It's like trying to keep sand in your hand as you spread your fingers apart. The sand slips though the gaps. Christine is the sand that Raoul is trying to keep as it slips though those fingers. He doesn't want to lose her, but he cannot think of keeping those fingers together to prevent further loss.
He left her suite, and their marriage is in no better state. They still have the same problems. It is how Meg said, they have the same problems, and it will not get better until they are better themselves first.
Raoul and Meg meet each other in the dark of night, both miserable, used, and hurt. Meg eyes are red, and she looks like she has had better nights.
"50 years to go." She says, her smile does not reach her eyes.
She looks like a broken doll. Her once pristine and cheerful face is now cracked porcelain with a painted smile. The worn Harlequin fit for the display and nothing else, if you touch she'll turn to dust. She feels like she'll become dust, she wants to become dust. She can feel it in her eyes and she blinks and squints, keeps them half closed.
"We just have to survive." Raoul says, he feels like he should hold her, but he has nothing left to give, not tonight anyway.
Each emotion that he feels carries a heavy weight. His shoulders are about to give and he can hardly stand. He has to force his body to move, and he prays and begs his legs, his back, his everything for just a little bit more, just a little bit more, until he can climb into bed and it will all go away.
"Mister Y needs you in his office." Fleck says in her official business voice. Raoul is trying to enjoy breakfast at the caf alone. Fleck taps her foot. Raoul looks up from his soggy cereal sadness.
"Does he?" He is half awake. Fleck nods. Squelch makes a funny noise.
"Well?"
"I'll put that at the top of my To Don't List." Raoul smiles cheekily for a second before he goes back to his stoic face. Fleck pulls at his arm.
"He needs to see you and you will see him." Fleck does not have time for tomfoolery today.
"Do I need a dueling pistol or my sword?" Raoul throws his spoon down.
"Neither." Fleck keeps pulling at him.
"I'll go, but I am not happy about this."
Raoul swears he can smell fire and brimstone in the office. He looks at the floor in case it suddenly becomes lava. He does not want to be here. Raoul is somewhat disappointed at the lack of stuffed mounted human heads. He thought that would be a thing, human taxidermy.
It could always start with you.
Raoul laughs bitterly to himself. He wants to run out of here. Papers slide in front of him. Raoul arches a brow, and he looks down.
"Your contract."
Raoul blinks.
"What contract?"
"Do you preform an act with Marguerite?"
"I need a contract to do that?"
Raoul wants to tell Erik where he can place these papers, but he holds his tongue and opts to read them.
To his credit, Erik is being very professional. His hands are folded onto the table and he has no weapon within reach to kill the pathetic boy. He has ignored Raoul's rudeness and allowed him to remain conscious and unharmed. He is practicing great restraint.
"If you wish to remain on the property and work, you will sign."
"You would kick me out?" Raoul looks up from reading briefly.
"Yes."
Raoul shakes his head and reaches for a pen and signs on the dotted line.
This is what it feels like to sign away you soul.
He slides to the paper back to Erik.
"There. Painless."
"You signed a contract? That's cool. I guess it would make sense to need one." Meg is at the piano and pressing some keys for inspiration.
"I sold myself to the Devil. I thought I'd feel it. Like a part of me dying or being ripped out." Raoul taps his chest.
"Like someone taking a knife and carving out a pound of flesh."
"Yes."
"Oh, don't you worry. I'm sure he does that." Meg shivers. She is positive Erik's done that. There are some things she will not do and does not need to be privy to.
"How can you stand this life!" Raoul paces and slaps his head.
"One day at a time. Practice breathing, I go for swims to clear my head. I read and do the opposite of what I'm told to do. Girl, don't you walk alone at night, so I do. Try walking through life with open hands and a bleeding heart. You'll be surprised at what happens." Meg spins around on the stool at the piano.
"Keep my head misty so I don't have to think. That's what I've been doing so far." Raoul stops and leans against the piano.
"Your misty head lead Christine to Erik's bed. If that's your end goal, well done." Meg salutes him.
"If you have all the wisdom and answers why are you alone? Why do you let Erik treat you like excrement? Why aren't you rich or performing on a grand stage or part of an established, respected ballet?" Raoul leans over to her and taps her nose.
"Giving good advice and following it are not mutually exclusive."
Raoul waves his hands at her dismissively and stands up straight, he crossed his arms over his chest and huffs.
"We need to practice stage fighting," Meg jumps to her feet and saunters over to Raoul and stops in front of him, she raises her hands in a fighting stance.
"Hit me."
Raoul scoffs and turns his head away. Meg taps at him and moves her body, ready to engage.
"Come on, hit me, we need to practice for the act, hit me! Your hair is brassy, your accent is stupid, Christine's a whore," Raoul growls and slaps Meg across the face and she parries. Raoul's back hits the piano and cries out in pain.
"Ow!" He glares at her and Meg shrugs.
"I never said I wouldn't hit you back! We're practicing! Come at me, you dunce! You limp penis loser who doesn't know how to please a woman if you—" Raoul charges forward.
"I think it could be a good act," Fleck says. She's been watching at intervals and has been amused by Meg and Raoul. The Boss, not so much.
"They have chemistry." Erik is not sure how he feels about that.
On one hand, whatever Marguerite does is not a concern, because he does not care about her, he has what he has always wanted. He no longer needs his distraction. Not when he has her by his side, her, his angel of music, perfect, beautiful Christine
However, on the other hand, Marguerite has no right or place to see other men because she belongs to him and for her to flirt, flaunt and flounce in such blatant and vulgar displays makes his blood boil and a dark oily cancer strangles his heart and burns his eyes and brain.
He will sooner see her and the pathetic, insolent boy burn before they—he shakes his head, and he brings the tides back. He can remain calm and cool. He does not really care.
"Erik?" Fleck calls out, concerned at her boss/friend's silence.
"Let's hope we do not have another Simon." He tilts his head to side. Fleck turns to look at the pair. Erik takes his leave, Fleck turns and watches him go. She says a silent prayer and closes her eyes.