Chapter Twelve: A Mutual Attraction

Christine lowered her head. The numbers and words on the pages were getting blurry and she stifled a yawn. She wasn't sleepy – it was only six in the evening, after all – but she was bored. Finally she set the piece of paper she was reading and leaned her head against the backrest of the armchair.

Erik caught her movement and stared at her. "What's wrong, Chrissy?"

"I'm tired of reading and analyzing, Erik. Take me to the rooftop?" Christine asked, smiling.

"Of course. I wasn't getting much out of these papers, except that the opera is in bad need of funding," Erik replied, standing up and walking towards her. As she took his hand, she felt her heart race.

For the past few days Christine puzzled over these newfound feelings for Erik. Even before she had learned of his deformity, she had to admit that he an effect on her. He made her feel safe, loved, and understood.

Unlike the other people she knew, Erik didn't expect her to put on any airs or judge her for her shortcomings. He accepted her for who she was, no more, no less. Of course there were those moments when she silently begged for him to simply hold her and take her in his arms and kiss her passionately…

Why am I thinking like this? Am I in love? Christine thought as Erik led her out of the library. They walked swiftly through the hallways, taking care not to use any of the main corridors that Carlotta, Madame Giry, or any of the performers used.

Soon enough they were walking up the steps that led to the rooftop. The cold wind blew from the archway and Christine clung to Erik as if he were a shield. This sudden contact caused Christine to blush and she pulled away quickly.

"Cold?" Erik began untying his cape but Christine stopped him.

"No, I'm fine. You don't have to…"

Erik draped his cape over her anyway, and she laughed. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Erik smiled and she saw he was wearing a suit with a shirt that had a few buttons unbuttoned. She could see the outline of his chest and her breath caught in her chest. With an exasperated cry, she began pacing around the rooftop.

Her sudden outburst surprised Erik. Usually she was so composed that she hardly showed any anger or irritation. Now there she was, muttering to herself and wringing her hands nervously.

"Christine? Christine, what's bothering you?" he asked, grabbing her shoulders and looking deep into her eyes.

She averted her gaze. "I feel so confused, Erik. I don't know what I feel anymore."

"Feel about what?"

Christine hesitated. Should she tell him? He had been honest with her about his appearance, then she should be honest with her feelings.

But are you sure? a voice prompted her.

She thought of Erik leaving her and her heart thumped painfully in her chest, and she felt as if she couldn't breathe.

Yes. I'm sure, Christine decided.

Erik was still looking at her intently, waiting for her answer.

"How I feel about you," she said in a rush, hoping that he wouldn't understand what she just said.

But he did.

"What are you saying?" Erik asked. He was wanted to hear it from her lips. He couldn't believe this was happening; a few minutes ago he was pondering his own feelings for her, and here she was, about to tell him hers. "Christine, just say what you mean to say."

"Oh god, I don't know why, but I love you!" she blurted, trying in vain to break away from his grasp. "I've been fighting these emotions since I met you after 12 years, but I can't keep them bottled in me anymore! I love you, Erik!"

She waited for him to reply, to say that he loved her too. Heaven knew that she needed for him to love her back; he was the only man who had made her feel this way.

Erik became as still as a statue, his eyes fixed on her. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted her chin using his finger and looked at her in the eyes. Those dark brown eyes that could capture him and make him forget everything else.

Then he said the words that changed their lives forever.

"I love you."


Christine had to pinch herself to see if she was dreaming or not. Her childhood friend turned out to be the man she'd fall deeply in love with and now, they were together. After they had confessed their love for each other, they went to the alcove and simply held one another.

"I didn't understand why other people said that love was glorious," Erik murmured as he brushed his nose against Christine's hair. "But I do now. I've always loved you, Chrissy. The moment I saw you crying in the snow, I loved you."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Christine asked. "Were you afraid that I was like the others?"

"Yes," he admitted. "I've been rejected by so many people so many times. I thought that it would be best if we remained friends."

"No, we're not friends anymore. Lovers." Christine said the last word with a smile on her lips. "You're mine, and I'm yours. Forever."

"Forever," Erik echoed. "Is an awfully long time. But I can't think of anyone else to spend it with than you."

Christine smiled. "Good. Otherwise I'd be jealous. Very, very jealous." She suddenly sat up and faced him, caressing the exposed side of his face lovingly. "Stay with me tonight."

It wasn't an order or a question – it was a plea from a lover.

"You know I will." Erik smiled, Christine's hand still touching his cheek. "Do you know you're the only one who has touched me like this?"

Her face darkened. "Knowing the way they've treated you, I'm not surprised. They're vile, all of them. They never understand anything beyond than what they've been led to believe."

"They don't matter to us, Chrissy. Let them say anything they want, but as long as you and I are together, nothing will be able to keep us apart. Not even death."

Christine held his face and pulled him closer to her. "Never talk of death, my love. I've found you just now, and I don't want to lose you to anyone or anything, especially death. Please."

"I promise." In an effort to comfort her he leaned over to kiss her on the forehead, but found himself trailing a line of kisses down her nose before stopping a few millimeters from her mouth. Christine filled in the remaining space by leaning forward towards him.

The moment their lips touched, a sensation similar to a mild electric jolt ran in currents through their entire body, awakening the silent emotions and sensations of their bodies. Their kiss started off gentle, but it soon became more and more urgent.

They broke apart after a few minutes but they still kept their faces within inches from each other. Christine smiled and exhaled, laughing as she ran her hand down his mask. The material was cool under her hand but it became warm as she rested her hand at the base of his neck.

"Erik," she said, her breath hitting him in the face and sending warm currents through his skin. "There's going to be a Masque a few days from now, and I'm supposed to bring an escort. I want you to come with me."

"I will. I don't care if I have to show my face to them," Erik replied boldly. "I know you'll be there with me."

"By your side." Christine placed his hand on top of the medallion, which hung by her neck. "Where will I meet you?"

"Don't worry, love. I will find you."


Erik was in heaven. If he died now – not that he wanted to – he would die happy. It took all of his control not to cry in front of Christine, but now in the safety of his lair, the tears from his eyes flowed free and unchecked.

She was the first and only person to show him love, without judging him based on his appearance. His good-for-nothing mother had showed him more cruelty that lasted him a lifetime, while the gypsy leader who bought him brought upon him humiliation every day and night as he was paraded as the son of the devil.

He thanked his lucky stars that he was able to escape from that hellhole and found the Opera Populaire – and Christine.

Christine. God, he would do anything for that woman, and now that she was his, he would kill for her. Christine didn't know what he was like when he was angry, but he did. He had killed the guard who was posted outside his cage by strangling him and felt no remorse.

The man did beat him on a daily basis; it was only fitting that he died in his wretched sleep. Then there was the ballerina who had made Christine cry after complaining that the girl was always in her way.

The ballerina had imagined herself six feet above the Opera Populaire as a large banner of herself was erected on the eve of her first big performance. Instead she ended up six feet below the ground after Erik had laced her evening drink with strychnine.

He couldn't touch Meg Giry however, because the death of the ballet instructor's daughter would cause a bigger uproar than the death of a frisky ballerina. Especially after Meg had claimed that there was Opera Ghost targeting her, the authorities might suspect that there was someone in the opera house who was secretly a murderer.

Now that he had a reason for living, he was ready to bestow the most gruesome and dishonorable death to anyone who dared snatch her away from him. A form of protective possession took over him and he allowed his tears to dry.

He could tolerate Raoul de Chagny for he was one of the people Christine loved. But the moment the man tried to touch Christine the way his father had touched Fabienne Landry, aristocrat or not, Erik would take the man down.


"Happy, my darling?" Charlotte Daae asked, appearing behind her daughter.

"Yes, Mother. I understand what you mean," Christine replied. "But why were you warning me as well? Is something going to happen to Erik?"

Charlotte smiled. "I cannot tell you your future, sweetheart."

"Then why did you come? Is there something you need to tell me?" Christine stood up and faced her mother.

"Your love for him is true. No matter what people say, your love for him is beautiful, pure, untainted. Never doubt that for one second."

Charlotte suddenly faded from view, but her words echoed through the still air.

"Mother!" Christine cried, trying in vain to run after her. A mysterious figure suddenly loomed in the distance and Christine saw the glint of a blade. The figure advanced, the blade clapped tightly near his/her side.

At first Christine thought the figure was running towards her, but something moved behind her and she turned around. Another figure stood behind her, his/her face half-concealed in shadow. However, there was one distinguishing feature: a white mask.

Erik. "Erik, run!" she screamed, running towards him.

Erik's feet seemed rooted to the floor and all he could do was stare in horror at the advancing figure.

"No!" Christine slammed her body in front of his. A split second later she felt a sudden stab of pain and she screamed.

"Christine!"

Christine snapped out of her dream and realized she had sat up in fright. She looked beside her and saw Erik, his face creased with worry. "Oh Erik!" Christine threw her arms around him and held him tight. "Erik, Erik.."

She chanted his name softly, her body trembling.

"What is it, love? Please, tell me. Did you have a bad dream?" Erik said soothingly, doing his best to calm her down. "You were thrashing about in bed."

"I saw… I saw someone try to kill you," she revealed between sobs. "It was horrible. I don't want to dream about it ever again."

"Hush. Is that all?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is there anything else that happened in your dream?"

Christine paused. "I… I shielded you."

Erik froze and pulled her from his hold so that he could look at her. "What? Why?"

"Why? Because I don't want anything to happen to you!" Christine cried.

"So you were willing to die for me? Do you realize what that would do to me?" Erik exclaimed softly. "Never do that, Chrissy. Never. You have other chances of being happy, but I… I only have you."

Christine said nothing. She was still reliving the horror of her dream, so the things he said didn't fully register. All she knew was that her first dream had been right once… did that mean that the second dream would prove to be right again?

Erik took her again in his arms and they lay together on the bed. He sang a soft lullaby in her ear, something about allowing him to go wherever she went, because that was all he would ask of her. It was so soothing and calming that Christine fell into another deep, but dreamless sleep.

As Christine slept, Erik kept an ear out for the viscount. He knew that Raoul had decided to spend the night at one of his friends' homes, but he could come back unannounced and decide to check up on Christine.

Christine's words echoed in his mind over and over: "I… I shielded you."

Who was the other person she dreamed about? His gut twisted at the thought of a blade sinking into Christine's back.

His gaze traveled to the fireplace where the flames flickered and formed odd shapes. He imagined her screaming for him while he watched helplessly, bound by an unseen foe. He strained to break free from the ropes that held him, but they remained firm.

Again and again the blade sank into Christine's thrashing body, and amidst his roars of "Christine!" and "I'll kill you!", he heard her say farewell and "I love you." Erik watched with horror as she dropped lifelessly to the floor, her blood seeping through her clothes and forming a red pool around her.

His eyes snapped open and like Christine, sat up with a start. He was sweating and visibly shaken, and he realized that he had fallen asleep. Christine was still lying beside him, her hair strewn over the pillow and her eyes closed. Unlike before she slept peacefully, her thoughts and dreams undisturbed.

Subconsciously she reached over to where he was, her arm nearly dropping on his manhood, but he caught her arm just in time and placed it on his chest as he lay back down.

No. I won't let anyone hurt you, Chrissy. I'll take you away from them. I've killed twice, and I can certainly do it again.

Erik turned on his side and pulled her towards him, her body pliant. He held the woman he loved in his arms, her body and steady breathing assuring him that she was still there, that her dream hadn't come true.

The night stretched on, with nothing but the gentle whistling of the wind outside the opera house to break the silence. Little did the two lovers know that this was one of the few nights where they could enjoy peace and quiet.

There were bigger things to come.


Meg sat down in front of her dresser and reached for her brush. She had spent the entire night crying, and nothing her mother said could comfort her. Raoul was the only man she wanted. Even if her mother told her that she knew someone who could make a good husband, she had refused.

She would settle for no one less than the Viscount de Chagny.

Now as a new day drew closer, Meg decided she would play another game that would help her catch the viscount. Now that the viscount knew of her feelings for him, she would be coy and pretend that nothing ever happened. She knew that aristocrats usually loved bragging about the number of people who loved them, and if she showed him otherwise, he might pay attention to her.

Meg put down her brush and opened her powder box. She dipped the puff and swirled it around, making sure to get every inch of her puff covered in powder. She trailed the puff along her cheek and soon powder covered every inch of her face.

A few seconds later, Meg realized something was wrong. Her face started to itch, like there were a hundred ants nipping at her skin.

"Mother! Mother!" she screamed, rushing to her mother's bedside and shaking her awake. The itching grew worse, and Meg began scratching at her face frantically.

Madame Giry woke up with a start. "Meg! Dear, what's wrong?"

Meg couldn't reply; her face felt very, very itchy. She continued clawing at her face until her mother grabbed her hands. "No! It itches so bad, Mother!"

"What did you use?" Madame Giry asked, leading her daughter towards the water basin. "Here, splash water on your face."

Meg obeyed, but the cool water did nothing to remove the stings. She began sobbing again and scratching her face. She knew she could scratch huge scars on her face, but she couldn't help it. Again and again she scratched, despite the blood that was running down her face.

"Make it stop!" she pleaded. Madame Giry held her hands, but Meg twisted and turned, screaming. Sets of footsteps pounded down the hallway outside, and Raoul, Christine, and Monsieur Firmin appeared.

"What happened?" Monsieur Firmin asked, walking over to Madame Giry and Meg. "Why is she screaming?"

"Her face itches," Madame Giry replied, looking worriedly at her daughter. "What are we to do?"

Raoul strode to the dresser and picked up the powder box. "Itching powder, perhaps."

Meg's face was full of scratches and there were small wounds on her forehead and cheeks. She looked terrible, like a cat had jumped on her face and used it as a scratching post.

Christine's thoughts flew to Erik and she sighed. She knew he meant well, but he had promised her it wouldn't hurt Meg physically. She gazed at the poor girl, who was trying her best not to scratch her entire face off.

Amidst the sobs, Christine could hear Meg say: "My face… my face… how will I ever attend the Masque now?"


Author's Note:

Keep the questions (and reviews) coming! :D

Seriously getting a case of video maker's block (or perhaps I can't find suitable music for Christine, OR I'm only in the mood to do vids about Erik, I dunno, lol). So the video I promised may take some time... unless you wouldn't mind another fan video for Erik? I'm listening to the music right now. ;D Gerard Butler definitely agrees with the song choice. :D

Anyway, I'm moving on to the Masque. Follow me in a few. ;)