A/N: I was a little nervous about posting this second chapter because it introduces a new character and life out of Paris, which is why it took me so long to update. However, I hope you'll like it, and loads of thanks to those who reviewed.
allegratree: Thank you sooooo much for being the first to review, and for the compliments. I was really worried about that first chapter and I'm glad to find that they didn't turn out too bad. Poetic? Wow... I've never gotten that before. :)
bassgoddess: You liked my writing style? I didn't even know I had one... haha. Thank you!
Chapter Two.
Christine lowered her book, leaning back in the chair as she watched the thin lace curtains flutter back and forth in a graceful dance of waves and whirls. The wind blew softly, a welcome change from the hectic life of London City as she toyed with an edge of the delicate material, gazing out the window of her flat. She'd lost track of the number of nights she spent awake in bed, unable to stem the flow of thoughts coursing through her head. It kept her awake, night after night of worry, fear, and insecurity.
It was just so difficult to picture Raoul and her living like this for the rest of their lives. Everything was so different, so... new, although it had been already a year since they moved in. But she took comfort in knowing that at this point, nothing was final yet... at least not until their wedding day was over. Then there would be no more doubting, for the rest of her life would have been drawn out in perfection, right to the very detail, just like a large painting on a canvas. The exact mixture of shades, tones and textures all planned out for her, and the story of her past would be like the brown, rough surface underneath the brilliant splashes of colours... concealed completely, hidden from view...
A loud rap on the front door brought her out of her daydream. Hurriedly closing the window, she stared around helplessly at the books and writing materials strewn haphazardly all around the room for a moment before padding across the carpet to let the visitor in.
"Elise!" Christine greeted her friend with mild surprise, opening the door wide to let her in. "What brings you here?"
The girl shrugged, surveying the cluttered state of the tiny flat disapprovingly. "Father's let me off work at the inn early today," She dug deep into one of her coat pockets, "I was hoping you'd like to watch tonight's show," in her hand she held two crumpled theatre tickets.
"Elise, you really didn't have to..."
"I meant, if you were free this evening, of course," the girl added hastily, noticing the look on her friend's face.
"Oh no, it's just... I wasn't expecting any company tonight, but... I suppose I could," Christine smiled, reaching down to tidy the pile of books on her table. When she looked up, she couldn't suppress a small laugh at Elise's brightening countenance. "When does the show start?"
"In two hours, but we'd better hurry if we don't want to get caught in the crowd."
Christine hesitated for a minute, her eye on a pile of papers. Tearing her eyes away, she sighed. "Alright then." Reaching for her purse, she turned to Elise. "How much do I owe you?"
"They're free," The girl replied simply. "A friend of father's gave them to me. He wanted to take his wife, but she fell ill this afternoon, and of course he wouldn't want to go alone." She grabbed Christine's arm, "We should get moving befo-"
"Wait," Christine gently twisted her arm free. Just let me get my cloak." She disappeared into her room, and upon reemerging, found Elise already down by the street, hailing a carriage.
The smooth flow of music was put to an abrupt end as Erik lashed out at the messy sheets before him, ripping them to pieces. He watched silently as the scraps floated gently to the ground, resting softly amongst the thousand others that littered the floor. He set his jaw, resisting the swelling urge to slam his fist onto the keyboard as he reached out and placed yet another stack of manuscript sheets on the stand before him... another work in progress. The hundreds of tiny black notes dancing across rows and rows of staves disgusted him. Lilting notes and booming bass chords seemed to him incoherent noise in his head, smothering and clouding his thoughts.
When would it all end? Day after day as he sat in the deafening silence for hour upon hour, staring blankly at the maze of black and white swimming before his eyes... and the rare, frenzied seconds when the music flowed freely once more as he hastily dipped his pen in ink, scribbling rushed melodies, laying down another piece of work... another masterpiece perhaps.
Another masterpiece.
But no, they never were.
His music had lost its soul, its heart. It sang, but never bled... never burned...
Not any more.
Strange, ugly melodies would greet his gaze... barely coherent...and he would stare. What else could he do? Stare... hating every part of it. The rising crescendos and falling diminuendos would appear to him clumsy phrases and pointless chord progressions. It was plain. He had lost his muse... his inspiration... his genius.
She had robbed him of all that. Christine Daaé was the cause of his fall. His defeat. She had brought all his dreams to a crashing, painful end.
Erik lifted a trembling hand and slowly, painfully, shut the organ, wishing that he could shut off the memory of her as easily as that. The memory that had brought upon him so many sleepless nights.
Those days of long ago now were still fresh in his mind, so close he could almost taste it and relieve those precious seconds all over again. It was during those moments when she was so near to him that he was certain that the mere aura of her presence was enough to completely sustain him... those fleeting seconds of joy, barely enough... only to be shattered with pangs of guilt for he knew that no matter how much he wanted her, he knew inside that it could never work. He was wasting his time pouring all his hope into something that could never be, although he could never bring himself to deny to obvious fact that all he'd ever wanted... and needed was her, and her alone.
There had been a time when her presence was his drive, his muse... when her voice alone could lift his music from the dark depths whence it came... soaring high above all other melodies ever created... it was his music... the music of heaven glimpsed by men through the song of an angel.
The show was excellent, and as the performers took their bows, Christine applauded with the cheering audience despite not having understood a single word. Emerging from the theatre, Elise talked non-stop all the way to her father's inn, having managed to coax Christine into a late supper.
Now, seated comfortably in a corner of the dining room, the two friends spoke in whispers as servants bustled around in the kitchen, clearing up for the night. The fire was burning low, and all was silent except for the occasional crackling of the flames.
"Christine, you certainly must get out more often," Elise fiddled with a corner of the checked tablecloth. "With the wedding just round the corner, you'll be so busy once its over." Lifting a steaming mug of tea to her lips, she took a sip. "A vicomtesse..." She mused, glancing at Christine. "It all seems quite surreal."
Christine nodded, "I know." She stared into her cup. "It appears we'll be in London for good, now that Raoul's running his family business here."
"And that is a bad thing?"
"Elise... it's just that here, everything is so different. The people, the language... everything." Christine sighed. "And there I was, a year ago, thinking that it would be so easy to just settle in and..."
Elise smiled reassuringly. "I've been there before, Christine. But things will change after the wedding, you know that."
Christine nodded. Although she would never readily admit it, the wedding was all she had managed to think of and worry about lately.
Elise stared at her for a moment before continuing slowly, "One more week before the big day. What about your friends from Paris? Will they be attendi-"
Christine cut her off, "No, no... they won't be here." She made to continue but was suddenly at a loss for words. How was she to explain the situation and at the same time avoid the flood of questions that she felt certain were coming? She fell silent, sensing Elise's gaze upon her, waiting. Slowly, she continued. "Elise, what I meant was... there are some people whom Raoul and I would rather avoid meeting... I mean..." she sighed. "It's just awkward." Christine drew a deep breath, "To tell the truth, none of them really know where we are at the moment."
Elise's eyes grew wide. "You never told me..."
"You never asked."
"But Christine...why?" She demanded.
"There are some things better left buried," Christine replied in a low voice, refusing to meet her friend's gaze. Despite her attempt to keep a blank face, her look and composure betrayed her feelings, and Elise, forced to remain silent, was certain that there was more to it than her friend was letting on.
Christine put out the lamps in her room and sat at the edge of her bed, her head bowed. Her conversation with Elise that night had left her plagued with new troubles and insecurities. The past had to be left behind, yet... her father was a part of it as well. He was gone... but never to her. Perhaps it was the only memory she couldn't bear to loose along with everything else. She would never allow the image of his face to be erased from her mind... she couldn't bear to.
A strange weakness seized her as she sat hunched, her eyes fixed on her floor between her feet, and
all of a sudden, she was filled with a yearning to see him again. But she knew it was madness to even think of it. Madness, just like the crazy thoughts in her mind. A year ago, she would have gone to his grave, amongst the silent tombs where no one would hear her. It had been a place where she could pour fourth her innermost feelings without the fear of being overheard or mocked in return. It had been her sanctuary, her secret hiding place.
If only she could be there again...
Clutching the covers beneath her, Christine fought the urge to snort at the absurdity of it all... all those illogical, crazy ideas in her head. Why, it seemed nearly insane to want to return to Paris... and yet, it was all she could think of in the stifling darkness.
She had made mistakes in the past, mostly out of fear and cowardliness. Some had even cost her more than she would dare to admit, and fear of making another wrong move was what kept her mind fixed upon that thought.
She'd lost so much already...
Christine felt a surge of determination course through her mind. This time would be different. She wouldn't back out. She wouldn't let herself be frightened or act like a child and take the easy way out...
It wasn't worth it.
Getting to her feet, she made her way to her closet and retrieved a travelling case. This time, her mind had been made.
She would return to Paris in the morning.
A/N: That's it for now... thanks a lot for reading and please, please review!