A/N: Thank you all for reading my story. I hope this is a passable way that Kay could have ended her beautiful tale. To my reviewers: A MILLION THANKS! There is nothing more that needs to be said. Check for any new stories by me in the near future!
Erik and I ended up moving anyway. My little home was a reminder of the hard weeks I went through without him, and as Erik said, my furniture really did not match at all.
We purchased a very tiny house right outside of Paris. Erik found it, after exploring one evening, and he bought it on the spot from the seller. When he came home, he was so entranced by it, that he woke me up and took me to see it, right in the middle of the night. It was in the middle of woods, far away from people, with lots of space. He prowled and explored it for hours while I walked around following him, thrilled by his enthusiasm. It was far removed from anyone else, ensuring us privacy and plenty of space to let us sing as loud as we wanted without pesky neighbors coming to tell us to hush.
As far as our relationship went, we spent a long time talking about what we had done to each other; it made him uncomfortable, but I decided that it need to be said, to be explained. I didn't want him to feel unloved or unwanted. I wanted to crush every negative thought he'd ever had about himself, and I wanted to replace them all with thoughts of us. But alas, it was an impossible task. I could not save Erik - I could never erase things that had been done. But I loved him anyway.
It took weeks before he truly began to open up to me, physically and emotionally. He shied away from physical affection less and less. It felt odd to approach personal topics with him at first. Eventually, it was him who took authority and I followed him without question, determined to please him.
Another thing I was concerned about was his health. I was not naive enough to assume he was dead without him really looking as if he were about to die. I actually hadn't even thought about it while I was with him, but then one night, I had a vivid dream about his death.
I woke, crying and shaking, and Erik was right there, lying next to me, holding me and promising everything was alright.
I tried to make a better statement about his health. The very little that he ate, I made sure was the healthiest things I could purchase; I forbade him to lift anything heavier than me; and I quickly approached him about any drugs.
"No drugs," he had promised me, holding out his hands as if I were accusing them of hiding in his fists. "No more, Christine."
I believed him mostly, although I would be lying if I said I was positive that he never took any substance again.
Our singing resumed, a completely different story now that I had no more lessons. The first thing Erik wanted me to do was go back to the opera, but I couldn't. Too many memories, too many faces; I had been a scandal, and I was not brave enough to face that. Not now, not ever.
Erik was all I wanted.
How could I ever have imagined living without him? His cold lips are always seeking out mine, his eloquent fingers always asking to be encircled around my waist. His hesitancy in physical love was not an obstacle as much as it would seem to be. Often, we just sat together, for it seemed he desired my presence more than anything else.
I believe Nadir and Erik keep up a correspondence, but he didn't visit us much when we lived in our flat, and he certainly couldn't come often to the other side of Paris. I made a few good friends around my new home, but, like Erik, I believe I am destined to be something of a loner.
"Silly girl," Erik said to me, when I confided in my fears. "You are everything I was not."
It was not perfect, living with Erik. Had I thought he would be angel every second, now that we were, as we liked to call it, husband and wife? His temper remained as acute as ever. Sometimes he locked himself away and did not come out for a while. He grew impatient with me often.
I was in the living room, reading the newspaper about Raoul's new lover. I hated how they portrayed her as a silly nothing who was dragged along everywhere by the Vicomte, simply to show off the newest dress or hat- that had once been me.
Unfortunately, I was poring over that particular article when Erik came in. Silent as always, I didn't even know he was there until he was breathing down my neck.
"Missing your young man?" he voiced, making me jump. I knew instantly that I was guilty of something.
I smiled anyway. "I'm just reading the paper, silly."
"And you always seem to be reading the exact same page," he noted dryly. He was right, although for the wrong reasons. I only read the paper for news of Raoul. And he read into my actions the wrong way.
I sighed. "What do you want me to say, Erik? I want to see what Raoul is doing. And I'm curious about his new flame."
"Jealous?" he asked dryly. "Jealous that she gets the viscount and you do not?"
That made me angry. I turned and glared at him over the back of the couch. "No, I am not jealous. I said curious. I cared about Raoul."
His eyes suddenly burned flames. "Curiosity changes the face of every emotion," he breathed. "Selecting your stories in secret, and then making up excuses when I catch you! How extraordinarily suspicious. And yet, I suppose, you simply cannot put his memory to rest, as you once did mine."
"And you are acting ridiculous!" I exclaimed, grabbing his tight hands as he tried to draw away from me. "Sit down!"
"I much preferred the submissive Christine!" he shot icily. "To the one now he tells me what to do!"
I suddenly worried about his health. Anymore anger and another attack could finish him off… Perhaps he was thinking this too, taking calming breaths and closing his eyes. I let the paper fall to the floor.
"Erik," I said in my most soothing tone. "I love you."
His "I love you too" was muttered and almost inaudible. I reached and removed his mask, turning his face to look at me. His anger does not scare me anymore. He is much calmer, much more easily consoled, and I used that.
"Please don't be angry at me," I whispered. "I'll burn the papers if you really want me to, but they're nothing. I'm just reading about an old friend. Not a threat to our relationship."
"Nothing threatens me," he said shortly, finally looking at me in my eyes. "But... you should burn the papers."
Erik and I fight very little now. If we do fight, it is about something silly, something that I usually do wrong, and something that he overreacts to. I win most of them, because usually he's being absurd.
We attend the opera every now and then. The new soprano is slightly older than me, with chestnut curls and a lovely coloratura voice. I was deeply impressed, and Erik deemed her 'passable', which was extravagant praise.
Another time, I had gone to the opera alone, but I received a surprise when in between acts I found Erik lurking around in the waiting area.
"Erik!" I called, and he attempted to blend with the shadows. Too late. "I see you."
Resigned, he stepped forward, his arms crossing over his chest. "How oddly perceptive your eyesight is getting, Christine."
"What are you doing here?" I demanded, a little suspicious with his hidden behavior. "You said you didn't want to come."
"And so I did not," he said quietly. "I was just… checking to make sure you're alright."
His care touched me, but I suspected an ulterior motive: I knew very well that Raoul was attending this opera with his new wife that night.
"You weren't checking on me for other reasons, were you Erik?"
"What other reasons, darling?" he asked innocently.
I stared at him for a long time. "I am not interacting with Raoul."
He chuckled. "But you obviously know he is here."
I rolled my eyes. First, I had seen it in the paper, but I didn't want Erik to think I was still reading it because of Raoul. "I saw him, Erik. I can see him in his Box."
He looked down, and I think he was ashamed at being caught. That had probably never happened to him before.
The last act was to be starting soon, and ushers came around, reminding patrons to get to their seats. I looked desperately at Erik's figure. I had never liked this opera much anyway.
"Would you like me to come home with you?" I asked softly.
"Yes, please," he replied tonelessly, hiding the relief in his voice.
So you see, we have struck a nice balance.
Our one-year anniversary is approaching next week. I mentioned to him yesterday that we could have a nice dinner. He grunted and pretended to ignore me, but I think he likes the idea.
So much has changed.
Raoul's three-month marriage ended in a messy and very publicized divorce. According to the newspapers—which I look at when Erik is not in the house—he is already courting again, to a rich woman from up North.
I have learned to play a few songs on the piano, helped along by my ever-so-magnificent teacher.
The opera house is doing so well that they are considering building another little section. Erik is interested.
Closer to home, Erik and I are in love and happy. His health is doing fine so far, something I am very thankful for.
When talking about children, Erik's response has gone from, "Absolutely not." to "Never." to "No." to "I said no!" to "Tell me why we should talk about it" to "So help me, if you mention that one more time—" to "For God's sakes, fine, we'll talk about it!" I am much encouraged.
I have planted a rosebush next to our front door. Many buds are missing. I think I know what my anniversary present will be.
Tonight, Erik is offering to tell me a story. I settle back into his lap while removing his mask, as his angel's voice begins to speak. I listen for the hundredth time about the white rose and the nightingale, and the forbidden love. I think, as always, about Erik and me.
Perhaps our love was meant to be after all.
