"Mine"
Chapter 2: Forgiveness
A/N: Standard disclaimer applies.
As he was bristling just a few feet away from her, he heard Christine begin to sob softly and his shoulders sank. He had forgotten himself again...he was frightening her again. Always frightening her...she could never love him, the monster full of malice and hate.
His jaw softened, his fists loosened, and one blood stained hand reached up to touch his mask. He pulled his hand away as if burned, and was filled with self-loathing. He sighed loudly, a lump forming in his throat; he still could not face her. It was as if his whole demeanor crumbled.
"Christine...I... Oh, Christine..." He began to cry softly himself...letting the tears of self loathing fall down his cheeks once more.
He heard her utter the words, "I'm sorry, Erik…" and sighed.
"Oh, Christine" he whispered as he turned slowly to face her. Upon seeing her defeated form, his gaze softened. He made eye contact with her once more only, this time, no burning rage filled his orbs, only an intense sadness.
"Christine...my angel...I…I...am yours. Do with your Erik as you please, Christine."
With that, he fell to his knees before her and tentatively reached for the hem of her skirts. He kissed it delicately, his head bowed in supplication.
A moment passed, and then Erik felt Christine's hand resting lightly, hesitantly on the top of his head. He shivered at the slight contact, and raised his mismatched eyes to hers. She made no sound, but slowly brought her hand toward him to cup his unmarred cheek. He sucked in a tight breath as he felt the skin of her palm rest lightly on that of his cheek. He tilted his face into her touch, reveling in the sensation.
No words were spoken, but no words were needed. Christine's act of reaching out to him and touching him of her own free will spoke volumes to him.
He felt more like the mouse now…a mere puppy dog, willing to do anything for his mistress. He had said he owned her, yes…she belonged to him, she belonged with him…but it was she who owned him, who captivated him. She had held supreme power over his soul; from the first moment he had heard her sing, she had claimed it. Looking into her eyes, he sang softly, "Fate links thee to me for ever and a day."
Erik saw Christine smile softly, and she removed her hand from his cheek. He was confused and slightly disappointed at first, but then he watched as the same hand that had caressed his cheek a moment ago had joined her other and both were now offered to him, palms up.
So inviting...oh, if he could just breach the gap. It seemed like miles, his Christine seemed miles away from him. How would he ever reach her? Those hands of ivory represented everything he was not. Erik gazed from her outstretched hands to his own...and found them trembling. He slowly reached out of his own hands, his fingertips brushing hers.
Erik let out a deep, raspy breath and then brought Christine's hand to his malformed lips, placing an airy kiss on the back of it. Then, still holding her gaze, he deftly lifted himself off of the floor, coming to stand in front of her, his hand still lightly clutching her own.
Her voice was still shaky, yet gentle, as she whispered, "Will you…will you hold me, Erik?"
He thought he must have been dreaming. Did she just say what he thought she did? She wanted him...to hold her? He, the angel of death?
He could not deny his Christine. He went to her quickly, enveloping her in his velvet cloaked arms, tucking her head beneath his chin, murmuring softly into her perfumed hair.
"Christine..." he sighed, burying his face in her tresses. His hands came to rest on the small of her back, encircling her timidly, but with barely suppressed possessiveness. "My Christine..."
