Straight As!! Straight As! W00T!!!! I can hereby congratulate myself on successfully graduating with honors. And thus, my dearest readers, I have four months of freedom ahead of me before starting college life – as I have been accepted to one without entrance exams, due to my results. He he he.
Anyway, just saw PotC III, and I regret that I must say that I expected better. I'm not much of a Willabeth fan and while I'm not a die-hard Sparrabeth shipper, the lack of interaction between the latter pair made me slightly sad. But Barbossa rocks my socks from now on. He was THE Captain in this movie, forgive my blasphemy, Jack. Force knows I love you, but Barbossa was incredible. Scratch that, Geoffrey Rush as Barbossa was incredible. Just… stunning.
And, I actually managed to get you all a nice chapter of the phic, where Christine isn't as level-headed as a reviewer suggested she was in the previous chapters. It´s a bit shorter than the last few ones, because I didn't want to start another scene yet – the next chapter will likely focus a lot less on Christine and make up for the absences in this one. Avast, maties!
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Chapter XXIX
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The sun was shining into her face.
Christine hated when that happened while she was sleeping. Her face was no longer one of pleasant relaxation, but crossed with a frown and, as her eyes lazily opened, she was awoken almost fully by the realization that she wasn't in the room of her hotel, but, rather, in a splendidly furnished apartment she recognized only after a moment of observation. Of course, it hit her – she had decided to stay at Erik's home for the night, as she didn't really fancy treks through nocturnal metropolises.
Right?
Backtracking, she recalled the events of the previous evening. Sang in a world famous opera. Got complimented by friends. Escaped through mysterious tunnels underneath the opera house for whatever reason. Came to another of Erik's apartments. Was given new music. Was told by Erik that he loves me.
And, reaching that particular recollection, her eyes snapped open fully.
Wait… what
She slipped down from the bed and threw her blanket aside – she couldn't remember covering herself with it after practically diving into the bed, exhausted, so she assumed Erik had placed it there. That was right – he had shown her the bedroom and then retreated from the room to play something pleasant on the piano. Some sonata by Beethoven had been playing when she lost consciousness. In a brief moment of maidenly panic, she relaxed when she saw that her clothes, albeit rather wrinkly now, were perfectly intact and untouched. Then she flushed at the ridiculousness of such thinking. She somehow doubted Erik would have even thought of such a thing.
Speaking… well, thinking of Erik, she called out for him after leaving her room, but soon found out that the rooms were vacant. The door to what she supposed was his room was locked. The study or the music room, whichever it was, was sealed as well. No sound came from either. She was alone. Not that that was very polite of him, she thought, slightly stung, but upon the sight of a towel and, wonder beyond wonders, even a toothbrush and other hygienic products prepared for her, she felt her face become beet red at such obvious chivalry. After finding the bathroom, another source of frustration to her was the fact that there was not a single mirror in sight. Remembering the details of their previous discussion, she wasn't that surprised.
The moment she emerged from the bathroom, Christine discovered, with never-ceasing wonder, that brand new clothing had also been prepared for her, along with whatever food she might need. The day outside was surprisingly warm and sunny and thus she was presented with a cream-colored sunflower-decorated sundress that would go wonderfully with the shoes she had kicked off her feet without care or consideration the previous night. There was even a matching shawl there to wrap around her shoulders, should the wind bother her. This spectacular gift was so neatly folded, she almost regretted having to unfold it and, upon doing so, a note slipped out of the folds of the skirt.
I believe you'll find this clothing to your liking. Stay as long as you like, but please shut the windows and the door securely before leaving, my dear. My apologies for abandoning you thusly, but I have pressing matters to deal with and you needed your rest. Congratulations again on a spectacular performance the previous night and enjoy your day. I will be contacting you in the evening to discuss your choice of repertoire from the lieder and arias I have suggested to you.
Erik
The writing was surprisingly childish for a perfectionist like him – Christine pondered that especially because she had already been shocked to see some perfect paintings that had clearly been done by him on the walls of this apartment and the one in Milan as well. It made him more… human to see that even he wasn't entirely perfect. It still made him closer to perfection than anyone else Christine knew, though. The way the note was written, however, showed no overly loving affection aside from pride and, briefly, Christine wondered if she hadn't imagined it all. Perhaps it had simply been her imagination.
But the dress spoke of something different. Only when she had put it on did she realize that it was nothing likely to be found in a mall – it was clearly silk or some other fine fabric. Christine's brilliant mood darkened slightly, surprisingly. She wasn't certain what to think or do.
Certainly, there was… something… well, something she felt for Erik – and she stopped deceiving herself that it was simple gratitude, because if that were the case, she would have no problem with accepting everything he had given her, including the dress. After all, didn't every woman dream of such things? But… love?
She felt a stab of fear at the word. The idea of love was slightly foreign to her. Infatuation was safe, because she had felt it previously. Affection was something she felt for Raoul. But… love? She had never considered the idea of feeling that for someone she had known relatively briefly. In her mind, love was founded on stability, knowing one another fully, complete trust.
Erik didn't fully trust her, that much was certain. Somehow, she felt that if he had the right to say he loved her, she had the right to ask the removal of his mask of him. Christine had no prejudice against deformities – she had already seen that even without knowing his face, Erik was doubtlessly the most interesting man she had ever encountered.
Love. That wasn't the right word for her current feelings. More like…
The daring desire to allow yourself to be seduced by the tall dark stranger?
Again, her cheeks burned.
Perhaps it was just the fact that no man had openly told her that he loved her previously. Some might have gotten close to something like that, but only after a long-term relationship. Erik turned this around. Along with all of her world, it seemed. He told her that he loved her before engaging in a romantic relationship.
Then came the dreaded question – why? What was the thing that deemed her worthy of such affections?
She found herself sorely missing Meg and Sorelli. The former would brighten her spirits with her merry mood and the latter had much more experience with this kind of thing. After all, Count Philip certainly seemed the kind of man that only engaged in serious relationships. One of them would know what to do.
Upon arriving at the hotel she was supposed to be lodging at, Christine found out that she had expected a rather different welcoming committee. There were some policemen around and Philip was conversing with one of them in soft but rushed French. Sorelli was ordering them drinks, looking rather down and Meg, the epitome of miserable moods, was sitting nearby, looking as if she had been crying her eyes out only moments previously. When she spotted and then recognized Christine, however, all her sadness was replaced by an almost desperate happiness and she screamed her friend's name at the top of her voice.
Sorelli almost dropped the glasses she was carrying and quickly placed them back on the counter before attempting to untangle a fervently crying and chattering Meg from Christine, who felt for sure that the air was being squeezed out of her lungs. She couldn't catch a word of what Meg was saying, but it clearly had things to do with her disappearance.
"Mademoiselle Christine Daaé?" Meg released her slightly, but was still hugging her when the policeman who had been talking with Count Philip had arrived. Christine nodded, slightly confused. The man introduced himself as the one in charge of the investigation of her disappearance. "Are you all right, Mademoiselle? You gave your friends quite a fright."
Christine nodded, ashamed of the fact that she didn't think of the consequences of her actions. Of course her disappearance wouldn't just be ignored! "Completely all right, Monsieur. I'm sorry I've given you so much trouble. I was simply held up by some important business and completely forgot to notify my companions of the circumstances. I assure you it won't happen again."
"Might I ask about these circumstances you speak of? You see, we've asked the staff at the Palais Garnier and apparently, no one has seen you leaving your dressing room after yesterday's performance, which, of course, would be impossible."
Christine narrowly avoided biting her lip. Lying wasn't her custom, but ever since she had met Erik, she seemed to need to resort to it more often. "No one notices people once the performance is over, whether they're the prima donna or the last stagehand leaving. I'm not too known in this city, so it wouldn't be hard to miss me."
Meg appeared to be about to object to that and the officer also looked doubtful, but Sorelli interjected at once. "I'm certain that's what had happened, officer." She said with an almost cheery confidence, though she was quite relieved. "I thank you for your kindness and attention. We don't appear to be needing you any longer."
The policeman appeared to be satisfied with that explanation and ordered the rest of the men to depart, with a salute to the ladies and the Count. Christine noticed the absence of Raoul – Meg, her tears drying, explained that he was at the opera, still demanding whether they were keeping something about her disappearance a secret or not for the sake of marketing.
But when Meg had calmed down slightly, Sorelli pulled Christine aside discreetly, away from eavesdropping ears and watchful eyes. She didn't buy the excuse like the policeman had, Christine ruefully realized, though it was only natural. With one long glance, she swept the dress Christine was wearing with watchful and critical eyes, rather like a mother, and then spoke with delicacy.
"Christine, I won't judge you or scold you, but hear me out. I can tell you weren't on your own yesterday and I can guess bits and pieces here and there. But I'm asking you to remember Raoul for a moment. The boy really cares about you – maybe more than I know. If you don't feel the same, just tell him and he'll understand."
Within half an hour, they were sitting in a café not too far away from the hotel, Sorelli now fully informed on the situation, even more so than Meg, who, apparently, wasn't too good at keeping secrets from her best friend and managed to spill a detail or two during their regular soap opera routine.
While Christine sat with her eyes downcast, Sorelli sipped her latte with a contemplative expression on her pretty face.
"You've gotten yourself between two mill wheels there, Chris." She said, frowning briefly and adding more sugar into her coffee.
The blonde sighed ruefully. "I know. But I really don't know what to do, Sorelli. I don't want to… I don't want to hurt anyone, you know. I just wish I'd never met him."
"Who? Monsieur le compositeur or Raoul?
"Perhaps both." Christine mumbled, eating a bit of her tiramisu. She really needed sugar now.
Sorelli, however sympathetic, didn't seem to view the situation as that dire for the moment. "Look, I can't tell you what to do, just fill you in on the rest that you don't yet know. The way Raoul speaks of you, you can bet all you own on the fact that he'll turn up with a ring someday. It might take years or weeks, but the boy really fancies you. But if a man like that told me bluntly that he loved me…" She whistled quietly under her breath. "I'd likely faint then and there. But consider it from this point of view – you'd never have a moment of privacy for the rest of your life. No tabloid on the planet would ever stop prodding you or digging for information about you and him through you. Well, not that they aren't probably doing it already," Christine looked mildly frightened, so she speeded up her words. "but it isn't as desperate yet. The real tsunami is still far off."
"You sure know how to brighten my mood, Sorelli."
"All I'm saying is that you have to consider the future as well as the present. This isn't an easy situation for you, dearie, I know, but remember this – getting pretty dresses and all you want is all well and good, but that doesn't make it love."
Again, Christine found herself close to sighing. That was true, of course. And since when did she have to face this kind of problems? Oh, right, ever since she had discovered… well, everything. "So what am I supposed to do?"
Sorelli shrugged. "I'd leave things as they are for the moment and wait. Meet Raoul, calm him a bit and accept whatever gift or invitation he offers you. Spend some more time with the boy – goodness knows you spend more than enough time with your mysterious stranger already. Just make sure you know what your feelings for each of them are. If either presses you into a love admission, your choice is simple. The bad thing will happen if you'll be unable to decide even then."
Somehow, Christine doubted that things could get worse as far as her love life was concerned. She began to miss the times when there had been no love life to speak of.
