When the door slammed behind Christine, Erik looked up from the table. He considered their front door, with its peeling paintwork and a lock that expanded and would stick in hot weather. Less than a year ago it would have been inconceivable to think that he would live in an apartment, like an ordinary man, with a front door that he could walk out of any time he chose to. He thought about the door to the cage in the black caravan, a small but strong lock tucked discretely amongst the metal bars so as not to draw the attention of the visitors. It was almost ironic that the final time he left the cage; he didn't walk through the door, instead squeezing himself through a hole in the back wall.
How much his life had changed since they left the gypsy camp. The never ending cycle of bruises and lash marks that had been inflicted by the gypsies had finally started to heal, replaced by small cuts on his hands and forearms from working with stone all day at the construction site. When Christine had initially seen his injured hands she had insisted on bandaging them, until they had discovered that it was impractical for him to work with bandaged hands. He had a job, a real job, just like a normal man. He could go to work and at the end of each day he could see what he had accomplished. When Danior had first locked him in the black caravan he would try to imagine what he could do if he were ever able to escape. He imagined being a composer, having his music played across Europe, but then he had realised that no one would want to hear the music of a monster. However day after day of being presented as a freak to the visitors had robbed him of his ability to see anything else in the future. Eventually he had stopped trying.
But since coming to Paris he had started imagining a future again. At times it was almost as though he were a normal man. He had started imagining what it would be like once he was trained and could work on his own projects, whether he would be able to hire men to work for him. When he had started working the other men on the job site had been wary of him but their fascination with their masked co-worker soon grew old and he was accepted, even if he wasn't included. He listened to their conversations about their families and how they wished they were able to earn more money to support them and it made him realise that perhaps he wasn't so dissimilar to the other men. Although his wages had increased since he had started working for the master mason, it still wasn't enough for them to move into a better apartment or for Christine to entirely give up her sewing work. But he could see a time when money wasn't going to be so tight.
And then there was Christine. As much as he tried not to he found that he loved her more and more with each passing day. Living with her he was discovering little things about her that he would never have discovered living in the camp and he carefully catalogued these in his mind. He had learned that she would curl up in a chair with her knees up under her chin when she was reading a book that she enjoyed, that she would make a little squeaking sound when she bathed with water that was too cold and that she liked to eat toast that was so well cooked it was almost black. There were times when he would find himself imagining that they were a normal couple, perhaps even husband and wife, and he would savour the thought for a moment, before brutally trying to banish it from his mind. As much as he might want it, and although he felt the closest to a normal man as he ever had during his miserable existence, he wasn't a normal man and he could never have Christine for his own. He knew that it hadn't been her intention, but saying his old gypsy nickname had violently reinforced all the reasons he had for never pursuing anything further with Christine. He loved her, desperately, and he knew he could never deny that, but he wasn't even fit to be her friend, let alone anything more intimate. The best he could hope to do was to see her happily settle in Paris with a man like Raoul de Chagny. His heart would break at the sight and he would likely want to die, but she would be happy.
That was why he had started pushing her away. So she would have time to meet and be courted by men like de Chagny, rather than indulging the whims of a monster like himself and taking evening walks in the park. And so maybe it would hurt a tiny bit less when she left him, because he would have fewer memories of what it was like to do normal things with her. Of course it was far too late for that and he knew that he would spend the remainder of his life torturing himself with memories of what she had looked like and how she had felt when she reached out to touch him.
He couldn't understand though why Christine was so upset with him. Surely she didn't believe that she was going to need to spend the rest of her life with him. He appreciated that Christine felt a certain attachment to him, considered him a friend perhaps and trusted him. But that wasn't enough for her to become so upset. Erik suddenly remembered the time that she had accused him of fabricating the reasons he gave for needing to take her away from the gypsy camp and she had later explained how she was upset because of what had been happening at the theatre and how she was so tired. Yes, he concluded, that was what had just happened. Christine was having a difficult time at the theatre and she was upset. Perhaps she had even had a fight with Meg earlier in the day. It would even explain why she had rushed from the apartment; she was embarrassed that she had lost her temper again.
Erik suddenly noticed the long shadows stretching across the floor. Turning to the window he realised that it was almost sunset. How long had he been sitting there? Christine's reticule was still sitting on the chair where she had dropped it when she had presented him with his gift, which meant that she had no money to pay for transportation. He hated it when she needed to walk home at night and he had tried to always ensure that she had enough money for the nights she had performances at the theatre. Quickly rising from his chair, he collected his coat and hat and pulled them on as he walked out the front door, determined to find Christine before it got too dark.
As he walked, he wondered whether he should explain the situation to Christine. Not that he loved her but that he was trying to help her start a more secure, stable and happy life here in Paris and that he couldn't be a part of that life.
When Christine had arrived at the theatre she had told the bemused doorman that she was here to practise. The doorman thought it strange that anyone would want to practise on their day off but nevertheless let her through. She had told herself firmly that she was going to practise, the empty stage giving her the perfect opportunity to work on her projection. But once she was on stage she found that she wasn't able to concentrate for more than a couple of lines, with thoughts of Erik continually taking the place of the music.
She could see now what had happened. Living with her the past months had been too much for Erik and he had grown tired of her. He no doubt still saw her as the child that he had taught in the black caravan and he didn't want to make a life with her. He probably wanted to leave her but was too good a man to abandon her, so he stayed to ensure that she was safe. Perhaps she could consider moving into one of the dormitories in the theatre and then, knowing that she was safe, Erik wouldn't feel obliged to stay with her any longer. Her heart ached at the thought of him no longer being in her life but if it would make him happy then she was willing to let him go.
Since they had settled in Paris Christine had found that her love for Erik grew every day. She had always known that he was intelligent, but out of the gypsy camp and the horrible caravan that they had kept him in she had learned just how incredibly intelligent he was, with an ability to learn anything he put his mind to. Although he didn't admit or talk about it, Christine could see that he was ambitious and had dreams far beyond being apprentice to one day being a master mason who ran his own business. After he had started working with the master mason Christine had thought that there had been a shift in their relationship. He had started opening up to her and when they spent time together it seemed like he was happy. She had even started to think that perhaps the idea of them being together wasn't just the farfetched idea of a little girl and he could fall in love with her.
Christine knew that Erik's face was always going to be an issue. He had spent decades as the captive of Danior because of it and been put on display every night for the jeering crowds. Even with the mask he still drew unwanted attention, taunts from young men wanting a chance to display their bravery and gasps from shocked elderly matrons. But she could see that he was so much more than the mask and his face. She wouldn't have cared if his entire face had looked like the right side. Although he had not let her see his face since they had left the clan, she had not forgotten what he looked like. There was no denying that it was shocking but Christine knew that if she saw it again she wouldn't scream or start or even care. She would only see the face of the man she loved. She had tried to convince Erik that she didn't care what he looked like, repeatedly encouraging him to go without the mask when he was at home, but he had refused every time, saying that he didn't want to inflict his horrid visage on her. Christine had quickly learned that he would fall into a deeply depressive mood after these conversations and had started making her suggestions more subtle.
And then everything had changed and all the progress Christine felt they had made in their relationship since coming to Paris fell away. He became a virtual stranger to her and judging by the conversation she had had with him only a few hours earlier, it seemed that he didn't care. She returned to her original thought, that she should leave him and allow him to pursue the life he obviously wanted, one without her.
She tried to imagine what her life would be like without Erik. She had seen him every day without fail for more than ten years. How could she go from that to never seeing him again? Her life would become the theatre but how could she sing without Erik in her life? She wouldn't be alone, she told herself. She would still have Meg and she was slowly starting to make friends with some of the other girls in the chorus. And of course there was Raoul. It was becoming more and more obvious that he wanted something greater than friendship from Christine. She wondered whether she should allow Raoul to court her properly. It was an opportunity that a girl like Christine could normally only dream of and she knew that in many ways it would be foolish to turn him down, even if her heart wasn't in it.
"Christine?" the man in question suddenly called out, causing Christine to jump, whirling around to face the front of the stage. "Christine, what are you doing here? Monsieur Firmin said that today was the performers' day off."
"Raoul! You startled me," Christine gasped, as Raoul smiled apologetically. "It is. Our day off I mean. I just thought it would be a good opportunity to practise on stage without any interruptions."
"Such dedication Little Lotte, as the patron of the Opera Populaire I am impressed," Raoul said with a teasing grin, before turning serious. "But are you sure you're not working too hard? This is supposed to be your day off; you should be out spending time with Meg and your other friends, not practising on your own in an empty opera house."
"It's alright, I know when to stop," she reassured him. "Besides," she said, hoping to turn the attention away from herself, "Why are you here?"
"Ah, sadly I have no day off. I needed to look at some of the accounts with Messieurs Firmin and Andre," he sighed dramatically, bringing a small smile to Christine's face.
"I love seeing that," Raoul said, suddenly turning serious. A puzzled expression replaced Christine's smile.
"You. Smiling," he clarified. Reaching across to Christine he ran his fingers down the length of a curl.
"Raoul..." Christine said, the warning note evident in her voice as she took a step backwards.
"No, wait, Christine. I'm glad that I found you here today. There's something that I've been wanting to ask you for a while now but it's never been the right time." For the first time since he had reappeared in her life it seemed that Raoul was uneasy, which was a change for the normally poised and confident vicomte. "Would you like to sit?" he asked, gesturing towards the stalls.
"No, thank you," she replied, thinking that she preferred the openness of the stage to the confining seats of the theatre.
"Alright...um...I knew exactly what I wanted to say earlier but I seemed to have forgotten all of it," he said with a nervous laugh. "We were such good friends when we were children," he started, "And even though we hadn't seen each other in many years I always considered that you were one of the best friends I ever had."
"Me too," Christine interrupted. "That summer was one of the happiest of my life."
"I always wondered what had happened to you and whenever I saw a group of musicians, any musicians, I would look to see if your father was amongst them, hoping that if I found him, I would be able to find you. And then my family became patrons here, and there you were, almost as if it was fate. I recognised you the moment I saw you." He gave a small laugh. "You cannot imagine how relieved I was that you remembered me when I approached you backstage.
"Of course I would remember you. We were inseparable that summer," Christine reminded him.
"Exactly, inseparable," he agreed enthusiastically. "And we've been spending time together, as friends, since I found you and it's reminded me exactly why we were inseparable. But we're grown now Christine and the feelings that can develop between a man and a woman are not those that exist between a young boy and girl."
"Raoul, please..." Now that she was faced with the reality that a relationship beyond mere friendship was a very real possibility with Raoul Christine suddenly realised that she couldn't go through with it. Even if Erik never wanted her, she could never pretend that she was in love with another man, no matter how wonderful he was.
"Please let me finish," he implored, taking a step closer to her and clasping her hands in his. "I think, no I know, that I am falling in love with you Christine Daae. And whilst you have no family that I can ask for permission from, I would very much like to start formally courting you."
Hearing those words aloud Christine discovered that she almost hated herself for what she knew she had to do.
Mistaking her silence for concern of a different kind, Raoul continued, "I know that long term relationships between members of the nobility and women who work at the opera are not common and that the ones you often hear of are not respectable, but I swear to you Christine that is not what I am proposing, not for a moment. I will not do anything that could sully your reputation and I am hoping that this courtship will lead to a respectable and happy marriage."
"Marriage?" Christine squeaked, far louder than she would have liked. She winced as she heard her voice echo throughout the theatre.
Erik came to a halt as he stepped through the door at the back of the stalls. Christine's voice seemed to echo around him, "Marriage, marriage, marriage, marriage."
It was too soon he realised, he wasn't ready to let her go, not yet. This was exactly what he was hoping would happen, a part of him argued. But not yet, he needed more time to get used to the idea of Christine not being in his life. What should she do though? Spend time with a man who would be a suitable husband but wait until the monster in her life was ready to let her go? He would never be ready. Even if she waited another fifty years he still wouldn't be ready.
If he looked at them, if he saw how perfect they looked together it would show him. It would remind him why this was the right decision and would shatter the last remaining hope he had that Christine could ever want a thing like him. That was what he needed he told himself resolutely.
He dragged his eyes across the thick carpet that covered the floor of the theatre, up over the red velvet covered seats and finally onto the stage which was empty of any sets or props. He could see the young couple standing close, the man holding the woman's hand between both of his, whilst she reached up to stroke his cheek. And Erik saw red.
The anger that he felt when he had seen Milosh dancing with Christine at the gypsies' New Year party was nothing compared to what he felt watching the Vicomte hold Christine. This was pure rage. He could hear the blood pulsing through his veins and he curled his hands into fists to prevent himself from tearing at the curtains that hung against the back wall of the theatre, or worse, rushing to the stage and tearing into the Vicomte. He couldn't describe how much he hated the man at the moment, for being in a position where he could hold Christine and ask her to be his wife.
Even standing at the back of the theatre Erik could see that the Vicomte was a handsome man, and with his title and wealth he would be able to ensure that Christine never wanted for anything. Seeing him standing there with Christine suddenly made everything seem far too real. Previously it had been abstract, a theory only. Christine had reunited with an old friend whose situation in life meant that a marriage between the two was a likely outcome. Although Erik had heard plenty about the Vicomte he had no particular feelings about the man one way or another. He could have just as easily been any other man that Christine had met and Erik would have felt exactly the same.
But not anymore. Now he had a face to put with the name and stories. Erik realised that even if the man had been ugly, he still would have felt this way, because it wasn't him. She loved and was going to marry a man that wasn't him. He vaguely realised that his feelings didn't make sense, he had never been in a situation where he was going to marry Christine, she had never loved him, and you couldn't take from a man what he never had to begin with. Nevertheless his heart disagreed and was insisting that the Vicomte was taking away what was his. His instincts were telling him to march onto the stage and claim her. Disgusted with himself, he turned and left the theatre before he gave in and ruined Christine's happy moment for nothing.
"I'm sorry Raoul, I can't," Christine said, slipping from his grasp and walking from the stage.