Title: Help Me Say Goodbye
Rating: M
Word count: ~86k
Characters: Erik, Christine, Meg, Madame Giry, Raoul, André, Firmin, Reyer, Piangi, and sundry members of the opera company, some of which belong to me and some don't.
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise from 'Phantom of the Opera' does not belong to me.
Christine glanced around, fearful without quite knowing why – or perhaps simply cautious, not wanting others to overhear anything they should not.
Not wanting any hint of this to become grist for the gossip mill of the opera house.
"Not here," she said to Meg. "Please, will you wait until we're in your mother's room?" Meg pursed her lips but nodded. They hurried through the opera house together, the familiar path up to the small suite where Madame Giry lived, near to the ballet dormitories and their own small room. The door was unlocked, and they entered, lit the lamps and made sure the door was securely shut behind them.
Then Meg's curiosity could no longer be contained and she dragged Christine to the couch, made her sit down and investigated her forehead with careful fingers.
"What on earth happened?" she demanded. "The Vicomte told us he found blood in the graveyard – did he hurt you, Christine? The Ghost?"
"No," said Christine at once, flinching away from Meg, gentle though her friend was. "No, he wouldn't do that."
Meg was staring at her, withdrew her hand and sat next to her. "Christine," she said slowly, "will you tell me what happened?" She was frowning now, confused, and Christine bit her lip, tried to think of the right words to say. Tried to think of how to explain it to Meg, who had never known Erik as anything but the Ghost. She, like everyone else in the opera house, was afraid of him.
And Christine was afraid still, of course she was – afraid of his temper, of what he could do in his terrible, all-consuming anger – but there was so much more now.
"You must promise me something first," she said at last, reached for Meg's hand and held it tight. "Promise me you won't tell this to anyone else."
Meg looked puzzled, still frowned, but she nodded. "If you want," she said. "You'll tell Mother, though?" Christine nodded; she would not be able to escape that, although she wasn't sure what Madame Giry would have to say about it. Then Meg exclaimed, lifted their joined hands. The ring on its chain wound around Christine's wrist hung down, swaying with the movement. "Your ring – why are you wearing it like that?"
"I have so much to tell you," said Christine slowly. "But I'm not really sure where to begin."
"The beginning," said Meg, so pragmatic, sounding so like her mother that Christine had to smile. "What happened at the graveyard?" Meg asked. "I waited for you, but of course eventually I had to go to sleep, it got so late. Did he follow you there?"
"Yes," said Christine with a nod. "He…he came to speak to me, and I tried to run away." She lifted her free hand, didn't quite touch the healing cut on her forehead. "I fell and hit my head," she went on, "and…he took me to his home."
Meg inhaled sharply, looked at her with wide eyes. "But you didn't want to go, surely," she said. "Weren't you terribly afraid?"
"I was unconscious," Christine murmured. "I woke up in…" She closed her eyes for a moment, shook her head. "I don't remember much of the first time I woke," she said. "But I was in his home, and he was cleaning my cut."
"But weren't you afraid?" Meg asked again, and Christine nodded.
"I was at first," she said. "But…" She trailed off, sighed. "Oh Meg, I don't know if I can explain it all," she said. "I don't fully understand it myself." How to explain the transformation in her feelings? How to explain that she had missed her Angel for six long months, that part of her terror had been bound up with missing him so very badly?
She tried again. "He was very kind," she said, "and acted…very properly, Meg. He has a bedroom for me in his home, such a lovely room. He…he made me nice things to eat, and gave me lessons, and read to me…"
Meg pulled her hand away, almost leaned away from Christine. "You sound," she said slowly, "as if you…like him. But you are terrified of him, Christine – I've heard the way you speak of him."
"I haven't always been afraid of him," said Christine, broaching the subject they had only rarely discussed. Only once or twice, she thought, had they spoken of her Angel. Meg pursed her lips together, nodded once. "But yes, of course I'm afraid of him – I'm still afraid of him, even now." She couldn't help a shiver, closed her eyes and thought of his terrible anger, the rage that seemed to overwhelm him, to sweep away everything but rage and bitterness.
"But there's more to him," she said at last. "And I…I let myself forget all that had gone before. And now I've remembered, and I know who he is, and…and yes, Meg, I do like him." She felt herself flush as Meg looked at her, lifted a hand to hot cheeks. "I think I love him," she admitted in a whisper.
Meg was silent for long moments, her gaze lowered, and Christine waited for her judgement. Waited for the condemnation that would surely follow her confession, even from Meg – even from her best friend, who had been so supportive these last few months. She had never judged Christine before, for any of it, but surely she would judge her now.
"Please," she whispered at last, "please say something."
"I'm not sure what to say," said Meg, slow and cautious. "I…you hardly ever talk about him, you know, and when you do it's always been…" She shrugged a shoulder, still didn't raise her eyes to look at Christine. "You never even talk about when he was your Angel of Music. It's always the Ghost. And you've always been frightened of him."
"Yes," said Christine. "I have. And I know…I know I haven't talked about it." She clutched her hands together in her lap, looked down at the chain around her wrist. "I haven't wanted to think about it, for a long time," she admitted in a low voice. "About him. It was…it's been too much, Meg. I've been such a coward. I wouldn't admit even to myself that I missed him."
"You missed him," Meg murmured. "Your teacher. But why, Christine? He killed Buquet – and the chandelier – and the notes! And how can you love him if you're scared of him? It doesn't make any sense."
"I know it doesn't." She tried to find the right words, to explain even a little of how she felt to Meg. To explain a little of what had happened, there in Erik's home. "He didn't mean to hurt me, Meg," she said. "The chandelier – I – he must have been so terribly hurt." She lifted her hand, let the lamplight play on the ring Raoul had given her. "I rejected him, you see. I refused to remember how good he had been to me, as my teacher, and I ran straight to Raoul."
"But you say you love Raoul," said Meg doubtfully, and she reached out, touched the ring with her fingertips. "You've said that to me, Christine. You're engaged to him, after all." But Christine shook her head, fumbled with the chain and took it off her wrist. It was a weight she did not want to bear.
"I'm going to give this back to him," she said. "Tomorrow morning. As soon as possible."
Meg exhaled, a long sigh. "You're making no sense," she declared. "Christine, please, listen to me. You've been with him for two days – it's no wonder you're confused. You need to sleep, and see Raoul, and you'll feel so much better."
"No," said Christine, and she shook her head, reached out to grasp Meg's shoulder. "No, please," she said. "Try to listen. Try to understand. I know it sounds strange, but I…I do love him, Meg. I can't bear the idea of him being hurt."
"But Raoul?"
Christine hesitated, shook her head again. "I love him too," she said softly, "but not…not enough. Not enough to be without E- my Angel."
Meg's eyes were sharp, she frowned when Christine changed her words, understood what Christine was not saying.
"You know his name, then," she deduced. "But Christine – how can you love him if you're scared of him?"
"I don't know, exactly," Christine said. "But…but I do love him. I think of my life with Raoul and it feels so empty, Meg." She held the ring tightly in her hand, thought of Raoul's happy expression when he'd given it to her. Thought of the way he kissed her, the way he accepted her smiles and her pleasure as his due. Thought of Erik's reaction to the same small gestures, and her heart ached.
She thought of how he had not known what to do when she had embraced him. Her poor Erik, who would need to be taught love so carefully. So unlike Raoul, who had been showered with affection from his earliest days, took it as something that would always be there.
"You're blushing," Meg said in a murmur. "Christine…what happened? What on earth has happened to you?"
"He makes me feel alive," said Christine. "And I think of a life with Raoul and it makes me want to be dead."
Her words almost took her breath away; she had not elucidated it so clearly before, even to herself. But it was the truth. A life with Raoul, as the Vicomtess de Chagny, would be so wholly without music, without performance. Without joy. She could not live like that.
She would almost rather be dead. It was perhaps overly-dramatic but then, Christine thought wryly, she was after all an actress.
"Christine, that's…that's…" Meg stumbled over her words, reached to clasp her hand once more. "Are you sure, Christine?" she asked then. "What about the things he's done?"
"I can't excuse any of it," Christine murmured. "I won't. But I can't…" She closed her eyes, thought of the hopelessness with which he had sent her away from him. The agony he must have felt in doing so, when he did not believe she would return. "I can't bear it any longer," she said at last, the words falling from her mouth so quickly she almost stumbled over them. "I can't bear not having him in my life, Meg. When he revealed himself to me all those months ago…oh God, when I think of how he must have felt when I…"
"When you what, Christine?" Meg asked gently. "Tell me what happened. You've never talked about it – you disappeared for a night and came back so…so different."
Christine hesitated, wondered what to say. She'd promised herself not to reveal Erik's secrets, and yet…
And yet she must say something, she knew. Meg must know something, or she would never be able to support Christine – and she needed her friend to understand her decision as much as possible, to support her when she broke her engagement with Raoul.
She needed her friend, and so she closed her eyes and admitted what she had done.
"I took his mask," she whispered. "I saw his face."