Reaching for the Moon
A/N - Sorry, bit more of Christine this chapter, before we get onto exactly why Erik never asked about the future ... so you'll all have to live in suspense until then :p.
Big thanks and cyber hugs to everyone who reviewed the last chapter :) and especially to Avelera and T'Res who've reviewed every chapter so far! I love you all!
Rilar Cray - Erik's health. Yes, I know he wasn't all too well at the end of Susan Kay's version, and it will come back into this in a chapter or two, but - using my prerogative of artistic licence! - he's not all that ill anymore ... still pretty bad but as long as he takes care of himself he'll be OK. Cop out? Probably, but have you ever tried to write a story where your lead character is dying?!
"What a surprise ...
Who could forsee?
I'd come to feel about you
What you felt about me ...
Why only now when I see that you're drifting?
What a surprise ...
What a cliche ..."
Send in the Clowns, A Little Night Music
Christine
I truly believed Raoul the first time he swore he would never lay a finger on me again. I thought it had been a slip on his part - after all, we all have temper tantrums occasionally, and who was I to complain if he, like Erik, occasionally found the need to express anger physically? And it was hard for him; after his brother had cut him out of the family estate - a catastrophe for which his marriage to me was completely responsible - we had been forced to cut back on our expenditure, which meant the servants had to go, and we had to watch what we spent our money on. This wasn't hard for me - I've never had very much money to call my own - but for Raoul it was a real shock to the system. He started drinking more heavily than I would have liked, but I tried to be understanding and give him a little leeway - God knows I didn't want to be one of those nagging wives who reduce their husbands to little more than servants themselves! But then his anger grew more explosive, and his outbursts of temper grew more frequent. Every time he exploded at me, he would sober up very quickly and beg for my forgiveness, which I invariably gave him. I loved him, and I truly believed he loved me. Perhaps he once did ... but by the time we had lived together even two months, I knew that love was well and truly gone.
I seem to possess an uncanny knack of both implanting and destroying love with equal unconscious ease in any man I come into contact with!
It didn't take a week before I realised, once and for all, that Erik no longer cared for me. He was as courteous as ever, and his manners and treatment of me were beyond reproach. But there was a certain cautious reserve behind the automatic civility which told me quite plainly how carefully he watched himself in my presence. Such wary attention to detail, to ensure he stepped no further than his own strict social etiquette demanded ...
The irony which most struck me was the way that the first time I had stayed in his house, he had, on occasion, allowed himself to touch me, however slight the gesture might be. The gentle guiding of my inept fingers to the correct keys on his piano ... the chance meeting of our flesh as we exchanged music or crockery ... and then, on the last night - the night I left - I had kissed him ... But now, even after all we had shared, he had withdrawn into himself, and never allowed our flesh to meet once in all the time I spent with him if he could avoid it.
Ironic ... almost from the very beginning of discovering his true identity, I had regarded Erik's devotion as an obstacle, another little problem to be overcome ... once it was gone, it was almost like I was missing something very dear to me. I told myself not to be so stupid ... while I'd been the centre of his world, I had feared it ... feared what I knew must culminate into a final, violent explosion of black passion and hatred, but now ... it was a case of the grass is always greener, and I hated myself for it. It was hardly as if I were in love with him ...
The nightmares began about a week after I re-entered the house on the lake. They were always the same, but, insanely, I could never remember what they were about. All I remembered was fog, mist, blind panic and the knowledge that somewhere out there in the mist and the darkness, someone was waiting for me.
"Christine. Christine!"
I awoke with a start, my heart thumping painfully and my breathing coming in short, ragged gasps.
"Shh ... it's all right."
I looked wildly around, and my eyes fastened on the figure at the side of my bed. For one insane moment, I'd thought it was Raoul - now that lucidity was slowly flooding back into me, I realised it was in fact Erik who had woken me and who now bent over me, the eyes behind the expressionless white mask concerned.
I suddenly realised my fingers were twined in his, that I was clinging to him like a demented child as tears streamed down my face and I tried to regain a little control.
"You had a nightmare," he said gently, answering the question I hadn't asked.
I nodded helplessly, willing myself to calm down a little. Oddly enough, the fear seemed a little diminished by Erik's mere presence; when I'd had nightmares as a child, my father had always managed to make the demons of my imagination disappear, and now Erik was having the same effect. Against my will, I found myself remembering the day I left, when he had insisted on giving me away ... Did he really consider himself a substitute father to me now?
Realising that my fingers were still fastened onto his with a death grip, I hastily withdrew my hand and looked away from him, a hot flush of embarrassment flooding through me as I realised the implications of the situation.
Erik was wearing a long, loose silk robe I had never seen before; as I let go of his hand, he took a step back and turned away to light a candle on the dresser.
I fumbled for my handkerchief, cursing myself silently as I remembered dropping it in the bathroom that evening ... why is it so hard to keep a handkerchief around my person for more than about five minutes?!
He turned slowly back to me, the eyes behind the mask unreadable.
"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.
I tried to nod and smile, aware of quite how pitifully I was failing.
He nodded slightly and took a step towards the door.
"Would you like something to help you sleep?"
I summoned my voice and said weakly, "Yes, please," fully aware of how stupid I sounded and hating myself for my lack of originality.
He lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, then disappeared back into the living room. I tucked my legs up close to me and wrapped my arms around them, shivering slightly as the fear, for a moment diminished by Erik's presence, returned with a vengeance, making me go cold again.
I buried my head in my knees and closed my eyes.
There was a slight tap at the door as Erik re-entered, carrying a small glass of cloudy water.
"Here," he said gently, handing it to me. "Drink it."
I obeyed without question, tilting the glass to my lips and watching him over the rim. He was looking at me, and yet ... such an utter lack of emotion as I had ever seen in him, studied indifference ...
He waited until I had finished every drop, then smiled slightly and retrieved the glass from my still trembling fingers and rising slowly.
"Sleep well,"
He turned to go, and a fresh wave of fear gripped me.
"Erik!"
He was back at my side in an instant, his eyes concerned, his fingers constricting automatically around mine as I clutched at his hand with a strength born of fear that he should leave me alone in the dark.
"Don't go!"
He withdrew slightly, suddenly looking doubtful. The moment of indecision lasted only a moment before he stepped closer and set the candle down on the dresser.
"It's all right," he said gently. "I'm here."
I nodded, the fear somewhat diminished by the knowledge that he wouldn't leave me. Not tonight, anyway. But what about tomorrow, when the nightmare returned, as I knew it would ...?
The warm softness of the narcotic he had given me began to steal in, but still the disquiet remained, the shadow lurking in the back of my mind, dispelled only by daylight ...
Through the warm mists which were slowly falling over my eyes, I felt the comforting pressure of Erik's fingers over mine as I drifted off into a drugged sleep the nightmares could not penetrate.
He stayed with me, all that night. And every night after ... he can't have had more than an hour's sleep a night for over a month ... until the nightmares faded and security set in again.
What more could you ask for from a substitute father?
So
A/N - Sorry, v.v. short chapter this time ... hardly worth posting really :s but I wanted to get a little more of Christine's p.o.v. across to make her behaviour in the next chapter plausible :)
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