights of the main hallways hit his eyes. He blinked to adjust them, leading them down the stairs and towards the main doors. As they crossed the marble lobby he noticed the cast of the show pouring out into the entrance hall to greet their fans. Carly had changed into a bright purple cocktail dress, and a wide smile stretched across her face as she spotted him though the crowd. She made her way across the room with an excited rush in her step.

"Erik, I'm so happy you could come!" she squealed, embracing him tightly as if they had known one another for years. He was more than a little bit surprised by her forward gesture, and stiffened greatly at her brief yet unfamiliar touch. The soprano pulled back and swept her hands through her hair playfully though, obviously unaware of the awkward air she'd stirred. "Thank you again for dropping off those flowers earlier. I absolutely loved them." Her gaze fell to Christine then, as if she had just noticed her presence. "Oh? And who might this pretty little charmer be?"

"Carly, this is Christine, my girlfriend," he introduced, "Christine, this is Carly. A friend of mine."

He very quickly wondered if he had taken things a step too far. Was it too early to proclaim the two of them a couple? After the kiss they'd just shared he hoped that they were. Yet the idea of himself being someone's boyfriend almost seemed silly. Was there a more proper term for adults to use? She didn't seem to mind that he had called her a girlfriend. In fact, she looked rather pleased, if not a bit smug, a small smile playing on her lips.

"A pleasure to meet you," she replied politely, shaking the diva's hand.

"The pleasure is all mine," Carly returned hesitantly. Her eyes seemed puzzled as she turned back to him, a question glowing behind those mossy green eyes of hers. "Forgive me for asking Mr. Wells, but I suppose I'm slightly confused. You never mentioned you were seeing anyone the other night. Why didn't you have me give her a call once we got to the hospital?"

"The hospital?" Christine's eyes went wide as she too turned to look up at him. "When were you in the hospital?"

"Good God Erik, did you not tell her?" She turned to Christine. "Your date here nearly killed over last week. I found him on the floor of his shop, suffocating. We had to call an ambulance and everything. It was downright terrifying."

Christine jaw went slack. "You nearly died? When were you planning to tell me about this?"

"Christine-"

He tried to explain but apparently she'd heard quite enough. She turned heel and walked straight out of the theatre, arms crossed over her stomach almost as if she were going to be sick. He immediately went after her, leaving a very confused Carly in his wake. Out on the street he searched for his date, quickly spotting that distinctive blue dress of hers on the nearby sidewalk just underneath an awning. He came up beside her and opened up his umbrella, holding it over her head to keep the slanted raindrops from striking her face. She didn't bother to look up at him though, and so, annoyed, he stepped out in front of her.

"I have asthma, all right?" He dug under his collar and pulled out his medical alert tag, letting it rest over his suit for her to see. "There, now you know."

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, upset, "The other night...it was when you missed our date, wasn't it? You said in your note that something had come up. I just - I had no idea it was something like that. God, I feel like such a piece of..." She sighed heavily and took what appeared to be a much needed deep breath. "It's just - I was so angry and annoyed at you that night, and you were off who knows where, lying in a godforsaken hospital bed the entire time!"

"I should've told you," he said.

"Yes, you should have. Why didn't you?" she pressed.

Erik gave a defeated shrug. "I don't know. Pride, I suppose? I was embarrassed. I didn't want you to have to see me like that."

"Carly saw you like that," Christine pointed out flatly, a sliver of ice in her voice.

"It's different, Christine. Don't you see? It's different with you."

"Why Erik? Why is it different with me? Why can't you let me in, even just a little? I know neither of us have been truly honest with one another up to this point but at least I've told you some things. Why do I still know so little about you?" She crossed her arms. "You know what's really embarrassing? Not knowing that the man I've become involved with has a critical medical condition. What's embarrassing is having to have a stranger tell me that."

"I want to tell you things," he whispered dejectedly, "I do."

"Then start talking, Wells. Because obviously there are a couple of things we need to address here."

The rain stopped falling and Erik closed his umbrella, placing his hand on the small of her back as lightly as he could. "Let me walk you home, alright? I'd rather not talk about these kind of things in a crowd, and I'm sure you feel the same."

Christine hesitantly agreed, nodding her head, and together they walked off towards the direction of her apartment, keeping quiet until the streets thinned out and it was just the two of them left on the sidewalk. Christine removed her heels as they waited for a crosswalk light to change, her metallic pedicure slightly distracting to him as she stood in a puddle. Was that comfortable? Should he call them a taxi? He hadn't even thought about the fact that she was in heels tonight when he'd suggested they walk.

She didn't say a word on the subject though, and so Erik didn't bring it up. Instead he paced himself, wondering how to bring up what he knew she was dying to know. Finally, the words found him. Although he couldn't bring himself to tell the extended version of his tale just yet, he knew where to begin it.

"I didn't always have asthma," he started after a long moment, looking straight ahead as the light changed colors, "It was only after I got trapped in a fire that my lungs were...damaged, for lack of a better term."

Christine's voice seemed distant as she finally met his eyes. "A fire?"

Erik nodded solemnly. "I was in college at the time, about your age. Maybe a year or two younger. Anyways, a staircase collapsed on top of me. The firefighters thought I was dead when they dragged me out."

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

He shrugged. "We all have our scars."

He echoed her own words from earlier back to her, then watched as she registered them with a slight frown. When she did she reached out and silently took his hand in her own, staring straight up at his mask with sympathy in her eyes. That touch was a blessing to him, and he laced his fingers between hers gently as he watched tears forming in her eyes.

"Mine are from my mom," she admitted, barely above a whisper.

"Your mom?"

Christine took a deep breath and nodded. "I edited a lot of what I told you about my childhood the other day. I didn't want to scare you off."

"Seems we both had that fear."

They walked in silence after that, holding hands in the blackness of the night. The city roared around them, sirens and businesses very much alive in the early hours of the weekend, yet the two of them stayed quiet. Every other minute or so he would glance down at Christine, watching her far off expression with worry. She seemed very solemn now, the dynamic of her entire mood a complete opposite of what it had been during the finale of the opera. Oh how he wished she would smile again. He was beginning to live for that smile of hers.

Finally they reached her apartment, the crumbling old building looming in the sky like a gargoyle over their heads. He walked her all the way to her door, not quite knowing how to say goodbye after the night they'd both had. They had each revealed something deep to the other on the long walk home, and yet instead of bringing them closer as their kiss had, he felt as though Carly's words had created a wedge between the two of them. He thought about kissing her again, but for some reason that felt wrong now. So instead he simply lifted a small bit of his mask and brought their clasped hands up to his lips, kissing her knuckles just the same as she had the other night. She smiled sadly as he did so, and he let his hand fall away as a single tear fell from her eye. She looked exhausted.

"Erik, I really like you," she said quietly, leaning back against her door.

He felt a rock drop in his stomach. "But?"

"But I feel as though we don't know each other well enough to be a couple just yet. Tonight proved that."

She opened her door gently, stepping just inside the threshold. As she did so Erik felt a sliver of fear slice through him. Christine hadn't even seen his face and yet here she was, running away. He was losing her already.

"Christine please, let me in. I promise, I'll tell you everything. Anything you want to know."

Christine's eyes continued to tear up as she reached out to him, squeezing his hand once before letting it go.

"I'm sorry, Erik. I just...I don't think I can handle this," she whispered.

She shut the door softly, the sound of the latching bolt an arrow through his heart.

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Hopefully this snag in their romance doesn't last too long! It was just getting good! Also, I do realize this chapter was rather delayed - but I have a good reason this time! I got engaged this past Sunday, and since then things have been a whirlwind! I will admit though it feels weird to type with a ring on. I've never worn rings before!