He saw her step out of the carriage after her visit to the hospital, heard her call for him throughout the house later that evening, but he remained where he was, hidden in his room. Even when the hour for dinner came and went, he did not reappear. He could not face her again, not until the time came to say goodbye once and for all. It would be too painful to be in the same room, so close to her, knowing that he could not reach out, that every second that ticked by brought him closer to the inevitable moment when he would have to let her go.

He spent the entire night lying on his bed, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling, hoping it would open up and suck him through it, out of this house, out of this life which would lose all meaning as soon as Christine stepped out of his door in the morning. A deep exhaustion the likes of which he had never experienced before weighed down his body, yet sleep was hard to come by. When he did eventually drift off into a fitful sleep in the early hours, he dreamt.

Christine was standing in front of the fireplace in the sitting room, the crackling fire casting an orange glow around her silhouette. Erik sat on his knees before her, maskless, the humiliating shame of his distorted face bared before her as he begged her to stay, promising that he would do anything she asked of him if she would only love him. All Christine did after hearing his despairing plea was laugh. Not in that soft, angelic voice he had come to know so well, no, her laughter sounded more like that of a hyena, mocking and jeering.

Desperate to prove the depth of his feelings for her, he reached into his chest and tore out his still beating heart. He offered it to her like a precious gift, laying it at her feet. "It is yours," he said, "if only you will give me your love in return."

For a brief moment he felt relief wash over him as she accepted his heart, taking it in her hands and staring down at it curiously, but soon that fleeting sense of relief turned into horror when she sank her nails into it, her maniacal laughter ringing around the room as she tore the organ apart before his very eyes, his blood dripping between her pale fingers.

"You fool," she sneered. "Did you honestly believe I could ever love a loathsome beast such as you?" She threw the pieces into the fire before she walked away, leaving him to watch what remained of his heart burn down to ashes.

Unlike most dreams, which disappear with the arrival of the first morning light, forgotten as soon as one opens their eyes, this one remained burned into the back of his mind, taunting him, refusing to leave him in peace as he watched the carriage drive away for the last time. Dream Christine was right. He had been utterly stupid, fooling himself into believing she could care for him. She would be much better off with the De Chagny boy, no doubt a wealthy, very handsome young man, with an unmarred face and a living, loving family to welcome her into their midst. She would go to the opera, eat at fancy restaurants, attend the most luxurious balls at his side, enjoying a carefree life rather than spending her days in the shadows of Erik's haunted past.

He was aware that his cold and detached behaviour during their last conversation had offended and disappointed her, he had seen it in her eyes. Yet what other choice did he have? If he had allowed himself to be vulnerable, to actually feel, he would have fallen to his knees right there in the entrance hall, clutching at her skirt, begging her not to leave him, and that would only have been embarrassing for the both of them. If anything, his dream had taught him what a terrible idea that was.

So he had been distant, hoping it would encourage her to leave. He had been on the verge of physically pushing her out the door to end the agony of their goodbye, but when he gave her the money she suddenly seemed all too eager to go.

He had no idea why it was the money that finally drove her away. His only reason to offer it was so that it might help her to achieve her dream of making a home for herself and her father somewhere, even if that home was far away from him. Maybe with the money, she would not be forced to marry that boy and would remain free to live her life as she pleased. As much as the idea pained him that she might be perfectly happy in a life that did not include him, the thought of her not being happy at all was absolutely unbearable. If his money could contribute to her happiness in some small measure, he would gladly part with it. He would have given her all the money he possessed if he had believed she would accept it.

He stood by the window long after the carriage had disappeared out of sight, staring into empty space, until the realization finally hit him: Christine was gone. For good. He would never lay eyes on her again.

Turning away from the window, he aimlessly wandered through the deserted halls of his house – he would not call it a home anymore, not now that she no longer resided there. He walked around without any sense of purpose or direction. That is what the rest of his life would be like, he imagined. He barely even registered his surroundings until he suddenly found himself standing at the closed door to Christine's room. Maybe he should stop thinking of it in those terms, but in his mind it would always remain her room, whether she still inhabited it or not.

He only hesitated for a brief moment before opening the door. It felt wrong somehow to enter the room without being invited in, but that no longer mattered, he supposed. The room looked impeccably clean: the bed neatly made, curtains drawn, no flowers on the bedside table, no personal belongings lying around. It was as if she had never been there at all, every trace of her presence removed. At least, almost every trace. A lump formed in his throat as he spotted the box with the dress he had given her for her birthday at the foot of the bed.

She had left it behind. She did not want it. Another reminder that nothing he could offer had ever been, or would ever be, good enough.

The desperation which had seeped into his bones since last night now gave way to an emotion he was all too familiar with: anger. Anger at God, or whatever entity had created him, for cursing him with his disfigurement, anger at the world for not granting him a normal life, anger at himself for letting Christine walk out of his life, but most importantly for allowing her to walk into it in the first place.

His hands started trembling, then clenched into fists by his side, and he quickly spun round, making his way to the west wing with long, determined strides. Bursting into the first room he came across, which happened to be his father's old room, he wasted no time in destroying anything he could get his hands on. A vase was thrown to the ground and shattered to a thousand tiny pieces at his feet, the paintings were ripped form the walls, the curtains torn down. He pulled the drawers from the desk in the corner, tearing the papers they contained to shreds and letting them flutter down like snowflakes. When he nearly stumbled over an overturned chair, he grabbed it and smashed it against the wall, kicking and stomping on the remaining pieces until he was sure they could no longer be salvaged. In the end, when there was nothing left to break, he even started clawing at the wallpaper, pulling it from the walls in long strips, until finally he sagged down on the floor among the wreckage, breathing heavily, completely spent. Only then did he feel the wetness on his face. He had not realized that he was crying.

It was in this state that Nadir eventually found him.

"By God, Erik, what happened here?" he cried in alarm, taking in the demolished room from where he stood in the doorway.

"I did," Erik replied evenly. "I happened. I ruined the room, the same way I ruined the only good thing to ever happen in my miserable life."

Nadir watched him, unable to hide the shock and worry written all over his face.

"Where is the girl? Is she safe?" he asked urgently, stepping further into the room.

"She's gone," was all Erik said.

"Gone?" Nadir repeated, a rising sense of dread audible in his voice. "What do you mean, gone? For God's sake, speak plainly, man!"

He wanted to be affronted that his friend once again assumed that he had harmed Christine, but given that he had just admitted to causing the destruction visible all around him, he supposed the assumption was not that far-fetched. And after all, he had hurt her once before. Could he truly blame the man for thinking he might do so again?

"She left, Nadir," he finally explained. "She received news of her father's recovery yesterday. Our contract is at an end. So she left."

"And this is what caused you to ravage this room?" Nadir asked disbelievingly. "Surely this cannot have come as a surprise. You must have known this day would come sooner or later."

"Of course I knew!" he snapped. "It was not meant to last forever, I was always aware of that. What I did not anticipate, however, was that I would…" He did not finish his sentence. What was the point in admitting his shame to Nadir? He could berate himself for his own stupidity well enough, he did not need anyone else for that.

"That you would what?" Nadir asked, looking at him expectantly.

Erik sighed. Of course he would not let it go. Of course the idiot would need him to spell it out.

"That I would come to love her."

It was Nadir's turn to sigh now.

"I see. And you are sure that your feelings are true?" Seeing Erik's furious glare, he quickly elaborated. "What I mean to say is, are you certain that you don't merely feel this way because apart from Madame Giry and the maids, she is the only woman to have set foot in here in years? Might it be possible that you have clung to her to stave off your loneliness, and have mistaken that for love?"

"You ignorant fool!" Erik roared, grabbing around for the first piece of debris he could find and hurling it at Nadir's face. Luckily for him, Nadir's fist-hand experience with Erik's tantrums had sharpened his reflexes. He quickly stepped aside and the piece of wood narrowly missed his head.

"How dare you assume that I do not know my own feelings! I did not want to love her. I did not even want her here! I was fully intent on turning her away that first night, but then she sang and I felt a yearning unlike anything I had ever experienced before. At first I believed it was only her music that I craved, but the longer she stayed, the more I came to realize that it was her I wanted."

Once he started confessing, he was no longer able to stop the words from leaving his mouth. It felt cathartic to finally have it all out.

"My soul recognized something of itself in hers, and inextricably entwined itself with it. When she left, it felt like she took a part of me with her. When she is not here, a part of my soul is missing, Nadir."

Erik cursed himself for the unsteadiness in his voice and the tears burning in his eyes, yet he was so overwhelmed by the enormity of his own feelings that he could not bring himself to care that Nadir was there to witness his weakness.

"But none of it matters now," he sighed dejectedly. "She could never feel that way about a wretch like me. Wherever she is, she will be better off without me."

"How can you be so certain of that?" Nadir asked.

"What?"

"Have you ever told her what you just told me?"

"Don't be a fool," Erik scoffed. "Of course not. What would be the point?"

"The point is that maybe you are wrong. Maybe she feels exactly the same way, but you were so convinced of the contrary that you were too blind to see it."

"You are delusional, Nadir. Why would you think that an angel like her could possibly have any warm feelings towards me?"

Nadir took a moment to contemplate the question.

"I remember reading that letter you sent me right after Christine tried to run away and thinking surely that would be the end of it. I firmly believed that once she was recovered, she would want to leave as soon as possible. She would have been well within her right to do so. It said so in her contract, after all."

Erik fumed silently. What did Nadir think he would accomplish by reminding him of that night? If he was trying to make him feel better, he was doing a very poor job.

"But she did not leave, did she?" he continued. "In fact, I remember you writing that you tried to let her go and that she herself insisted on staying. Now why would she do that if she did not care for you? She had nothing keeping her here. Nothing, that is, except you."

Could he be right? Could the reason she had chosen to stay be that she did not want to leave him? That she longed for his presence the same way he longed for hers? Then again, he could not be absolutely sure. What if Nadir was mistaken?

"Goddammit Nadir, do not dangle hope in my face like that. Hope never accomplished anything."

"That's where you are wrong, my friend," Nadir replied. "Hope is what keeps us going when times are hard, and they have been particularly hard on you for a very long time. I think it is time you granted yourself some happiness for a change."

Erik had never wanted so desperately for Nadir to be right about something, as it usually meant that he himself was wrong, but in this singular case he would gladly be mistaken. What if Christine really did return his feelings and he had been too blinded by self-hatred to see it? If he had spoken to her honestly and it had turned out that she felt the same way, could they have been happy together?

"But even if what you believe is true, Nadir, what am I to do about it now? She's gone. It is too late."

"I don't believe it is ever too late," Nadir argued. "Go after her, Erik. Tell her. It is the only way to find out how she feels about you."

"Go after her? Into town? The same town where people branded me a murderer and have despised me ever since?" Erik asked, staring incredulously at his friend.

"It has been more than twenty years, Erik. Most of those people don't even remember you. They have moved on. It is high time that you did too."