Demons of the Past

Ch.4 Drinks and Confessions

Author's Note: This chapter is the one that really gave me the idea for the whole story…and like many things, it grew legs and ran from this point. I hope you enjoy…there's more to come. This chapter also will feature a first for me: first person pov. I will talk about Erik's past a lot in this chapter, and it will all be from his perspective utterly. I will also throw in a little about Christine, as well. It also has drinking in this chapter...rather a lot. Hope it doesn't offend and I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Believe it or not, I really don't claim to own the Phantom of the Opera. Only a crazy person would do that…

Previously:

"What a day this has been! I'm ready to go to bed. Are you?"

"Yes, something like that." Erik smiled at her mischievously. Together they left the office and headed for their bedroom.

Later that night, Christine was awakened by the all too familiar screaming.

And now, on with the story…

Christine woke with a start as Erik began his agonizing ritual of twisting and turning on the bed. This time, unfortunately, Christine was unable to get out of the way; she wasn't fast enough. Erik's arm connected with her shoulder, and she was flung out of the bed and onto the hard floor. Christine groaned as she felt the bruises start to form. She glanced up at the bed, and was shocked to see Erik sitting straight up in bed, looking at her in horror.

Erik blinked in surprise. Then, quite suddenly, Erik was on the floor next to Christine, knocking over a nightstand in his rush. He reached for her, and held her against him.

"Oh, Christine! What did I do? Are you ok? I'm so sorry…" Erik pulled her away and looked her over. The only thing that was painfully visible to Erik was the large red whelp forming on her shoulder. It would be a Hell of a bruise…Christine merely looked at Erik.

"It's all right, Erik, you didn't know what you were doing…you were dreaming." Christine touched his hand, which was trembling. "What were you dreaming about?"

Erik was shaking all over. He felt sick. The room was spinning as fast as his heart was beating. He had never felt this bad in his whole life; and that included all the beatings received as a child, and being shot in the chest. Erik opened his mouth, presumably to tell Christine about his dream, when there was a sharp rapping on the door.

"Christine! Erik! Is everything all right in there? I heard screaming and a crash…"

Erik rose shakily to his feet, and stumbled for the door. He snatched it open to reveal Madam Giry.

"You would do well to remember that it is nighttime, and this is our bedroom, and we are married…I believe you can draw your own conclusions, Marie?" Erik snapped at Madam Giry. He pushed her slightly to the side and unsteadily walked to his office. Madam Giry blushed deeply, and glanced apologetically at Christine, who was still sprawled on the floor. Christine rolled her eyes, but made no attempt to correct Erik. Madam Giry murmured her apologizes, and walked as fast as she could back to her bedroom. Christine almost could have laughed at the awkwardness of the situation, but was too disturbed by Erik's behavior. He had never awakened during one of his episodes before…and now he seemed not quite right.

Christine started to get up from the floor when Erik made an abrupt reappearance. He had two glasses in one hand, and a full bottle of brandy in the other. He grabbed a lighted candle from the hallway, some how juggling all the things in his hands with ease. He walked over to the bed, but instead of sitting on the bed, he sat unexpectedly on the floor, his back leaning against the bed. Christine scooted across the floor to sit beside him in a similar position. They were both a sight. Christine was wearing a thin white nightgown, and the sleep was still apparent in her disheveled appearance. Erik was wearing a pair of long pants with no shirt; his scars were in clear view. His hair was ruffled and mused, and his face had taken on an odd pasty look. His unsteady hand attempted to open the brandy; Christine took it from him with no protest. She poured the glasses full, and Erik immediately downed his in one gulp. He glanced at Christine. She eyed him, wondering if Erik had challenged her. She smiled smugly, and knocked back her drink in one gulp as well. Erik's eyes widened in shock, and she laughed.

"Meg and I use to have contests with the other girls in the ballet corps…don't tell Madam Giry…," Christine whispered to Erik. Her eyes had a mischievous gleam that Erik found enticing. How many other little things like this did Erik not know about?

Erik filled his glass again, and held it up to Christine.

"After this drink, I will be ready to tell you. About the dream. Or about my past, whatever you like, it's all the same. I relive everything: every beating, every jeering crowd; every tear you have cried because of me; I survive Hell once, but I am cursed to live it over and over again, unable to change anything…"

Erik drank his glass unceremoniously. He leaned forward a little, trying to find a comfortable spot of the floor. Christine sat hugging her knees, her eyes never leaving her husband's. Erik's face was still deathly pale, and the candle light showed the shadows of the crevices on the right side of his face. Erik exhaled a long held breath. He started.

"Lucky for you, my dear, I dreamed of the beginning of it all. I dreamed of my mother…"

I don't know my own birthday. I don't really know how old I am…I have always guessed my age. I don't have a Christian name, because my mother never named me…I don't know where I was born, or where I lived for my first years of life. All I have are memories of my mother…and those are memories I would gladly exhume from my mind permanently. My earliest memory is of touching my face and feeling the rough, uncut cloth that covered it entirely. My mother could not bear to look at me; she could not bear to speak to me; and she certainly could not bear to have me in her presence. I tried so hard to be happy; I had some toys that were not toys at all: I would play with the stones in the grass, I would find shiny gems along a lake, I had a bundle of rags that I use to go to sleep with. But the dream is always the same…it is of the day that I realized I was a monster, and my mother, the only person that I had known, that I had loved, sold me into a life forged in the pits of Hell.

When my mother bothered to speak to me at all, she called me 'sin of the flesh'. At the time, I had no idea why she would call me such. Somehow, I knew that 'sin' was something appalling and evil. It wasn't until later that I pieced together a little about why she hated me so…She had been married to a man that was not my father. She blamed me for her husband's departure, and she thought that God's punishment of her adultery was my own abhorrent face…Twisted as this is, she believed it with all her heart! Oh, why hadn't she just drowned me in the lake at my birth? Why did she let such a loathsome creature live? I truly don't know. How I have wished for death, even as I child!

I was only allowed to take off my mask when I was completely alone. I can't tell you the number of times that I would sit in my room, unmasked, and see something that would scare me to the core. I would see a monster…and it always seemed to be in the same places…I would try to tell my mother, try to tell her that there was a monster in my room. She would slap at me, and tell me to get out of the house. On the day my life changed forever, I went outside and to the lake near my house. On an impulse, I took my crudely made mask off my face, and stared into the water. It was then…it was then that I realized that the monster that I had been seeing…the thing that had terrified me since before I could remember…was my own face! I realized in that moment why my mother hated my so…who could love someone with this…face…

I ran back to the house, trying to get reassurance from the one person who I knew…and when she saw me…unmasked…she screamed! She screamed, so loud that the sound still vibrates in my ears to this day. I…ran back into my room, and tried to find my monkey…it was the one thing that I had, that I truly owned. She came at me…rushed at me…she beat me, the worst that I had ever gotten. I was beaten physically and mentally…nothing she could do with her hands could equal what she had done with her scream…I don't remember what happened next.

I awoke some time later, and I was in the back of a wagon. I was so confused…I didn't understand. I poked my head out of the flap of canvas that hung over the back of the wagon, and was immediately sorry. I saw stars. I pressed my ear to the canvas on the side, and heard a man's voice say: "Pleasure doing business with you, Anita. If you have anymore monsters, please let us know." And he laughed, this horrible, mirthless laugh. It was then that I realized what was happening. I peered carefully out of the gap in the back of the wagon, and saw my mother standing in the front door…counting the money that she had received…and I screamed for her…I screamed and screamed and screamed, and she didn't even look up…

Erik was visibly shaking. He had not looked at Christine since he started speaking. He had spoken to the floor, he had spoken to the window, he had spoken to anything in the room other than Christine. He continued.

"For the longest time, I thought it was a mistake. I thought that one day my mother would come for me, and say 'It was all in jest, my son. I will take you home.' No matter how much I knew she hated me, no matter how loud her screams were in my head, I still loved her…I loved her so much! I…I…"

Erik broke down. He buried his head in his hands, and let the sobs come. Christine embraced him, and stroked his sweaty hair. "Erik, let it out. Let it out! I am here now. You are home now! You are safe, and you are with me…"

Erik finally stopped; the sobs ceased. Christine reached and placed his head against her breast. He calmed noticeably as he felt Christine's heartbeat. He pulled her close to him, feeling the warmth of her body try to warm the cold darkness threatening to take him; but he could feel the cold overcoming the warmth.

"Christine…when you took off my mask for the first time…I was so afraid that you would scream as my mother had…but you didn't. I don't have to hear your screams mingled with my mother's…but I see your eyes. I see your eyes full of hate and fear…loathing. I see them every night as I close my own. I…"

Erik's body started to shake, and Christine held him tightly. "I can't believe that you're here, Christine. I can't believe, that after everything, you came back to me. You gave me a second chance…"

Christine leaned her head down, and kissed Erik on his forehead. "Angel, you gave me the second chance. I don't know what I would do without you in my life. After all that has happened to you, you had no reason to trust me, or anybody for that matter. Thank you…for telling me about your mother."

Erik composed himself, and poured himself another drink. He nursed it longer than he had his pervious shots. He shrugged away from Christine's embrace to lean his back against the bed. He felt exhausted…he had never told anyone details about his past before. His body was without feeling; everything felt cold and icy. Erik just sat a moment, reveling in the silence of the room. A random thought entered his head.

"Christine, when did your mother die?"

Christine shifted her position a bit, and she too leaned against the bed frame. "She died in childbirth…I never knew her. Everyone who knew my mother always spoke so highly of her; I wish I had known her. My father loved her deeply, of course. He had a large portrait of her in his music room, and he always said that he played for her…he told me that she had a beautiful voice, and that I took after her, in looks and personality. Knowing that I looked like my mother, that I sounded like my mother, was always a great comfort to me. I know that it must have caused my father pain, but he never showed it, not once." She paused, and smiled in the flickering darkness. "I used to sleep in my mother's old traveling cloak…when I was younger, it would wrap around me like a blanket, and I pretended that I could smell her perfume."

Christine glanced at Erik, who urged her to continue.

"I remember, when my father first got sick, my mother's brother came to pay his respects. I was but seven, and I was still naïve enough to think that my father would get better. I had never seen my Uncle; he had never sent so much as a letter to me. Somehow, he and my father kept in touch, and he came. Madam Giry told me later that my father was thinking of sending me to live with my Uncle; he would be my only living relative after my father passed on." Christine bit her lip. Erik looked at her intently.

"What happened, Christine? Why did you not go with your Uncle?"

"I was alone in my bedroom when I laid eyes on my Uncle for the first time. He took one long look at me. He came forward, and touched my hair. He said that I looked just like my mother; that I was the spitting image of her. I didn't like him touching me; something was wrong. He suddenly struck me across the face. I went flying away from him. My Uncle was hissing at me, telling me that I had killed his sister, that I was the reason she was dead. He told me that I…didn't deserve to live. I was crying, and praying he wouldn't hit me again…and he just left. He left our home, and I, or my father, never heard from him again."

Christine sighed deeply. "I have never told anyone that, Erik. I have lived with that on my soul since the day it happened. I have always felt like a murderer; that I had killed my mother just so I could live. When my father died, and I was alone for the first time…I craved the death that you so diligently sought…"

Erik grabbed her shoulders, forcing Christine to look into his eyes. "You know that you are not responsible, right? You cannot accept the blame for the death of your mother…it was beyond your control!"

Christine smiled ruefully. "Similarly to how you had no control over being born with a deformity? I think that I understand you better than you think, Erik"

Erik looked at Christine sadly, and in understanding. "We all have demons of the past, don't we? I was foolish to think that I was the only one with a horrible past…"

"We shouldn't try and compare which of our pasts is worse, my dear. It would be too depressing…and after all, after I came to the Opera House, I found you, my Angel…do you feel better, talking about your past? I truly feel as though a weight has lifted from me…"

"I don't know, Christine…I feel numb. But I will keep going; I will tell you all."

Erik straightened, and reached for the brandy again. This time, Christine beat him to it. She took a drink straight from the bottle, and offered it to him. Erik just looked at her. She was so beautiful…and his match in everyway.

Erik shook his head, clearing his mind. He had rarely opened this part of his memory before, but now he felt ready…

"Now…the gypsies…" Erik started, with clear and utterly loathing in his voice.

For the record, Christine only had two drinks-the shot and the drink from the bottle. She does not get drunk in any way. Erik, on the other hand...