Ange
Bright, vivid sunlight splashed over the sea of flowers, the large garden sparkling with lucid color. Christine sat in the dry grass, holding a blossom close to chest, inhaling the lovely scent. Her puffy laced summer dress itched at her skin, how she hated lace. She was making a crown of flowers, intertwined by the stems, and wrapped around the inner part of her massive sun hat. Erik had refused to join her, claiming that he needed rest, since both of them had gotten little sleep the past two nights.
Humming a tune, Christine stood, dusting off the particles of dirt and green stems from her ghostly dress. It had seemed that when Erik had shown her the dresses he picked out, he had bought almost the whole store. She had dozens of dresses, new and expensive ones, lace, satin, and silk, she had been spoiled. Smiling she picked up the weaved basket and moved to another part of the garden where a different variety of flowers blossomed.
An iron arc was positioned over the towpath, completely carpeted with ivy, twisting and winding around the metal elegantly. "So beautiful," she murmured in a singsong voice and kneeled in front of a bed of roses. "These are for Erik," she informed herself letting the blush sink into her cheeks.
There was a gap between them; he blamed himself for her breakdown in her bedroom. And for that guilt had shut himself in his room, not wanting, or avoiding to see her. Christine felt terrible for that matter, Raoul had left her mind for the time, and she did not want to extend an invitation back. Clipping the blood red roses, they fell lightly into her heaving basket. Hopefully there were vases somewhere.
Sighing in the completion of her task, Christine turned, and pulled her sun hat off of her head, letting the curls tumble from atop her head. Grasping the handle to the back of the house, she grimaced at the thought of leaving the gorgeous scene before her, but she had to make amends with Erik.
Entering the cool house she closed the door, the only rays of sunlight came through the cracks in the door and from the drawn windows. Pushing herself from the door, Christine sauntered down the long hallway admiring pictures and various objects, which lined the walls. Placing her sun hat on the stair railing, she made her climb up the spiral staircase.
Erik's room was immediately to the right of the landing, and she stood before the impending door uncertainly. Reaching up, she gently rapped upon the wood. She heard a grunt and the rustling of sheets, a stumble, and dragging thumps till he reached the door. Opening the door slowly, Erik's hazel orbs locked onto her tiredly. "Yes?" he asked hoarsely.
He looked terribly awful, his hair tossed raggedly about, perspiration was beaded across his forehead, and his breathing was incredibly ragged. Surprised she dropped the basket of flowers and instantly brought the back of her hand to rest atop his brow. "Erik," she moaned, "you are running a fever," she muttered, slipping past him through the doorway, she grasped his hand and led him back to the obese bed. "Lie down," she ordered walking over to the basin of water sitting on top of his bearu.
Complying Erik dropped onto the bed, his fingers hurriedly pulling at the buttons on his shirt. "Christine, let me sleep,"
"You are sick Erik," she countered pouring the pitcher of water in the basin and grabbing the cloth hanging over the small oval mirror. "Do not be stubborn!" Sitting on the edge of the feather mattress, she placed her hand on the side of his neck, and reached over him, placing the cool cloth over his burning forehead.
He grasped her wrist gently, and moved it to where his mask still lay upon his face. "Would this bother you?" he interrogated honestly, his chest heaving uncomfortably.
"Erik," she cooed gently, feeling as though she was speaking to young child, "Your face does not bother me, not in the least bit. Why is it you do not believe me?" placidly, she pulled the white mask off of his cheek. Christine did not glance at the marred skin but held his gaze, running her fingertips down his unfeeling skin.
Erik said nothing, he held her hand in his, holding it to his cheek, "I love you," he said, a tear, rolled down his cheek and soaked into the cotton pillow.
"And I love you," she whispered sweeping her hand across his forehead and moving the plastered hair. "Have you eaten anything recently?" she asked softly.
"No,"
"I will be right back with a tray," she told in, wriggling her hand from his hold. Lifting up from the bed she shut the door, picked up the basket and made her way downstairs.
Erik had been sleeping the rest of the morning, occasionally calling out to make sure she was still there in the house. Christine desperately wanted to call a house physician, but Erik had insisted that it would only cause trouble. Sighing tiredly, she stayed next to him on the bed, watching as his chest rose and fell, the toned muscles twitching every once in a while. His fever had gone down, and his breathing reverted to an even pattern.
She was exhausted, unable to enter the land of dreams because of the never-ending guilt pulsing through her veins. All she need right now was to rest, but Christine wanted to stay near, in case Erik needed her attention. Yet slowly, she was giving into the unconscious desire to sleep, slumping foreword her head nestled in the contour of his neck. Her slender fingers laid atop his chest and her eyelids dropped closed.
Someone's hands were running through her locks, someone's breath was tickling her skin, someone's body lay next to hers. Fluttering open her eyes she met the stare of Erik, his mask was off, and for the first time, she was glad of it. A song was leaving his lips, ringing in her head. There was no exchange of words, and it was not necessary, the moment was peaceful and words might spoil it.
Christine pulled herself closer to his warm form, shivering slightly with enticement. The phantom pushed himself on his elbow, hovering over her, intensely holding her gaze, all the while inching his face closer to hers. Their lips met in a passionate kiss, her arms wrapped around his neck. His hand rested on her hip, pushing her closer to him. Christine parted her lips allowing his tongue to slide across her bottom lip.
Erik ended their kiss, panting, "Christine…"
"Yes?" her arms unwound themselves from his thick neck and dragging them down his bare chest.
"Thank you for caring for me earlier," he stated, moving his hand from her hip, and up her stomach, over her breast, and finally resting on her neck. Quickly removing his hand from her neck, he shied away from her body.
"Erik?" she inquired, sitting up with him and grabbing his muscular arm, before he left the bed. "Why are you leaving?"
"I do not want you to cry again," he rasped unfazed by her tug on his arm.
"Erik please, do not be blind. I am at fault for yesterday. I am selfish, do not blame yourself!" she exclaimed hurriedly.
"Why did you cry? I hate it when you cry," he sniveled.
"I wish to keep it to myself. It is not prudent,"
"Not prudent? I think this would be an appropriate time for you to relay," wriggling his arm from her grasp he sat waiting.
"Raoul, I feel guilt for leaving him. He haunts my mind everyday!" Christine spat out hopelessly her hands flying into the air.
"You still love him do you not?" She froze under his scrutiny. Lowering her head she refused to meet his gaze. "Christine?" he asked harshly.
"…Why is that important?"
"So you do? Then you came with me out of pity?" Erik snarled, glaring at her and unconsciously covering his scared face.
"You would accuse me of such a fault? Never in my wildest dreams, would such uncaring tyranny come from my actions!" arching her back heatedly she slid off of the bed, "do you not trust me?" with that departing question she slammed his door, furiously stomping to her bedroom down the hall.
Quickly opening her door she closed it, softly, fresh rivets of moisture trickling down her pale cheeks. Sobbing softly to herself, Christine padded to her bed, it was so inviting, sitting there unused, calling to her. Turning her head she moved to her wardrobe and selected her light pink kimono robe. Why is it I cannot bring myself to leave? But Christine already knew the answer to that question.
Parting the canopy that dangled over her bed, she crawled in, and secured the canopy closed. She sang a song to herself, loudly, maybe hoping that Erik would hear her, and in her heart she knew he would. It was the first melody she had sung onstage for him, her debut to the public eye.
Think of me; think of me fondly,
When we've said good-bye;
Remember me once in a while please promise me you'll try!
When you find that once again you long, to take your heart, back and be free,
If you ever find a moment spare a thought for me…