Chapter Fourteen - Let Me Hate You
A single candle...its wick poorly trimmed, its flame long and twisting...lit the chamber.
He sat at the organ, his mask lay on the floor beside him. He tried to play to keep himself from remembering her pain.
Strange that single moment of her sorrow could ravage him more than a lifetime of his own sufferings.
It had been so tempting to wake her gently, to lift her in his arms and bring her back here with him...to keep her safe in his arms.
Why should I?
He did not play, only ran his fingers absently across the keys.
The smooth ivory was no substitute for the softness of her skin. He closed the keyboard cover and reached up to touch the monstrosity of his face.
Even he recoiled at the feel of it.
He reached into his pocket and drew out the blood-stained handkerchief.
Make me hate you again, Christine. Please, let me hate you...don't take that final refuge from me.
Darkness and silence came over the Opera Populaire. It was a chilly night and Monsieur Reyer brought Christine a blanket and a pillow, borrowed from the dormitories.
Christine settled into the chair beside the bed and wrapped herself in the blanket. She would not let herself sleep, praying that her Angel would come to her again.
He found her asleep in the chair. Her face rested against the cool plaster of the wall, the blanket had slipped from her lap.
So, you were waiting for me, Christine...so certain that I would come, damn you.
Leaning over her, he kissed her so gently...so gently that she did not awaken.
Christine awakened slowly. There was no clock in her room, but she could hear sounds in the Opera House...the usual bustle of the morning.
Her body ached from spending the night in the hard wooden chair.
She had not meant to fall asleep...she had meant to wait for him.
She rose and the blanket fell to her feet. It was not the faded blue wool that Monsieur Reyer had brought her.
Picking it up, she recognized the scarlet velvet coverlet from his bed.
The clock in the study chimed eight times as Raoul stared out of the window.
The heavy rain that obscured his view only increased the new sense of loss that Madame Brault's admission brought him.
