Chapter Twenty-two
She went to him, then, reached out to lay her hands on his.
He drew away quickly and, when he looked at her again, the pain in his eyes was gone. A strange mix of anger and fear took its place.
"Oh, Erik...Erik..what have they done to you," she whispered, feeling the burn of tears in her own eyes.
She felt her heart breaking for the second time in her life. This man had been her friend...he was to have been her first lover, her husband...the man she willing gave her soul to.
And he would not touch her now...would not let her feel the warmth of the embrace she'd longed for night and day.
"Why did you come here, Christine," he said in a harsh voice that seemed to tear into her like a jagged and rusted blade, a voice that was as cruel and severe as the false features that hid the right side of his face.
She would not let him frighten her. She knew him too well...he would not harm her, even if she defied him
"Erik...why did Sam tell me you were dead?"
"Because I asked him to," he said, bitterly.
The shattered glass crackled beneath his shoes as he leaned over to turn off the little lamp on the bar.
"That's no answer, Erik," she countered, "why did you want me to believe that you had died."
He was standing quite close to her now. Towering over her. So tall and powerful and masculine.
She had only to wrap her arms around him. But, suddenly, she did not dare.
"Because, Christine, I did die! Because the man who loved you in Paris was murdered in a cold, blood-soaked room deep below the very Opera House where he first saw you! Because, Christine, there is nothing left of the Erik you knew...the Erik you loved."
She no longer held back her tears. She let them flow freely and laid her hands on his shoulders, feeling the familiar shock of touching him.
"Oh, Erik...I died, too. When I read those three words...I felt my soul die. And I wished more than anything that my body had died, too."
As if he feared she might try to remove the mask, he grabbed both her wrists, pinning them behind her back. That action brought her body tight against his and his face close to hers.
For a moment, she felt the tension leave him...for a moment, his gaze seemed to soften. It seemed as if he might kiss her at last.
His breath was warm on her skin and she closed her eyes, let her body relax against him. It was so good to feel him again, to be so near to him.
"That man you were with tonight...who is he, Christine?"
She opened her eyes and looked up at him, suddenly sick with guilt. For the first time since her quiet wedding to Raoul, she felt as if she had betrayed Erik...as if she had betrayed them all.
"He is my husband, Erik."
He pushed her away, all the brief tenderness gone.
In the dimness of the large room, she saw the hardening of his chin beneath the mask, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
Suddenly, he caught her by the arm and pulled her towards the entrance.
"You faithless little whore! How long did you wait? A week? A month?"
"Erik, please...you're hurting me," she cried as his fingers dug into her flesh.
He loosend his hand, but he did not let her go and jerked her close again.
She gave him no time to accuse her again.
"I have mourned for you every day since I read Sam's note. And I will mourn for you every day of my life."
She yanked her arm free and faced him in the doorway
"Perhaps I was wrong, Erik," she sobbed, "Or naive. I thought you loved me. I believed you when you called me your angel and when you promised me heaven."
With that, she turned and ran out into the square.
Erik did not watch her go. He let the door slam shut on its own as he sat down at the piano and tore off the mask.
Christine, don't go...don't leave me.