In the days that followed, as Christine recovered from her illness, Erik spent almost every waking moment in her presence. Once she had made it abundantly clear that she had truly forgiven him and still wanted to see him, he overcame his hesitance and gave in to his own desire to be around her and look after her. He advised her against singing as long as she was convalescing, but when she complained that she missed their lessons and their shared music, he took to singing for her. His voice did not seem to have lost its mesmerizing, almost hypnotic effect on her, and he enjoyed watching her transfixed expression as she listened.
When he was not singing, he read to her, either from some of his own favourites or from the collections of fairy tales she enjoyed so much, or he asked Christine to help him perfect his Swedish, or they simply talked. At first, it was mainly Christine who did the talking, telling him about her childhood in Sweden and her years of travelling around France with her father. She never forced him to talk about himself, even though he knew she was still curious to know more about him. She seemed content to keep talking as long as he was willing to listen.
In the end he decided it would be only fair to reciprocate. After all, she had already heard the worst there was to know about him, and she was still here. And so Christine's quiet acceptance encouraged him to slowly open up about his own life prior to her arrival. He tended not to mention his father or his brother very often, choosing to avoid the painful memories connected to them, focussing instead on the happy days he spent with his mother.
There was not much to tell about the time after that fateful day by the lake, as his existence had been quite solitary and uneventful from then on, but he did tell her about how Nadir had come to be his lawyer and eventually his friend as well. He talked about the pranks he often played on the poor unsuspecting man, stories which often made Christine giggle or laugh out loud. He loved to hear her laugh and felt an unfamiliar sense of satisfaction at being the cause of such a delightful sound. If she found his fooling Nadir so funny, he would gladly endeavour to do it more often, if only so he could tell her about it afterwards.
About a week after the events in the west wing, Erik knocked on Christine's door, expecting to find her in high spirits as she was almost back to her old, healthy self. However, when she called him in and he entered her room, she was standing by the window, staring out at the misty early morning with a serious, preoccupied look on her face.
"What's the matter?" Erik immediately asked, his voice laced with concern. "Are you feeling unwell again?"
"Good morning to you too, Erik," she muttered irritably, not bothering to look at him. Something was definitely wrong then. He had never seen Christine in such a prickly mood.
"You're right, where are my manners? I apologize. Good morning, Christine. How are you feeling today?"
"You need not treat me like a child either," she grumbled.
Not knowing how to respond to that without annoying her further or growing irritated himself, Erik remained silent.
After a few moments, Christine turned around, letting out a deep sigh as she looked at Erik.
"I'm sorry. I am in a sour mood today, but that does not mean I should take it out on you."
Erik nodded, quietly accepting her apology.
"May I ask what caused your sour mood?"
"I just realized that I have missed my weekly visit with my father," she said. "I should have gone to see him two days ago, and it did not even cross my mind until just now. How could I have forgotten about him so completely?"
Of course. Her father. He should have known that despite being ill herself, her father's well-being was still foremost on her mind. Erik tried to tell her it was only natural that she had not thought about him much as she had needed all her strength and energy to focus on her own recovery, but Christine rambled on without letting him speak.
"He does not even know the reason for my absence. What must he think? Knowing him, he will jump to the worst conclusion, and I do not want him to be worrying about me."
"Let me ease your mind on that account," Erik said when she fell silent. "I took the liberty of writing to the hospital earlier this week. I asked them to inform your father that you would not be visiting for a while as you were… feeling under the weather and did not wish to risk his health any further, and that you would return as soon as you deemed it safe. I did not give them any details about your condition. I'm sorry if you wanted your father to know the whole story –"
"No," she interrupted him, "no, I think you made the right decision. My father is still recovering himself, he should be focussing on his own health. Besides, I'm alright now. I do not like to keep the truth from him, but telling him would only worry him unnecessarily."
"Exactly," Erik agreed. "I'm glad you see it that way too."
Christine thanked him with a relieved smile, her worries and ill humour dissipated by his reassurance.
"Think nothing of it. Now, I thought I could read to you for a while, if that would please you. We had reached the last chapter of our book last night, and you seemed rather excited to find out how the story ends."
"Oh yes, please!" she exclaimed enthusiastically, settling down on her bed with her back resting against the headboard, while Erik sat down in his usual spot opposite her. He had been hesitant at first to sit so close to her, on her bed, but she had not objected, even seemed to prefer it this way.
He started reading and was quickly absorbed by the story. He had not admitted this to Christine, but he had never read this particular book before either, and was just as eager to reach the ending as she was.
Halfway through the chapter, the skin beneath his mask began to itch, a problem that had become more frequent recently. In the past, it had not been much of an issue. As he was used to spending most of his time on his own, he could easily take off his mask to scratch at the skin underneath. He usually left the mask off for a while then, as he found the itching was most often caused by wearing it for too long. Yet now that almost the entirety of his days was spent with Christine, the problem was not so easily dealt with, and as it meant wearing the mask for extended periods of time without the possibility of removing it, the itching had increased in intensity and frequency over the past few days.
Now, however, he was so engrossed with the story he was reading that he briefly forgot about Christine's presence. He absentmindedly reached for his face, pushing his mask up just a little to scratch his skin, until he became aware of Christine's gaze focussing on the movements of his hand and quickly let it drop back to his lap.
He tried to concentrate on the book again, pretending nothing had happened, but he was distracted by the thought of the grave error he had almost committed. Christine had seen his face once before, that was bad enough. She should not be subjected to that ordeal ever again.
Christine softly cleared her throat before speaking, without looking Erik in the eye.
"You know, if your skin is bothering you, please feel free to… do whatever you need to do. This is your home after all. I should hate for you to feel uncomfortable on my account."
"That is very kind of you, my dear," he replied, trying to keep his voice even and hoping to end this line of conversation as quickly as possible, "but in order to deal with it effectively, I would have to remove my mask, and as that would no doubt be a very unpleasant experience for you, I prefer not to. You are my guest after all. It does not do to traumatize one's guests." Twice, he silently added.
As Christine turned to look at him, a frown appeared on her lovely face.
"Erik, it is nothing I have not seen before. I honestly do not mind."
He let out a dark chuckle. "Yes, you have seen it before. And you ran away and nearly died, or have you forgotten about that already?" he snapped. "It all happened so fast, maybe you did not have enough time to fully take it in, but let me assure you it most certainly is the face of a monster I am hiding, Christine. I cannot imagine you would willingly set eyes upon it again."
Christine was visibly getting upset now, and she threw him an angry look.
"Do you give me so little credit? Do you truly believe me to be so shallow? Yes, I did run away, but not because of your face. It was your uncontrolled fury and even physical violence that drove me away. I had seen you angry before, but never in such a degree that you seemed to forget yourself, and me, so completely."
Erik had to swallow hard at her words. It still hurt to remember that night, but she was right, of course. He had been utterly out of control, and he would regret it for the rest of his life.
"Still, we have discussed this before, and I have forgiven you. That is not what this is about," Christine went on. "But Erik, I have heard you refer to both your behaviour and your appearance as monstrous, and I need you to know that is not how I see you."
Tears were forming in Erik's eyes now. How had they got to this point? He did not want to show her his face again. Why could she not accept that? He knew it was a terrible sight to behold, there was no use in denying it. Why was she so set on proving him wrong?
"Then what do you see?" he asked, fearing the answer.
"I see… a man who has suffered. A fickle man, with an unpredictable temper."
He flinched at the description, although he could not deny that it was an accurate one.
"A man with incredible talent and intellect. A man with a passion for music, who was kind enough to share that passion with me."
Christine smiled softly at him as she continued, and he held his breath, unable to comprehend that she could have more positive things to say about him.
"I see the man who inspired my voice, who saved my father's life, who ran after me into the pouring rain and freezing cold to save me too, who looked after me and barely strayed from my side all throughout my illness. That does not sound like a monster to me."
She looked and sounded so genuine, and he wanted desperately to believe her, but how could he? If this were all some kind of mean trick, or if she was merely mistaken in the estimation of her own endurance, if he exposed his face to her once again and she turned away in horror after all… He did not think he could bear it.
"When I look at you, I see a good man, Erik. Your face does not change that."
Could she be right? If after all she had heard about him and all that had happened between them she was still able to see good in him, might she truly be able to overlook his ghastly appearance as well? This feeling of hope seemed incredibly dangerous and reckless, but he could not resist it any longer. Surely if there was one person in this world who could look past his face, it would be Christine. Sweet, kind, compassionate Christine. How could he ever refuse her?
He turned away from her as he hesitantly removed his mask, immediately covering his deformity again with his hand. Ever so slowly, he turned back toward Christine, giving her more than enough time to change her mind and stop him, but she did not say anything. His heart was hammering in his chest as he sat there, silently looking at her, pleading with his eyes. Pleading that she meant what she said, that she would not scream or turn away or run. The last time he had uncovered his face before her, it had been in anger, in an attempt to scare her, and the action had made him feel powerful. This time, he felt more helpless and vulnerable than he had ever been before.
In the end, it was Christine who gently pried his fingers away to expose his face to her scrutiny. He quickly squeezed his eyes shut to avoid seeing her reaction, but as the seconds ticked by and he did not hear any screams or crying or even so much as a sharp intake of breath from Christine, he slowly opened them again. Her carefully neutral expression unnerved him almost as much as her visible horror or revulsion would have.
Just when he thought that he could no longer bear her silent gaze, she shifted onto her knees so she sat closer to him, then lifted her hand and slowly reached for his face. Her intention was clear, and she gave him every opportunity to draw back, yet he could not bring himself to.
When, after what seemed like an eternity, her fingers finally made contact with his twisted, misshapen skin, he sucked in a breath and held it. She softly pressed her hand against his face, feeling the mangled flesh beneath her fingertips, and she did not recoil. Her gentle touch was a kindness he had not experienced since childhood. In an attempt to make it last as long as possible, he covered her fingers with his own, holding her hand in place for as long as she would let him. He briefly closed his eyes as he tried to commit to memory this extraordinary sensation.
"Oh Christine," he breathed, unable to hide the trembling in his voice. He tried to find the words to thank her, but whatever he said would not be good enough. She would never understand how much this simple touch meant to him.
As he blinked his eyes open again, he suddenly became aware of how close they were sitting, her face mere inches from his. The look in her eyes was one he could not quite decipher. It was not pity, nor sympathy, but he had trouble naming what else it could be.
He felt her warm breath on his mouth, and he wanted so desperately to close the gap between them and kiss her. His eyes travelled down to her mouth, and when he looked back up he was certain that she had noticed and had guessed what he was thinking. To his astonishment, she did not speak or withdraw from him, but simply continued to stare at him in silence.
It was not the first time he had imagined kissing her. Since her birthday, he had dreamt up at least a hundred different scenarios in which he finally summoned the courage to kiss her, but never before had he allowed himself to believe, to hope, that she might allow it. His daydreams always ended the second before his lips would finally touch hers.
Yet here she sat in front of him, not a daydream but a reality, perfectly still as he inched closer until their lips were only a hair's breadth apart.
A loud knock on the door broke the spell. Erik jerked back, scrambling for his mask, which lay discarded at the foot of the bed. He did not look at Christine as he stood up, hastily covering his face before he called out for the person on the other side of the door to enter, not sure whether he should curse them for ruining what might have been a perfect moment or thank them for preventing him from making another terrible mistake.
A footman called Maurice came in carrying a tray with a single letter on it.
"Forgive the intrusion, Monsieur," the man spoke, "but you asked to be informed immediately if there was any news from the hospital. This note has just arrived."
"Indeed," Erik muttered as he took the note from the tray, dismissing Maurice with a wave of his hand. He had to reread the message several times before he could make sense of its contents, his mind still preoccupied with the thought that he had almost kissed Christine. However, as soon as he finally processed the meaning of the words on the page, he buried any hope of ever getting a second chance.
"Erik? What is it?" Christine asked. "Is anything wrong with my father?"
"On the contrary," he replied, avoiding her gaze. "Doctor De Chagny informs me that your father has made a full recovery. He is ready to leave the hospital at your earliest convenience."
With the excuse that he would make arrangements for her to be taken to the hospital directly, as she no doubt wanted to see her father as soon as possible, Erik left the room. He did not look back. He did not want to see the relief in Christine's eyes as she realized that she was finally free.