Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its adaptations or characters.
Title: Songbird
Summary: After the death of her father, Christine finds herself at the mercy of an aunt she hardly knew existed. With her entire world changing in an instant, her future never seemed so uncertain. Yet, the mysterious masked lord may just be able to offer her a life unlike anything she ever imagined.
Author's Note: It made me laugh at how many of you brought up Philippe and Nadir. I was tempted to write a post-chapter note on the names I have been using throughout the story last chapter. Honestly, I pretty much choose them at random. However, there are a couple, like Philippe and Nadir, that I envision the characters and their names fitting certain roles. I fairly knew that there probably wouldn't be any room to introduce a brother for Raoul, so I stole him for one of the debt collectors. Pretty much the same with Nadir. If that makes any sense…So, as far as things go for now, they do not necessarily tie into anybody else's pasts or stories. But, who knows? That could change…
One last thing to add, I didn't realize how cheesy this chapter might seem to people. I feel like I am really bad at fluff, but I tend to fall into it quite easily…or something? So I apologize if this is a little much.
Chapter 14 – Reflections
Christine groggily opened her eyes to discover she was in a place she didn't recognize. The room was dim, with only a single candle burning, which aided in keeping the pounding in her head at a minimum. It also made it more difficult for her to determine whether it was morning or night. On that note, she couldn't even say for sure what day it happened to be. She didn't know how long she had been out for or how she had even gotten to this foreign place. The last thing she remembered was her dressing room spinning in front of her vision and two men looming over her. Then she had blacked out.
A door opened softly off to one side. She turned her head in the direction of the noise, but even that gentle movement caused a bolt of pain to shoot through her neck and across her vision. She winced, immediately falling still.
"Don't move," a voice ordered gruffly, but softly. "You will still find yourself in a lot of pain."
"Yes, I think I found that out the hard way," she croaked.
Her own voice startled her. It was gravelly and rough. She couldn't even recognize it. Her throat was dry and scratchy when she spoke. It felt tight, as well, like it didn't want to give properly for her to vocalize. She had never known it to be so irritated before.
"I think it would be best if you didn't speak, as well," the same voice offered.
Christine shifted enough to be able to see who it was that was speaking to her. As soon as her gaze landed on Erik, she recognized where she was. She had somehow ended up in his room, in his bed! She could feel the silk sheets against her skin now, suddenly aware that her skin was exposed at all. She couldn't even determine how much skin, which was rather unsettling. But these concerns were fleeting.
All of this understanding occurred within seconds of his arrival. Beyond that, upon first sight of him, she was overcome with the greatest relief. But her memory of the event that had left her in this condition also came flooding back, bringing with it all of the fear and anger. She couldn't understand why, since Erik had not been present at all. In any case, it hit her so hard that her eyes immediately filled with tears. Even though she was still in some disbelief over it having ever occurred, her body surely felt and acted as if it was real.
Erik leaned over and wiped some tears from her cheek. "That's enough of that," he comforted. "You're safe now."
And she believed him, too. Even so, her body continued to tremor. It was her shot nerves that wouldn't let her lay still. It caused so much pain to flare up nearly everywhere. She managed to ignore that as much as possible, or at least tolerate it.
Erik pushed the pillows up behind her, assisting her into a sort of sitting position. His movements made it obvious at just how delicate she was and how much he feared paining her even more. He pulled up a chair next to the bed and eased onto it. "Do you feel up to having some soup?"
She hadn't even noticed the tray he had brought in. He lifted it up to balance on the edge of the mattress. It contained a bowl of soup and all of the workings for tea. She felt touched that he was going to the lengths of caring for her and looking after her. She was sure that it wasn't easy for him. She nodded slightly, unable to avoid the backlash of that motion, but smiled gratefully.
Erik leaned in, poising the spoon over the bowl until he could safely pour the warm soup into her mouth. She wanted to so much ask him about what had happened and how he had found her. She wanted to know how she had gotten to his room, how much time had passed, and where they now stood. She didn't have to attempt to voice these questions, though. It was as if he read her mind and anticipated what she was wondering.
"You have been unconscious all through the night and into the morning. It is now the afternoon. The…incident occurred last night," he explained. It was evident in his tone that he was still sour over it, as well. He obviously didn't like talking about it, but he obliged her anyway.
He brought another spoonful of soup to her. She hadn't realized how hungry she was. Actually, her pain seemed to mask it. Not to mention she still felt completely exhausted, despite having slept through the entire night and much of the day. She supposed that one couldn't necessarily call it sleeping, though.
"You should be careful," she murmured, attempting to be as gentle on her throat as possible, "a girl could get used to this."
Erik actually cracked a genuine smile and chuckled a bit. It was hard to think that such a thing could be accomplished in the wake of a terrible event. Still, Christine was able to appreciate it. The moment was brief. Then Erik was all seriousness again.
"You should really rest your throat, though, Christine," he told her softly, preparing another spoonful. "You don't want to strain it any more than it already is."
There was a pause. As Erik fed her again, his eyes inadvertently traveled to the bruises on her exposed neck. She watched him, as he had watched her before. When he leaned back in his chair she noticed the distress and sadness on his face.
"Erik," she whispered, half trying to appease him and half for her own sake, "what happened to me?"
With the utmost sincerity, he entreated, "I was hoping you would tell me."
She shook her head, tears returning to her dark eyes. "I wish I knew," she admitted. "All I can recall is two men forcing their way into my dressing chamber and then blackness."
Erik swallowed. "I discovered your unconscious body blocking the door. I brought you back here so that I could watch over your progress. Madame Giry has been kind enough to assist and keep everything under tight secrecy."
"I was rather curious about that," she admitted.
Erik shook his head in frustration, getting rather heated. "If only you knew the identities of those men. I can't let them get away with this."
"They claimed to have sought me out to collect on some debts."
Erik paused. He blinked incredulously. "Christine, do you owe people money?"
She shook her head nonchalantly, easing his mind. "Not me. My father ran into some debt, and after he died, I suppose it fell to me to pay those back." She sighed, exhausted. "We were penniless. I had no way of giving them what they want. I still don't."
She appeared so small and helpless as she stared at him, her eyes growing larger by the second. She had a way of portraying innocence quite naturally. He couldn't help but feel the want to protect her—to shield her from all of the pain the world had to offer. He had never felt so compelled before.
"I fear that if I don't come up with something, they will kill me," she confessed.
Erik was quick to respond. He grasped her hand forcefully, yet softly. "I would never allow that to happen."
She searched his eyes. "I believe you, and I am very grateful to you…to all of you," she added swiftly at the end.
Then she seemed to become despondent. She turned her head in the opposite direction, preferring to stare at the wall for some time. Though they were right next to each other, it suddenly seemed like they were miles apart. He became worried that perhaps he was losing her. He sat back in his seat, removing himself from her, as well. He chose to pretend to find a distraction by stirring the soup.
"I still have a performance tonight," she mused aloud, randomly.
"Actually," Erik cleared his throat, "I took the liberty of writing to the managers and informing them that you will be absent until otherwise notified. Though she won't even be able to compare to you, La Carlotta will be performing the role in your stead."
Christine sighed, closing her eyes softly. She wasn't terribly thrilled about the replacement or the fact that she would have to miss it in the first place, but she was still willing to trust him on this and let him make the arrangements. She could tell that Erik was taking the whole incident hard, but whatever he was feeling toward it, she felt ten times more. Not only was she physically drained and emotionally drained, but it also interfered with the opportunity that had been given to her. She was attempting to be civil about the whole thing, but it was difficult. It was very difficult.
Erik allowed her to process this for a moment then found his opportunity to add to the information he had just given her. He knew that this was going to be even more upsetting and concerning for her. "Christine," he started carefully, "I don't know the extent of the injury to your throat. When you are feeling stronger, we can test your voice and see exactly what damage they might have caused."
She didn't show any physical sign that she had heard what he had said. Yet, he was sure. Her eyes remained closed and her body remained still. Then a single tear broke free and rolled down her cheek.
Erik stood, taking the tray with him, and he set it over on some clear space on the vanity. "I should let you get some sleep," he informed. His gaze lingered on her momentarily, but then he strode toward the door. He had his hand on the doorknob, had just swung it open, when she stopped him in his tracks.
"One more thing," she called. Despite how quiet it was, it still held the ability to break through to him.
He turned in her direction. "Yes?" he breathed.
She stared up at him, but her face was completely unreadable. The tears were gone. Acceptance must have taken their place. "You said before that you found me against the chamber door."
"Yes," he said again. "That's right." He wasn't quite sure where this was going, but something in his gut didn't like it one bit.
"If I was huddled against it, how did you manage to get in?" Christine questioned innocently.
Erik didn't know how to answer at first. He hadn't expected her to catch that in their conversation. In fact, he hadn't even realized what he had said. He knew that he couldn't tell her anything about the mirror just yet. She was still much too fragile. He could only imagine how angry she would be and what sorts of ideas would pop into her head.
"That's not important right now. I found you. That's all you need to know. And now, you are safe." He didn't like the idea of skirting around the answer, but he had little other options before him. He didn't want to deceive her, he had decided. It was no longer an option for him. But, he had to look out for whatever was in the best interest for her in that moment. And in that moment, the truth was not.
Christine watched him depart and close the door quietly behind him. She waited to hear his footsteps retreat. She curled back the blankets from her body, each movement agony. Yet, she was determined. Very, very carefully, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was relieved to find that she was in her old, tattered nightgown and that she wasn't free of all clothing. That would have been awkward and inappropriate.
She eased herself onto her feet, testing her legs before putting her full weight on them to ensure she wouldn't topple over. She shuffled to the vanity, supporting herself on the surrounding furniture. Again, pain encompassed her entire body, but she was determined enough to bite through it to reach her destination.
She leaned against the vanity upon reaching it. She looked into the mirror, which was completely uncovered at that point. Despite only the one flame, she was still able to make out her reflection. Her heartbeat quickened at what she saw and she had to clench her teeth to prevent herself from sobbing.
The cheekbone on the left side of her face was a massive bruise with a small horizontal cut running through it. Her bottom lip had been split on the same side; and, it appeared that only that half was swelling slightly above normal. It gave her an eerie look.
Her gaze traveled down to her neck where there were distinct finger-shaped bruises. This seemed to be a little harder to take. Tears fell silently down her cheeks. She hadn't realized how bad she actually looked. And, that was only her face, let alone what covered the rest of her body.
The anger bubbled up in her. She felt violated, as she should, and a complete wreck. She realized that there was no way for her to behave civilly toward such an event, since the event itself was anything but civil. There hadn't been a single time in her life before that moment that she had ever expected or imagined anything of this nature would happen. She had always been so strong. She certainly didn't feel that way anymore.
In that respect, she had to admit, the men won.
Christine found the dark cloth lying at the base of the mirror. She picked it up and delicately placed it over the reflective glass. Sometimes it was best to leave these things masked.