A/N: Sorry for the late update guys! A lot of stuff has been happening in my life recently aka I finally transferred from a community college and am now going to uni! It's been an... experience so far to say the least. Anyway, let me know what you think of this chapter as we (finally) check in on the state of poor Christine...

Christine sat on the sofa and watched the candlelight play with the shadows on the wall. She hadn't moved in God alone knew how many hours and gave the impression of being a statue, save for the subtle rise and fall of her chest. Indeed, her eyes stared straight, she was as pale as the marble such statues are composed of, and, had someone laid their hand over her own, would have been icy to the touch. But if one looked closely enough, one could see the movement that betrayed her humanity. Her hands trembled and her upper lip quivered.

Christine had been waiting for Erik to return for, what seemed to her, over a day now. If Christine had before grumbled over the lack of clocks in Erik's home, she now cursed it. She had never known exactly how slowly time could move when one was left entirely to one's own devices without the natural cycle of the day. At least before Erik had been a source of company and conversation, even in the early days of their friendship when she had feared him. She started in remembrance. Their friendship! Oh God!

Christine's lip now visibly trembled and tears threatened to spill over. What was she to do? She had only tried to make things better, but had somehow only made them worse!

A small voice protested at this last thought.

He's the one who struck you. He's the one who became angry after you tried to mend things. You're not to blame for the aftermath.

Christine grasped onto this, if only as a matter of self-defense from her own guilt, to escape the internal pain. It was true, she could not blame him for becoming angry with her, but he had no right to treat her so!

Oh if only Christine could do it over again! If only she could turn the clock back however many hours and return to that wonderful life she had led only a few days ago! A blossoming career, a truly wonderful friendship, a beau who loved her…

Raoul!

For the first time since she had taken off Erik's mask, Christine remembered about her poor suitor.

He must be so worried! What will I tell him?!

Somewhere in some distant corner of the house, some piece of furniture or another creaked. In the dead silence of Erik's home, it seemed to Christine to have the magnitude of a gunshot. For the first time in countless minutes Christine moved. She started quite heavily and almost leaped from the sofa. The sudden movement agitated her delicate condition and immediately the dull pain in her chest began to throb at a much greater amplitude.

Christine quickly turned her head to stare at the door. Once again she froze and any color drained from her cheeks, regardless of the pain in her ribcage. A few minutes passed in frozen silence. Only when Christine was satisfied that no one was yet coming through the door, that that dreaded moment was still in the future, did she take her seat again.

Alas! Let us take a moment to lament the condition of poor, unhappy Christine! Locked away in a now hostile underground realm of fascination and terror, not knowing what the next minute might bring! Too unhappy to read or sing, yet not unhappy enough to consummate her unfortunate state with a fashionable and somewhat gratifying suicide! Stolen from the world and betrayed by curiosity!

Unable to do anything else, so trapped by guilt and anxiety as Christine was, she sat down on the hard fabric and waited.

A few hours later found Christine in the same spot in the same position. Until she heard another noise. Her head swiveled around to locate its source. Christine froze in terror.

No… It can't be.

With even greater intensity, driven by fear and dread, Christine listened as keenly as her ears would let her.

To her alarm, it was.

Faint but distinct echos could be heard from the outside. And they were getting louder.

Christine's heart pounded in her chest. Although the echoes grew louder, she could hardly hear them through the blood rushing past her ears.

Even if Christine was seated, the room swam. She clutched the armrest in an attempt to stabilize herself and pushed away the encroaching blackness at the edge of her vision with all her might. Suddenly she found that she wasn't getting enough air. She gulped in the warm, stale air greedily, ignoring the protesting pain in her chest.

Christine dropped her head onto her arms and closed her eyes. She tried to calm down. She forced herself to take deep breaths, tried to chase away the panic and anxiety. She couldn't face Erik like this. No, she couldn't, she wouldn't let him see her in this state.

But there was no time! She froze as she heard a key scrape in the lock. Christine's mind was empty of everything she had thought for this moment. All of her imagined responses, each and every prepared phrase escaped her now that the time had come.

As the door opened, Christine pushed herself up. Upon seeing Erik walk through the door through the corner of her eye, involuntarily, Christine dropped her gaze to her hands neatly folded in her lap. To her distress, they were trembling. She clasped them tighter and prayed that it was not overly noticeable.

Although Christine dared not turn her head, she attuned herself entirely to the sound of Erik's footsteps. Once the door closed, she heard nothing but the sound of their breathing. Her light, quick panting intermingling with his deep, slow, almost silent breath.

There they were, in a silent standoff, neither willing to make the first step.

Suddenly, Christine heard Erik whisper,

"Christine."

She made no move to acknowledge this.

Silence.

Then quick, light footsteps almost too quiet to hear even in the unnatural quiet.

Suddenly, Erik entered her field of vision.

Christine studied the fabric on her dress even more attentively.

Erik knelt down and looked up at Christine. Unwillingly, her eyes flickered to his face and their eyes met. But only for a brief moment.

"Christine… I – I am… so sorry."

All of Christine's mental torture, all of her guilt and pain, subsided in surprise. Whatever she had expected Erik to say, it certainly wasn't that he was sorry.

Neither looked at each other as he continued,

"It was my… I should not have… I should have been more understanding and patient. It is no excuse but please understand that my temper… And my – my face. My face has cost me all that is attributed to most people. When you have gone through all that I have, even if the need to isn't there, you still act out of self-defense."

Erik paused and Christine snuck a quick, unthinking glance at him. His eyes were downcast and his lips were tightly pressed together. She noted that he looked almost as pale and solemn as she was.

"I cannot ask you to forgive me right now, nor can you ask me to forgive you entirely now. But please, understand that I truly regret that night and the events that followed."

Christine flinched in surprise as she felt Erik take her hands and cover them with his own. She looked up to meet his gaze. Oh God, he looked so pitiful. The visible part of Erik's face was the absolute definition of sorrow and misery. He truly did look repentant. But what could she say?
Christine swallowed.

"Erik, I – "