A/N: Okay, before we delve into this chapter, let me try to clear up a few things regarding the previous one. There were a lot of comments about the way Erik took the opium; I have certainly never done it myself, but I did some historical research and found that injecting opium became extremely popular in the mid 1800s and continued into the early 1900s. I know that NOW opium is smoked, but back then it was a fad, so to speak, to take it through a vein. That said, I know it didn't seem like Erik reacted very strongly to it— I tried to show the passing of time while Nadir cooked and Erik played, but evidently I didn't make that clear enough. By the time the Persian sits down to talk to him, it's already been awhile since he took the drug, so the effects aren't as strong. As of this chapter, his opium high has pretty much dwindled. Everybody clear now?
Alrighty then! Enjoy this chapter— it's pretty much the turning point of the fic, though it's FAR from over!
She sat at the organ, her back to him, stroking her fingers lovingly over the keys. Her sharp shoulder blades rose and fell erratically as she played a few soft chords. Erik watched her from the dark entrance to his lair, not yet willing to make his presence known. His breath escaped him in a shuddering sigh through parted lips, and though the sound was not nearly loud enough to overpower the organ, Christine whirled about to face him.
His breath caught in his chest at the sight of her. The dying candles illuminated her creamy skin and brought out a reddish tint in her chestnut curls. Her cheeks were flushed and damp, salty tracks bearing witness to the tears she'd shed over the past few hours. Erik wanted nothing more than to run to her and kiss them away, but an insistent voice in his head told him to wait— that there were things that needed to be said before the inevitable outcome of the evening came to pass. Already he could feel warmth beginning to spread down from his abdomen, but he purposely ignored it in a rare moment of patience. He had waited too long for this night to rush through it.
He was caught entirely off-guard when Christine's brow furrowed and she marched over to him, coming within centimeters of his face.
"You!" she roared, grasping his shirt in her surprisingly strong little fists. "You… you—you bastard! How dare you! Do you really think that you can keep seducing me like this, and right when I'm ready to give in to you and your sick little game, just—just leave me there pining while you go off and have a good laugh? Well you know what? I'm not going to do this anymore! I give up— I give in! You won, Erik, you won! Are you happy now? What do you want from me? WHAT? Do you want me to admit that I was wrong— that I should have chosen you that night? Fine! I was wrong! But that gives you no right to keep doing this to me! To… to say something like that and just storm off… I didn't know where you'd gone or what you were doing or… or if you'd ever come back or—"
"Christine!" he barked before she became even more hysterical. She jerked slightly before bowing her head. A raucous sob caught in her throat as she released her death grip on his shirt, her hands falling limply at her sides. The sound tugged at his heartstrings, and his eyes and voice softened immediately. It was instinctual to curl his forefinger around her chin and lift her face to his. Swimming brown eyes met his green ones, and his heart gave another painful wrench as a large tear slipped down her cheek.
"I will always," he whispered gently, "always return to you."
A brief flash of pain sparked in her eyes before her muscles tensed and she turned away, running a hand through her tangled mane of curls.
"You can't promise me that," she said, her voice wavering, threatening to break. "Raoul…" She swallowed. "Raoul said the same thing before he got on that boat. He said when he came home we would go for a ride in the country and have a picnic. He promised me." Her voice finally broke, and she spun to face him, her teary eyes narrowed. "My father told me he would be sitting in the first row when I made my debut at the Opera Populaire. He started coughing the next morning. He was dead three weeks later." A fresh stream of tears trickled down her cheeks, and she drew in a sharp breath through trembling lips. "So you'll forgive me if I have a hard time believing in that promise." She sighed, but the sound caught in her throat and ended in a sob. "I can't lose you, Erik. I can't!"
His breathing grew shallow as he stared incredulously at her. It felt as if a spring was coiled around his chest, constricting his lungs, refusing to let air through. The question scorched his tongue, demanding to be asked, even if the answer would shatter the remnants of his tattered heart. He had to know; he had to bring his soul to peace.
"So… you're not going to Rome, then?"
Christine's eyes snapped up to his, widening in fear. "How did you—?"
"Madame Giry told me," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. He studied her eyes, trying to find the answer before she vocalized it. Unfortunately Christine turned away from him before he could uncover it, and he was forced to the edge of his sanity as she crossed to the opposite side of the room. She stopped in front of the carefully sculpted wax replica of herself and merely stared at it for a moment. Then, so slowly that it hardly looked as if she was moving, she reached up and lifted the veil reverently from its curly head and placed it on her own. An unidentifiable, powerful emotion flooded her eyes as she turned back to face him.
"No, Erik," she whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."
He couldn't breathe. The lair was spinning, growing hazier by the second. His heart felt as if it would bleed itself right out of his chest. There was too much space between them; without registering the movement, he closed it in a matter of seconds. Christine's arms opened to him instantly in a warm embrace, her long pale fingers gripping the back of his shirt as she nestled into his chest.
Erik trembled uncontrollably as he pulled her close, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face in the crook of her neck. This could not be real… he held an angel of mercy in his arms, the love of his life, the answer to his life's unheard, unanswered prayers. She was not his captive or his prisoner— she had been offered the opportunity of a lifetime, and turned it down… for him. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks and into her hair as he clutched desperately to her, as if God would suddenly realize his error and snatch his angel away from him again.
His incredulity and awe only mounted as she, too, began to sob, pressing delicate kisses to the skin beneath her lips. "I'm sorry," she breathed, her petite body shaking beneath his hands.
He tried to quiet her, placing a gentle kiss of his own at the spot where her neck and collarbone met. "Don't dwell on it, Christine. It's over. It's all behind us now."
"Please," she insisted, pulling back slightly to look up into his eyes. "Let me finish." Her eyes became distant and pained as she stared across the months, back to that terrible night. More than anything, Erik wanted to kiss that agony away, to drown her in his love until she forgot every excruciating memory that had led to the night of Don Juan. Somehow he managed to restrain himself upon her request, waiting semi-patiently for an explanation which he found completely unnecessary. But if Christine needed this to heal the wounds of the past… well, so be it.
Well, what do you know? He mused. The Daroga actually knew what he was talking about. One chip and the dam breaks.
He was quite sure that Christine was unaware of the torturous movement of her fingers up and down his arms. The pads of her fingertips just barely skirted the bare skin, leaving goose bumps in their wake. Still her eyes were unfocused as she stared off at some unseen point, collecting her thoughts. Finally her hands stopped their scorching assault on his senses and lightly gripped his forearms as if to steel herself for what she was about to say. Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, she began to speak quietly.
"I was a fool, Erik. A faltering, naïve little child. You had spoiled and sheltered me for so long… I had everything I could ever possibly want. Mon Dieu, you even gave me my father back! But I took you for granted, Erik— your devotion, your music, your endless gifts. I wanted a lover, a physical, tangible being. And there was Raoul… handsome, wealthy, kind Raoul. Oh, please don't look at me like that! Any woman would have wanted him, Erik, but… but what I didn't realize at the time was that my heart, my soul, was already yours. And suddenly you were tangible, and so devastatingly handsome…"
He laughed out loud then. "Don't mock me, Christine…"
"I'm not!" She insisted with such sincerity that he was almost convinced. Erik settled for raising an eyebrow as she continued with her impassioned rant.
"And I… I was terrified of you, Erik. You were so passionate, so seductive… you made me burn every time you looked at me. My… my dreams at night were…" She blushed a deep red, shaking her head. "… Inappropriate for a good Christian girl! But Raoul was safe, predictable, and so very kind to me. He reminded me of my father. It wasn't until after I'd made my decision that I realized that I loved him very much… but I wasn't in love with him." Her eyes met his and held them. "I've told you that we were happy, and we were. I was living with my best friend, Erik. But…" She licked her lips absently, the blood rushing to her cheeks again. Her voice faded to a whisper as she leaned closer to him, pressing her lips to his ear. "When he made love to me at night, Erik, I used to close my eyes and pretend it was you over me… inside me."
Erik moaned at this revelation, pulling her body tightly to his so that there was no mistake of what her words were doing to him. She sighed breathily against the sensitive skin of his neck before resting her warm lips on the spot where his pulse throbbed.
"I am not a child anymore, Erik," Christine whispered into his heartbeat. "And as a woman, I have made my choice. I want you… I choose you." Her hands traveled to the base of his neck and pulled his face down to hers.
"I love you," she breathed into his lips before parting them with her tongue, delving deep into his mouth.
Erik's heart swelled to its breaking point, unable to contain the unbearable ecstasy and desire and love that exploded in his chest from those three simple words. He had waited his whole life to hear them… and now that he had, only one thing remained to make his life complete, to make him a true man once and for all.
And this time, he would not pull away until they were one.
A/N: The famous three words – can we say "FINALLY"?
Read on, my lovelies…