A Study in Happiness

By Cherusha

This is the loosely based sequel to 'The Art of Perfection'

(you do not have to read the previous story to understand this one).

Details:Some things in Raoul's life are not perfect, no matter how hard he wants them to be. Will be Erik/Raoul. Will be rated R.

Chapter 1: Death

The Epoque published this advertisement:

"Erik is dead."

I remember the exact time because we would always sit down to eat at half past nine – precisely, on the nose – because the clock always chimed once, and we always dined at half past nine. It was familiar. Our breakfasts usually pass in silence; I would be reading the morning papers and she would be—

Actually I don't really know what. I used to sneak furtive glances her way, like a schoolboy with a crush, and just see her chewing slowly – "masticating" would be the correct description but I'm loathe to use that word in this particular context. And what is she thinking, I would wonder? Daydreaming, perhaps. Probably. Of brilliantly lighted stages and rich, colorful costumes and beautiful, heart-stopping arias and all the phantasmagoria of the stage. She would tilt her head slightly to the left, always the left, and I watch as a soft little smile would spread across her face. She reminded me, in those moments, of a Madonna in some famous oil painting: angelic and untouchable.

She caught me staring like this one time; she smiled at me and I smiled back and then we both quickly looked away. And then something would fall apart inside me, and I would hate myself because I knew that young lovers were not supposed to be like this; we were supposed to be happier than this. We were supposed to hold hands and share secrets and laugh at each other's jokes. Like two carefree spirits. At least I think I read a book about it somewhere.

She was smiling today, just like that. Just like before. "Little Lotte smile and be happy. Let's make believe we're immortal."

I had gripped the edges of the page as those black, hideous words appeared before me. I honestly can't describe what I felt at that moment with complete accuracy. Disbelieving, yes. Shocked, relieved, upset, angry, sad, happy? Or a combination of all these emotions. The air rushed out of my lungs; I gave a startled cry, it was barely a squeak really, but Christine caught it anyway. She looked genuinely concerned, and I could hardly blame her. I probably looked as white as a sheet. My hands were clammy, my throat painfully dry, my heart constricting—

"Christine…" I whispered.

She smiled a little, but dropped it in the next second when she knew something was really wrong. She started to reach out for me, to brace herself for what was coming but I shook away her advances.

"Christine," I said again, and my voice broke. My gaze fell back to the crinkled paper in my hands.

With shaky fingers, she gently removed the page from my stiffened grip and turned it over to read. The clock ticked by as seconds seemed to stretch into minutes, which seemed to stretch until the end of time. Neither of us moved meanwhile. I had never understood what anyone meant by the phrase "suffocated in silence." I do now.

Finally – an eternity later – she spoke. "I must go tend the gardens," she said, so suddenly, as if reading about the phantom's death only served to remind her that the flowers needed watering. It was completely devoid of any discernible emotion. It was empty.

"Christine, do you want to…" I hesitated because I saw how red-rimmed her eyes were and how she was biting her lip. I felt horrible and ugly inside, because I was unable and perhaps even secretly unwilling to comfort her. "Of course," I said and gave up my hold.

And as I watched her go, I had an epiphany. It came to me so completely by surprise that I might have collapsed if I were not sitting down just then.

I am the monster. No, not the phantom. It was me. It had always been me. And here was the very proof of it. Every day at half past nine it had occurred and I was so blind not to see it sooner.

I would never be able to make her happy, not by any fault of action, but because of my nature. I was so relieved, so thankful now that I knew the truth.

"Oh, Erik, you've won!" I screamed in my head. "Aren't you happy? Aren't you glad? You've won!"

I laughed. It was quite uncontrollable. I couldn't stop laughing. I laughed until I cried.

A/N: Sorry about the short chapter guys, the next chapter will be longer ; Don't worry, Erik isn't really dead (so this is definitely not of the necro realm). I'm also working on another E/R wip, which I'm trying to continue (grr…schoolwork!).