The time had come.
After weeks of toil, Beauty and the Beast was about as complete as we could make it. There was only one song we were still agonizing over: the soliloquy of the beast. Once we had conquered that, we both agreed that it was ready to be seen.
I had hoped that, as we neared the end of our task, Erik would become easier to live with. But it was the opposite. His rages grew more frequent by the day. His criticisms and sarcasm became more biting. If I asked him why he was so upset, he would apologize profusely, excusing it with a matter of ill health or some such.
But the incidents would occur over and over again.
This particular morning, I had decided to take a little more care with my appearance. Perhaps if I looked more pretty and delicate, more like Christine, he would be less cold and harsh with me. And as much as I hated to admit it to myself, his approval was important to me. After searching through my wardrobe, I decided on a white dress, sprigged with a yellow and pink floral design, evoking a feeling of springtime. The gown was a few years old, bringing back memories of simpler times. Pulling my hair back in a soft chignon with a pink ribbon, I had to admit that I still looked as attractive in the dress as ever, even if the cheer was a bit forced in the darkness of this strange house.
Well, at the social events in Tennessee, this dress had always been a smashing success, I told myself, as I walked down the corridor to the music room.
My hopes for his approval, for a compliment, for something, were instantly shattered.
He glanced at me for a few seconds, almost scowling. And then he became so involved with his composition that he barely seemed to be aware that I was alive.
Well, I deserved no more. After all, he was merely honoring our agreement and was devoting himself to the task at hand. Meanwhile, I was dressed up like a simpering southern belle, allowing my silly fantasies too much weight. I had been the one to insist on respect and privacy, that this was purely a business arrangement. And yet here I was, practically trying to throw myself at him!
I sat down at my desk, set up a few feet away from the organ. Time to get to work, I told myself. And I began to labor over Erik's orchestrations, attempting to find the proper lyrics. But every single idea I had was hopelessly bad. How could I be so bereft of ideas, so stupid?
The time seemed to drag on. And I had accomplished nothing.
I covered my eyes and groaned.
"Angelica, are you well?"
I sat up abruptly. The sight of Erik made my heart melt. He looked positively prostrate with concern for me.
"Oh, yes," I assured him, forcing a smile. "I'm quite all right, just frustrated. I can't seem to concentrate at all today."
"Is something wrong?"
"No." Other than losing my mind and fantasizing about being ravished by the Phantom of the Opera every damned night, no, absolutely nothing at all was wrong.
"Perhaps you should rest for an hour or so, give your mind some time to replenish," he said. "Maybe we should get some fresh air. After all, you've hardly been out of doors since you've arrived here."
While the idea of being out in the open air was tempting, I knew that it would solve nothing.
"No," I refused. "I simply need to rest, as you said."
"Would you like to hear my composition for the Beast? I think it accompanies the lyrics quite nicely."
"I'd love to."
He motioned for me to sit beside him on the organ seat.
Being so near him made me lightheaded. What was that exotic cologne he was wearing?
Stop it, I scolded to myself. Focus!
As he sang the Beast's solo, the soft hypnotic notes caused shivers down my spine, reminding me of that fateful night at the Paris Opera House when I had heard Erik's voice for the first time. I closed my eyes, transported into a romantic fairy tale world, imagining myself as Beauty and Erik as the Beast. I felt as if I could live the rest of my life, content as I was right at this moment. If I were to die, I would be at peace if I were to go to the afterlife with that voice.
When he finished, I did not want to open my eyes to face cold reality.
But at the sight of him, I was awestruck to find him unusually serene. What made him look that way? He was such a mystery to me. He could be so unpleasant at times. But when he sang, it was as if he were a different man.
"You have the most beautiful voice I've ever heard," I whispered. "It's almost magical."
Erik was as still as a statue, his head bowed. It was then that I knew that underneath the infuriating stubbornness, arrogance, and bullying temper tantrums, there was an abused man who was shy and afraid and in pain. Oh, how I wanted more than anything to show him that happiness was possible, that he need not be alone forever!
Trembling, I reached out and stroked his unmasked cheek.His facewas smooth to the touch.
Erikslowly turned to look at me, his eyes wide with trepidation. He was as scared as I was.
And then softly, ever so softly, I leaned towards him, brushing his lips with my own. I could not believe my own daring, my unladylike behavior. But I could not resist his siren song. It felt like this was something that was meant to be.
The intimate contact was brief, too brief, but enough to make us gasp for breath.
He took both of my hands, gripping them tightly. His grasp was warm and powerful.
When I dared to open my eyes, he was staring at me so intensely that I swore he was trying to pry open the very depths of my soul. His eyes pleading for more from meā¦demanding everything that I had...
Lord forgive me, but I had to kiss him again! This time, I shyly explored the shape and taste of his odd lips. Although misshapen, they were not at all repulsive as I had feared, but firm and sweet. I could not restrain a moan of sensual delight. Every nerve ending in my body seemed to be tingling. My insides seemed to be clenching for something that I did not understand. He was a man, only a man. And it was not my first kiss, so why did I feel this way?
Good Lord, what was happening to me?
Erik became bold with passion, groaning softly, wrapping his arms around me. My senses reeled as he covered my face with kisses and ran his fingers through my hair. I could hear the sound of hairpins hitting the floor as my chignon became undone and my hair fell about my shoulders.
I cried out with pleasure, utterly lost in the storm of emotions and sensation. These feelings, this attraction, was something greater thanI could control. He could do anything he wanted. Anything. And I would not stop him. Because I wanted it too...
But suddenly his body stiffened.
Before I even realized what was happening, he pulled away from me sharply. Then, to my horror, he grabbed me by the throat, forcing me onto my feet. The sudden shift from tenderness to violence, from an embrace to a deathhold, made me dizzy and see stars before my eyes.
"Do not toy with me, girl!" he rasped in a frightening tone. Not the voice of Erik, but of the Phantom of the Opera. "You are not the first woman who has kissed me nor the first to make sport with me!"
I could not defend myself as I was paralyzed with fear.
"I am not a fairytale prince from your opera! You cannot transform me with a kiss! And I warn you not to continue unless you are prepared to pay the full price!"
Then he kissed me once more, but so brutally that it seemed like a violation.
When he released me, I collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air and crying. Before I became completely overcome with hysteria, I fled from the Phantom and escaped to the sanctuary of my bedroom.
Later that evening, I could barely see my reflection in the vanity mirror for I was blinded by my own tears. In a white pristine nightgown with dozens of silken ribbons streaming down, I looked like an expectant bride.
What a farce!
I felt suffocated by this bedroom; felt suffocated by the infernal presence of Christine Daae!
All of the things in this room had been meant for Christine. Her perfume wafted throughout the room. Elaborate costumes which she had worn in her various operas were hung in the closet. Christine, Christine...everything was Christine! If the truth were to be known, Christine Daae was the real Opera Ghost for she haunted this house everywhere!
Why did Erik still hold on to every memory of Christine when she had deserted him? Indeed, she had treated him like a monster, ripping his mask off in front of all of Paris, exposing him to the police so that he could be shot down like a dog!
The memories of our kiss overwhelmed me. How seductive he had been without even knowing it. For just a brief moment, I had a glimpse of the real man behind the mask. The man Christine Daae did not appreciate. The man she had ruined for anyone who wanted to love him.
Or was he really the maniac who had grabbed me by the throat? Was he really a murderer? This madness must end. An opera, no matter how brilliant, was not worth being slaughtered over. And today, I had truly feared that he would hurt me. I had to face facts.
And indeed, I have had my own sorrows to bear over the years. Oh, yes, I knew all too well what it was liked to be made fun of, to be humiliated when all I had wanted was love. I had come here to Paris to escape from the past. And I loved Paris. It was my new home where I could look in the mirror and respect myself, start a new life.
But I also knew that I could stay here with Erik no longer. I was becoming obsessed with a man who was so flawed, who had been so tormented, that he would never truly be able to return my love. All he would do is hurt me. And I had not traveled so far just to be a fool again.
Opera or no opera, I would pack my bag and leave first thing in the morning.
But where would I go? I was sure that Madame Gavreaux had rented out my room to someone else by now. And what would I do about money?
My worries seemed to multiply until I became overwhelmed. My tears turned into sobs which I could not stop. I curled up on the bed in agony, choked with pain.
The strains of organ music flowed from the music room. I covered my ears. I didn't want to hear him gushing love songs for Christine.
But he wasn't. He was playing the Song of the Beast from our opera. He played it loud enough where I could hear it; yet, softly, like a lullaby. I cursed the beautiful voice until I fell mercifully into a deep sleep.
