A/N: Thank you for your comments! Attending to the demands, here you have some fluffy scenes. Well, I already finished this story and actually am revising it all. Please, tell what you think about this chapter and, as always, warn me of any error. Oh, before I forget, the name of the tenor... I don't know if there are any heavy metal fans here, but anyway, hope someone recognizes his name :p
Disclaimer: Don't belong to me, as always.
Chapter III – Reminiscences
That night, during the dinner, I explained the last happenings to Madame Giry, who heard it all in her impassible – yet concerned – way.
"So, Madame Giry," I finished the narrative, "may I ask you something?"
"Yes, child?" The tone in her voice indicated that she already knew what it was before she had allowed me to make my question.
"Have... have you seen Erik after what happened?" I asked, pleading secretly to hear a "yes".
"No, I haven't," her austere expression softened with pity – I couldn't tell if it was for me, for Erik or for us both. "I haven't seen him since... that episode."
"Oh," I suspired with disappointment.
Meg quickly changed the subject. She told me that La Carlotta had quitted the Opera and that a new tenor, an Italian man called Fabio Lione, had been contracted to replace Piangi.
"Why don't you try to get your job back?" She suggested cautiously. "You still can have a brilliant career."
"I don't know," I replied, sighing. Meg's incentive reminded me of Erik's lessons and the only reason that kept me singing in the course of my curt ascension in the Opera Populaire: to receive my mentor's commendations. "Maybe I will."
The next day, Meg and I went to my flat. After having some tea, she went back to the rehearsals that were being independently organized by her mother and I started to rearrange my possessions. In the buffet, I found some forgotten costumes, my dresses, shoes and a few jewelry – most of it Erik's gifts.
One in special called my attention; it was a silver necklace with a sapphire drop. I closed my eyes, remembering the day Erik gave it to me.
We were in my dressing room, where he used to meet me before our lessons in his house. I sensed he was gazing over me and his apprehension as I opened the small box covered with black velvet. It was one of his gifts. I took the jewel out of its recipient and blushed, shamed of having nothing to give in retribution. My only way to thank him was by doing my best in our lessons, what seemed to bring some happiness into his world of sadness.
"It's very beautiful, Erik," I said, suspending the piece on my hands to admire its simple beauty, then looking at him, "thank you."
"I thought of how it would match with your eyes," he said, looking more relaxed.
I glanced at the necklace again, wondering how he managed to buy those kind of things without being noticed. Erik was always putting me on the top of his priorities, acting at the same time like a good teacher with his pupil, like a close friend with his estimated one, like a lover with his beloved.
"Could you please put it on my neck?" I asked suddenly, paying attention to his reaction. "I want to see how it looks..."
His mask was useless to hide his complete disbelief. Perhaps nobody had ever asked him to be so close to them. During our companionship, Erik had touched me only in a few situations and always by accident. But I wanted him to touch me in anyway: as a teacher, a friend, a lover. I suspected that he thought that I would be disgusted if he did so, but he never disgusted me. I went to the front of the mirror in a silent plea. 'Touch me, trust me...', I longed for his touch, for a proof of his trust in me.
"As you wish," he finally replied.
I moved my hair aside in order to free my neck and he wrapped it with the necklace. His long fingers gently brushed my skin, feeling almost like a caress; but all the same, their deftness on my unaccustomed skin provoked me an involuntary shiver. He rapidly fastened the necklace and backed away.
"You look lovely," he said with melancholy.
Looking at the mirror, I observed the sudden sadness in his eyes. He had probably interpreted my shiver as loathing or regret for letting him touch me.
Noticing that I was watching him, Erik turned away. "Now, we must start our lesson, my dear," he walked to the mirror and pressed its switch with his back turned to me.
I knew that somehow I had to repair the damages caused to his self-confidence by a lifetime rejection. My fallen angel had been hurtled so many times during his life that it wasn't fair to let him draw on his desolation once more. Tentatively, I touched my hand to his arm and he turned, surprised.
"Erik, thank you again for the present," I looked into his eyes and smiled. "It was very sweet."
He answered with a faint smile and a curt nod. We stared at each other for a minute or two, our smiles slowly fading, conscious of the many words left unspoken, but unconsciously drawing closer. Feeling him shudder, I slid my hand onto his shoulder and he hesitantly covered it with his own. I hadn't had the time to savor the contact, because almost at the same instant, as if waking from a trance, he impulsively retreated from me, continuing to make his way through the passage.
That night, I asked Erik to teach me some new duets, as an excuse to sing with him. Watching his hands run passionately on the keys, I concluded that this was really the best way to thank him for everything: letting his soul fly free through the music.
With these memories in mind, I wore the necklace and, caressing its drop in front of the mirror, I wished I could see Erik's reflection beside mine again.