A Mistress of Her Own

1871

Christine

Christine placed her hand down onto the shards of glass beneath her, pushing herself upright to a seated position, watching in horror as Raoul held his gun up to take aim at Erik. Inside her chest she could feel her heart pounding away, fast as a hummingbird's wings, so loudly that she could barely hear herself breathe as the thumping resonated in her ears. Erik stood only a few meters away from her with his fists clenched tightly by his sides, his posture poised in a lethal coil. She noticed now that he was not wearing his mask and wondered if the prison had taken it away or if it had been lost somewhere in the fight. Without the protection of it the deformed side of his face had been injured at some point, the purple-blue skin beneath his eye ripped away almost all the way to the base of his earlobe. A stark whiteness shown brightly at the base of his cheek, and Christine wondered just how deep the bloody wound was and if it was indeed exposed bone she was looking at.

In general he looked a mess, as if he had come here straight from the battlefields of war. Christine wondered with fearful astonishment how he was even still standing. The gunshot to his left shoulder wasn't bleeding badly, but his arm was hanging at a strange angle from where the bullet had entered, rotating it outward. The prison garb he wore had obviously once been a dark charcoal color, though now it was stained red with blood from the various cuts and scrapes spread across his arms and neck. Yes, any moment now she was sure he would collapse. He was only human after all, and no man could go on for too long in such a state. It was impossible to ask someone too, even someone as strong and resilient as he. She was positive that any second now the adrenaline of the fight would wear off and he would fall unconscious. That is, if Raoul didn't shoot him first.

She didn't like either of those two options.

"Raoul, stop this!" she cried loudly, capturing both men's attention.

The viscount turned his head slightly in her direction, looking astounded that she had dared to speak to him, and given him an order at that.

"Christine, stay quiet! Can't you see that you've done enough damage tonight?" he snapped, "I mean really, take a look around! For God's sake woman, look at how many people have died here tonight because of you!"

"Don't you dare speak to her like that!" Erik snarled, "None of this is her fault! This is your doing, Changy! Not hers!"

Christine watched Raoul take a step closer to Erik, his voice dropping low and harsh. "None of this is my doing, Destler. None of it. These are all men the two of you have killed, not I! I've had enough blood spilled by my own hands for one lifetime, dammit! I wanted no more! Especially not in my own home!"

Christine swallowed hard, letting Raoul's words sink in. Surely her dear sweet childhood friend, no matter how much he'd changed, had never killed someone...had he? And yet she knew then and there that he had. It was so obvious. She wondered how she hadn't realized it before. She brought her hand up to her mouth as she gasped in shocked realization. Everything that had happened to herself and Erik, all of the tragedy that had befallen them both, it had all sprung from the same catalyst.

"You killed Buquet," she whispered aloud, horrified. Raoul's eyes went wide at her words. She watched his face grow dark with clouded guilt. He did not deny her accusation in the slightest though. He simply hung his head in acceptance to what she proclaimed, as if now was the first time he'd allowed himself to fully accept what he'd done. Hearing this Erik's scowl seemed to further deeper, bringing new meaning the phrase if looks could kill. In her fiance's golden eyes she saw a flash like a flame as a brand new fire of hatred ignited within him. Christine could only imagine what dark thoughts were going through his mind in that moment. After all, it was obvious that he'd been through Hell recently, and all that torment had been for a crime he didn't commit. A crime they all knew Raoul to be responsible for now.

"Christine, I had to," Raoul stated plainly, almost as if he were explaining something obvious to a small child, "I had to free you from this-" he gestured towards Erik, "-this monster. I mean, just look at him! He's repulsive! I didn't know what he had over you but I knew I had to free you from him. Because from the very beginning I knew that I could provide a better life for you. You just couldn't see it, not there. Not in that theatre. But here you can! Look around you, Christine! I can be a good husband to you. We can still be happy together. Tonight can still be the start of the rest of our lives!"

His voice was hopeful as he shouted, making him seem like a madman as he raved on. Christine stared up into his pleading eyes, eyes for once that didn't hide lies beneath the surface. No, for once everything was out in the open. These eyes were desperate and hungry for her and only her and she could see that now. He was being his true self to her, open about his every desire, but she still couldn't see a see a future for them as he did. She did see, however, how genius his plan had been. It was one that had left little more for error. Things would've worked out perfectly in his favor had his hired help not gone rouge. Erik would've gone away, never to be seen or heard from again and she would've stayed, eventually falling for his charms and gifts, perhaps even falling in love with him. Such a thing could have been possible. Without the vapid swings of anger he could put across a very charming face. When he'd told her earlier they could travel together before settling she had seen a true smile on his face as he pictured such. Somewhere within herself Christine did believe Raoul truly loved her, in his way. But his temper and possessiveness were not qualities she could look past. His merciless killing even less.

"Raoul, looking around myself all I see is pain," she whispered, staring over towards the carnage that had been Erik's very first assailant. The man's face was completely gone, swallowed by a bullet and caved inwards. The hollow mess of skull and eye tissue that was left hanging in the now open skull was enough to give anyone nightmares for years to come. "All I see is death. There is no joy here."

Raoul's eyes watered, and the pistol in his hand shook as he did. "There could have been! Dammit Christine, I tried! I really did. I was even willing to free you!" he yelled as he turned back to face Erik, "To smuggle you out of France! I was going to give you your freedom - for her! To make her happy! That way she would've finally been able to see that I am a good man."

"How can you even think yourself a good man?" Erik questioned with disgust, "You killed a man in cold blood, just to see me locked up! What kind of man would do such a thing?"

"A desperate one!" Raoul shouted, "A man in love!"

He turned back to face Christine. She slid slightly backwards, away from him, frightened by the wild look in his eyes. She tried desperately not to show it though. She tried her best to continue holding strong for Erik's sake. "Christine...I love you. I didn't know if I did before. I couldn't explain the feelings that stirred inside of me. At first I thought it was just infatuation. Feelings I had towards a childhood friend of mine, seeing what a beautiful woman she had become. But I know now it is so much more than that. I know we were meant to be together! All these years I was meant to find you again! And you, my dear, were meant to find me. To be mine. And so you shall be..."

Raoul flexed his finger over the trigger of his gun, hovering it over the thin metal hanger. "Or else he dies."

Christine watched Erik flinch as he anticipated the bullet that would end his life. She knew then that she had to act quickly if she were to spare his life. Reaching down swiftly and hoping she didn't attract attention to herself, she slid her hand underneath her skirt and up her thigh, feeling the handle of the knife she'd concealed earlier touch her fingertips. She was grateful for the first time for the size of her ridiculous dress, for one wouldn't have been able to see what she was doing unless they were standing directly behind her.

"Christine, don't you dare surrender your freedom to this man!" Erik ordered gruffly, "He will kill me either way! You know as well as I that I know too much now for him to let me live. You have to run. Go, my dear, now while you still can! If he loves you as he claims he will not dare to shoot you."

Christine looked up at Erik as she gripped the handle of her knife tightly in her sweaty palm. The anguish in his facial expressions was so plain to see without his mask. It physically looked as if sending her away were the words that would kill him, not the bullet to come. Oh, to see such a look upon his face! He should have known better than to let her see him in such pain. It only sealed the choices she would make soon all the more. There was nothing on Earth that could've chased her away from him then. Nothing Erik nor anyone else could say to her to make her leave his side. Didn't he know by now that she couldn't live without him? He was her life. Theirs was one to share together, or not at all.

"Promise me you won't hurt him," she begged, turning to stare up at Raoul.

"Christine..." Erik attempted to try and speak, but Raoul interrupted him.

"I promise. If you concede to stay then he may go unharmed."

"Christine he's lying!" Erik shouted angrily at her, "I know you aren't this stupid! Go now and leave me!"

A part of Christine's heart wavered, hearing him snap at her in such a crass way. The feeling passed quickly though. She knew he only cared too much and that that was what stemmed the resentment in his voice. It was knowing just how much he cared that she regretted him having to see what she would do next. Sliding the knife from its holster and making sure it was gripped securely in her palm, she folded it neatly between two excess folds of fabric on the outside of her skirt to conceal it from sight. She then used her other hand to guide herself upright, standing and staring at the tense space between the two men. The air there was thick and deadly, and the scent of it was heavy with the iron of the spilled blood surrounding them.

"You swear?" she asked again, softly, trying to pretend her fiance was not staring her down with daggers in his eyes.

"I swear it, Christine," Raoul promised breathlessly.

Christine took a step towards the viscount. A gentle, small and ladylike step. "Know that there must be no more violence, Raoul. For the rest of our lives you have to promise me that this will all be put behind us. You have to promise to be the little boy I knew once more. The sweet, wonderful boy who read me stories in our secret attic. The one who brought me flowers when I was sick and would carry me home and put me to bed when father had to stay late at his shows."

"Oh Lotte...I promise. You'll have that man back. I swear it."

Christine wished she could believe him. She wished for all their sake's she could take him at his word. Perhaps in another life they truly could've been a happy couple. Wealthy aristocrats who took walks together through their gardens and went to gala dinners on Saturdays, reminiscing their childhood adventures while sipping tea with friends. But that could never happen for them in this life and she knew such, no matter how much he himself denied it. She could never truly be his, and he would never be the Raoul she'd once admired ever again. Never again that sweet boy. There was too much blackness in his heart now. He'd tainted his soul with murder and deception and had given up all rights to a happy wife and family.

She closed the small space between them, raising her free hand up to the side of his face to take hold of it tenderly. It was such a smooth face, as if he washed and shaved it daily. His cheekbones were well defined and his feminine features made him look angelic and full of innocence. His smile was sad though as she held his cheek, so sorrowful and yet so joyful all at the same time, just from her simple touch, as if he treasured it. A single tear fell from his eye then, and she could bare no more to look upon his face as she shut her eyes, leaning up to capture his mouth with her own. The kiss seemed to shock both men equally. Raoul staggered backwards, thrown off his guard, no longer in control of the situation, and from afar she could hear Erik gasp in disgust. She could only pray that one day her fiance would forgive her for such a betrayal.

Kissing Raoul was a strange occurrence. His kisses were so much different than those she had previously shared with Erik, who had been the only other kiss she'd ever known. Raoul's lips were smooth and soft like butter, and it was then that Christine realized just how rough Erik's were, cracked in texture from living in such a cool, dark place for the majority of his life. The way Raoul kissed her back was distant at first but quickly became possessive as his free hand came around her waist, pulling her flush to his body. There was a smile on his lips that she could feel against her own, though there was nothing about their physical contact that extracted that same reaction from her. She didn't feel the fire of her fiance's passion in this kiss, didn't free the desperate need for more as she did with her true lover. She simply felt dirty for being so disloyal before his eyes. Disgusted by her own lips, that she was allowing them to be kissed by another's other than her betrothed.

She pulled back, tears swelling in her eyes as she finalized her decision in her mind. Those tears spilled forward down her face as she looked upon Raoul's, which had softened almost to a childlike wonder as he stared down at her with all the adoration and devotion in the world. She shook her head as she cried, shook away the memories of his sweet youthful smiles and the small yellow flower he'd once given her. She banished from her mind the image of him dripping wet as he held out the soaking wet red scarf she had so carelessly dropped into the sea. It was difficult indeed to separate the man before her from the memories she held so dearly in her heart. But this Raoul was a different Raoul than that one had been. She twisted her face in despair knowing that somehow she was partially to blame for what he had become. She wished they had never met again, wished she could simply hold onto to that last memory she'd had before, of him as a boy. Of the gentle kiss he'd placed upon her cheek as she'd wept her goodbyes to him, her and her father leaving their home by the sea on that crisp autumn morning so many lifetimes ago.

A part of her knew the memories of tonight would haunt her forever, slowly erasing the older, more precious ones over time. She knew in time she would only recall Raoul as the monster she faced down tonight. As the murderer who had flipped her world upside down and nearly ruined all of their lives out of greed and lust. She was done being his prisoner though and done seeing Erik nearly killed before her eyes. She wanted her life back, wanted everything back to the way it was before. She loosened her left hand from her dress, letting the heavy fabric fall away to reveal her knife.

She then plunged it forward, straight into Raoul's stomach. The viscount's eyes went wide as he stared down at her in shock, those two beautiful blue orbs flashing with betrayal and grief all at once. Part of her wanted to cry out in despair over what she had done, but that part of her had such a small voice that the urge was quickly and easily silenced. She felt her face grow hard soon after as she remembered how Raoul had struck her. How he had caused Erik to endure such atrocious living conditions and fight for his life time and time again this night. How he had subdued her into his house with the intentions of bedding her like she was simply property to be purchased and claimed. Her words were not her own then, her voice stemming from a place deep within her as she passed a point of no return and let him know exactly what it was she was thinking.

"I am the mistress of my own actions," she told him in a low volume, only for his ears to hear, feeling his blood run over her hands, "I am not yours to bargain with. I am my own woman. I will live my life how I choose, with whom I choose. And you, Raoul...you can burn in Hell. Give my sincerest regards to Buquet."

With those final words she pushed forward on her knife, sending the viscount stumbling backwards where he fell to the floor with a shrill cry. He coughed slightly, a thin trail of blood falling from the corner of his lips. The lips she had just kissed only seconds ago. He then reached forward with his free hand and pulled her blade from his abdomen. When he did the bleeding increased to a violent amount, running free down his waistcoat. Christine could only imagine what she could have struck inside of him for so much blood to be spilling out. It flowed faster than the Seine itself and Raoul panicked, clutching his stomach in a tight grip that did little to help. He looked up at her, his hurt expression turning to one of pure hatred and loathing. As his skin began to pale he narrowed his eyes, sitting up the best he could in his dying state.

"If I'm going to Hell," he said, his bloody teeth bared, "then I'm taking you with me."

With his last ounce of strength Christine watched with wide eyes as he raised his arm upwards. She was staring directly into the barrel of his gun when it fired off, the sound echoing for what must have been miles. She heard Erik proclaim her name loudly as she fell to the ground, a cry she would never forget that seemed to be the very sound of his poor soul shattering. Following the sound of the shot she felt a fire burning deep within the muscle of her thigh, hotter than the sun itself and sharper than any knife or pin. She cried out something animalistic towards the ceiling in response to the pain. Erik's arms were encircling her then and in a dazed, hazy state she looked down to see a dark red stain quickly spreading throughout the fabric of her skirt.

Within seconds the room around her began to grow cold.

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