Chapter 2 – How thin is the line between devil and angel?

"…and do they know

The places where we go

When we're grey and old…?"

Christine

For days he has been writhing in pain on the bed in front of me.  I have watched him squirm at the slightest draught, thrash about at the fevered dreams that consume his mind and lash out at the smallest sounds that echo in his underground dwelling.  All this combined leaves him exhausted, completely knotted in the bed sheets, and sore.  It became a routine that I would hold his wrists when he tried to struggle, then I would have to relax the constricted sheets that were abruptly around his throat and cool his flushed cheeks.   

I had never before seen this man with his commanding nature even have the common cold but now he was absolutely feeble, and that is not a word I would dare use lightly to describe my dominant teacher.  Whenever I tried to give him food, he would discard the whole process of chewing as though it were a measly frivolity and would only swallow if the outside of his neck was touched, which made him do it involuntarily.  It was entirely a waste of time trying to give him water – it had the same effect as if I had thrown him in the lake… he would choke on it and spurt it everywhere, leaving his neck wet and my dress damp – but I had to try, I couldn't let him become dehydrated. 

During all this, he darted in and out of consciousness – never staying awake long enough to speak but enough to open his eyes and reach out his hand; it always fell before I had a chance to hold it, though.  Regardless of his cataleptic state, I sang to him and spoke to him; telling him that I couldn't help him unless he fought it, that I wanted him to stay.  He rarely replied, but a few times I heard him groan and once I heard him mumbling something quietly.  He kept repeating it for a few minutes, "Which angel should I follow…?  Which angel should I follow…?  Which angel should I follow…?  Christine, lead me… it's down to you…"

I suppose I should tell you now that I'm more perceptive than Erik gives me credit for… I can see the looks of adoration he gives me when he thinks I'm not looking, I can hear the sensual tones in his voice when he thinks I am sleeping, I know that the way he touches my hand is not due to simple affection for his only student, and I am aware of the hurt in his eyes when I get sent flowers – and I can assure you it is not caused by mere over-protectiveness like a father might show a daughter.  Yes, I am well aware of his unconcealed feelings for me but that doesn't worry me – what frightens me is that I don't feel a need to tell him his interest is unwanted…     

Therefore, I know what he means when he tells me that it is down to me… I know what he wants from me… but do I have the confidence to be able to give it to him… can I give him my love…?

As my thoughts devour me I see him wince and turn onto his tender side, wrapping his arms around his throat as best he can.  That makes me realise just how much he has given me in life, including my… voice.  Surely he is worth taking the plunge into responsibility… really, I should be able to tell him my feelings if they will help him recover and then allow myself to account for my words…

Adding up in my mind all the things I would go through if he lived and all the things I would experience if he died, I decided that I couldn't very well live without him to guide me.  More bad than good would come if he left and I wasn't sure what would happen if he stayed, though.  But is being uncertain as to what will happen really better than being certain it will be bad?  Does the possibility of something good happening outweigh the definitiveness that life will be terrible?

Is there some divine force in the universe that knows what decision I will eventually make?  Do they know how my life will turn out?  Am I just here to play out the fate that was decided for me before I was even thought of?  Or is it down to me?  Is it my choice whether Erik lives or… dies?  And if it is, then aren't I strong enough to give him what he's always wanted, something he never expected but that which I am not entirely unwilling to give?

I hear him gasp as my hand strokes his hair and I know my answer…

Yes… I shall give him my love for his happiness to develop at last… he does deserve it, does he not? 

After all, just how thin is the line between devil and angel?