Disclaimer: I don't own POTO or any of the characters. Yadda, yadda, yadda… Oh yes, there's one line in here that belongs to the Walt Disney Company. I'm pretty sure every single person will be able to easily pick it out. I put it because…well, I don't know why… It's like a cliché—for lack of a better phrase I used it. But hey, it works!
Author's Note: Okay, here it is, the third chapter! Not much Erik, but hopefully interesting enough. Believe me, there will be a LOT more Erik in the near future. J
Thank you to everyone who reviewed: Bluedrake, Warm-in-Pink-Fuzzy-Pants, Raydias, Sweet Thang aka Harrys Crush, Dangyr, Polgara la Fae, Nicolette, Chona, SS/Destiny Daae, Erika and Alexis Rockford. Thank you to my editors, and please, please review! You have no idea how much it means to me!
Chapter Three: A Talk with Husband #1
Hey, I never said it was a good talk!
Her eyes opened suddenly. Above her leaned her husband… Raoul. He did not look happy.
"Christine, what are you doing?"
"I was working, dear, and then this headache came on and…oh!" she lied, groaning in fictitious pain. Well, perhaps it wasn't a total lie. In her dream she was sick, so maybe, subconsciously, she was sick in real life. Maybe.
Raoul's face transformed from that of an angry husband to one of a concerned lover. "Oh darling," he said, "I'm sorry! Forgive me… Here, you stay lying down and I will go cook dinner. How does salmon sound?"
Sounds like the same thing we eat every night. "Very good," she said aloud. "Thank you, Raoul." He gave her a weary smile, kissed her forehead and left the room. Just then, Christine felt very selfish; after all, Raoul had been working all day and needed rest much more than she, who had been sleeping all day. Not only that, but she had lied to her husband. It was a sickening feeling; once she acknowledged it, her stomach knotted and churned. It burned like…like the sensation of stage fright. Christine realized then that she had once again placed herself in the position of the actress. Not a liar, an actress, she thought. And I will perform.
Christine slowly descended the stairs, gripping the railing to steady herself; she was afraid the fierce pain in her stomach would knock her over. Yet within every step the pain decreased. She imagined herself at the Opera House once again, walking towards the great stage. And she felt the part from the vision; instinctively her back straightened and her chin roes, not in egotistical superiority, but in dignity.
When she turned the sharp corner at the bottom of the stairs, her back slouched once again and her chin sunk into her chest. She regained the appearance of the migraine-stricken peasant.
Raoul's back was turned to her as she entered the kitchen. "Raoul," she asked, "do you need any help?"
He turned around, knife in hand. "No, darling, I'm just finishing. Sit down."
Christine slid into a chair and began to massage her temples. The pain had trenched upwards by then to her head, its headquarters located right behind her eyes. This pain was real; unlike her previous opinion it was not just an effect of her imagination, nor the result of lying to her husband. She really did feel faint. All she wanted to do was climb into bed and…what, sleep? For she knew that sleep would bring not rest, but Erik.
Well, no. Not exactly Erik. More of a brain-altered Erik where there was no Raoul and no Phantom, just the two of them and love. A dream Erik who was content and married, practically perfect in every way. The Erik she had known was tortured, anguished and hardly happy.
The mystery of the dream still remained. Where was Raoul through all of this? How did she end up married to Erik? She was so bewildered and the confusion only made her head pound harder.
Raoul sat down and placed a plate in front of her. Fish, Christine thought, sighing, something new and different. She stared at the small plate and slowly broke up the salmon with her fork. She lifted it to her mouth but couldn't bear to eat it. So she hid it in her napkin and proceeded to push the pieces of fish around her plate. Eventually, Raoul noticed.
"Darling," he asked, "why aren't you eating? What are you thinking about?"
"Christine looked up and met his eyes. "Erik," she said bluntly, refusing to lie again just to spare his feelings. "I was thinking about Erik."
But the moment she said it, she regretted it. Raoul's face burned a bright red, his teeth clenched together and his brow knotted fiercely in a scowl. "Oh," he said, obviously hurt and trying to control his temper. He did not like to be reminded of Erik. "Why have you been thinking of…him?"
Perhaps she should have spared his feelings. Now she had to be careful and tread lightly to make sure she did not cause the volcanic eruption of Mt. de Chagny. "No reason, really," she replied, hoping the subject would be dropped. Of course, it was a false hope.
"Now don't do that, Christine!" Raoul yelled suddenly, slamming the table with his fist and causing Christine's bones to jump out of her skin. "You brought him up and you will talk about it. I've been through enough torture concerning that demon for you no to talk about it." Every muscle was tensed under the scarlet skin of his face.
Yet Christine was defiant and rose to meet his eye. "Perhaps it isn't your business, like you seem to think. Perhaps I miss Paris and all that it means for me. Perhaps I miss a friend, whom I…"
"Friend!" Raoul interrupted. "A friend? A fiend is more like it! Christine, he was a madman! Do you remember how it was? How you wept in my arms for fear of being taken down to his dark home and never returning?"
But the truth was, Christine did not remember it. She could recall the events, knew exactly what had happened, but she was unable to feel the emotions she knew she once had felt. Perhaps her mind was too filled with thoughts of that wonderful Erik who waited for her in sleep to remember that terrifying Erik who really existed. And yet…that side of Erik—the side from her dream—it must have come from somewhere. And he had been so tender with her sometimes, so loving… Could it be that Erik was formed of both sides within him…and it only took a little kindness to bring out the good?
Christine slammed her palms against her ears in a useless attempt to block the thoughts from her head. She didn't want to think about her mistakes, about what she could have done. She just wished…she just wanted…
Her mind was suddenly clear and she looked at Raoul once again, her eyes glistening with tears. "I just want to know how he is. That's all. I want to know if I killed him."
She hung her head in shame and let the tears fall. Raoul slowly walked around the table, his shoes hitting the wooden floor hard. When he reached his wife, he gently laid a hand on her back and she leaned into his chest, taking comfort in that simple physical expression. After her tears had died down, he lowered his face to kiss her and she let him. He was entitled to that, at least. But as they kissed, Christine realized that he couldn't offer her everything she needed. She was bored here; her dream was precisely what it was—a dream, the thing that her heart yearned for. She loved Raoul, but not the way he deserved and not to the extent that she knew she was able to love.
But perhaps this was her punishment. Wrong choice, right choice, did it matter? She had harmed another human being, maybe even killed one, and she had made her choice. She now had to stick with it, for better or for worse. It wasn't even a punishment, for she did enjoy Raoul's company and wanted to be with him… But their souls were different. Raoul, even with his high society upbringing, was content to simply be settled down and busy. Christine was different. Twenty-three years old and no longer meek and scared, she needed to soar and experience thrills and vary her days. Enclosed and cramped, she feared she would fade like the final flickers of a flame. She needed her freedom; she wanted the stage…
Thoughts like these continued to pour into her head as her lips still pressed against Raoul's. She pulled away as she choked on a sob. Raoul stepped back, trying to be sympathetic.
"Christine," he said softly, "what do you want?"
"What do I want?" she repeated, her bottom lip trembling. "I want…" Excitement and Paris. I want things I can't have. I want… "to sleep," she finished. "I'm just over-tired." Raoul nodded his head in agreement. She rubbed her eyes harshly and flung the tears away before she moved go upstairs.
"Christine," Raoul said, just before she passed him. She looked up at him through her tears, which didn't seem able to stop forming. "Everything will be alright," he continued in an attempt to comfort her. "He's gone. He can't come back to get you." Christine nodded and left quickly, not letting him see the tears start to fall again. He had meant well, and she knew that, but it just made her sadder.
She climbed into bed, wanting merely to sleep and drift into oblivion for a little while. Yet she forgot in that moment what she hadn't forgotten in all her waking hours: that sleep would bring Erik.
