"Erik, are you there. . .angel. . .?" Her uncertain voice startled me from my melancholy reverie, and immediately my body became aware of her presence inches from my own- only a frame of glass separating us once again. "I am. . .I have been practicing. I am ready for my lesson. . ."
Truthfully, I had not expected her to return to me. Not even as my student. Yet, I had arrived 'outside' her dressing room at the usual appointed time. After all, I was a man sick of love, and the habits such emotion perpetuated.
"Erik, please, are you there? Have I angered you?" Her voice grew in urgency. I could almost believe she was distressed. "What have I done to upset you?" I am not certain, even now, whether it was my own hopeful imagination or reality, but I thought I heard the young girl emit a sob. Did she weep for me, for my supposed absence? I felt my pulse burning through every extremity of my form. My fingertips ached with desire to reach out to her, but I remained still and silent. Ignoring the rush of warm blood coursing under my flesh, my morbid curiosity wishing to see just how great Christine needed me.
To Need Me. . .I had never entertained this irresistible possibility, as I'd always imagined I was more than disposable to the whole of humanity.
"Erik, I promise you. . .I have done nothing to cause you offense. . .please?" Was it my own grand delusion, or was she crumbling to her knees, salty tears marking her cheeks, her forehead pressed on the reflecting glass. . .I touched my palm to meet her flesh, as if our bodies could somehow meld through the mirror.
I could not remain silent.
"Hush," my voice intoned as sweetly as if I were cajoling a newborn. "I am here."
'I have been waiting," she was not angry, her own voice admitting what could only be described as obvious relief. Christine sniffled. She stood, resuming her composure, and wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her dressing gown. The image of her before me was one of delicious vulnerability and innocence. "I thought you had left me. I didn't know what to do?"
"I am sorry. I had matters to attend to regarding the next opera," I lied, realizing that my usually unfaltering voice was stammering. I hoped not to reveal the fact that I had simply sunk so far into my mind, and its darkest rooms, nonetheless, that I had become quite unaware of anything outside of my miserable ponderings. "I did not mean to cause you worry, Christine."
"I am so glad you are not upset with me. . .I don't know what I would do, Erik?" She had begun to sniffle again. "I am not sure how I would survive if you were to leave me. . ."
I did not waste another moment, my hand reaching for her before she could wipe at her face again. I could not wait for my conscious to decide if I had actually heard her words correctly. I would not allow myself to hesitate this time.
Her delicate fingers laced themselves within my own in an instance, her pulse united with my own. I turned my face to hers as we stepped into the threshold of my world. Her eyes, I swear to this day, were filmed over with the wet gloss of hope!
"There is no need to worry, my child." My free hand dared to stroke her hair, brushing at some rebel strands that had fallen over her glorious features, "Erik will never abandon you."