AN - I adore music, my favourite song right now is 'breathe' by anna nalick. So may 7th was my 19th birthday! I decided it was time for an update. um... This story is getting close to being done. It's told in two parts, and the first part is getting to be over. The first time I posted the story I posted it all together, but would you new readers prefer the second half apart of the story, or as a sequel?

Lily - I'll AIM you the next time I'm on, I had to end up downloading it to talk to one of my cousin's anyawys.

Amanda17- Thanks for reviewing, I'm glad you like it

Rikku Ree- Yah, but once you meet the older Danielle and Raoul, you'll understand why Christine had to be with him, even for a little bit. Trust me, I wasnt a huge Raoul fan either.

Bumble0Bee- I awknowledge your reviewing! see? this is me doing so! thanks for that!

Everyone else - feel free to yell at me if you want attention, but instead you should read the story.

Chapter Fifteen: Just Breathe

Good heavens!
Will you show a little courtesy?

"So this is your cabin." Christine said, not exactly sure what she should say to break the never-ending silence. The small cabin certainly wasn't the majestic house underneath the opera that she remembered. Although she knew Erik enough to realize he would never allow himself to live in squalor, he loved fine things too much.

The truth was the small dwellings were small and quaint, exactly what she had always pictured herself living in, instead of the large manor she currently resided in. Taking off the cloak he had wrapped around her shoulders, she turned her face to him. He was standing behind her, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. His face betrayed no emotion, but Christine knew it was all an act. Erik wasn't the only actor in the household now, she too knew how to plaster fake smiles and feign kindness. It was ironic how easy it was to go from the stage to the role of Vicomtess. It was even more ironic to her, that she became more prone to faking emotions and behaviors when she became Raoul's wife.

She knew that Erik was tired, that he was stunned, and felt awkward with her intruding on his domain. She tried to reassure him with a smile, and even though his eyes lit for the tiniest of seconds, the stern set jaw never flinched. After finally putting his cloak back into his hands, she quietly walked over to his divan, sat herself down, and looked around. It wasn't as horrible as she had initially thought upon entering. In fact, with a few feminine touches, this would be exactly like her dream house, a house that she would never live in due to her status as Vicomtess. Tears threatened to fall at the thought that this felt more like home than the one she lived in for more than a year now.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Erik asked her shattering her thoughts of perfection. He was standing in front of her, staring down at her huddled frame. Why had she given him back his cloak when she was still so cold?

"Uh, yes. That would be wonderful." She said smiling up at him meekly. It was when she saw him again that her memory made sense of it all. For the longest time, Christine had thought many things of Erik. He was her teacher, her father figure, her angel, and a murder. He was an obsessive –compulsive perfectionist, one who scared her and awed her at the same time, but she had never thought of Erik, as just a man. A man who was flesh and blood, who had desires just like any other man, and who had never known a woman's touch other than her careless fumbling when he sang to her. He had wanted a woman, not a child, and had made the mistake of thinking she was what he needed. She now was a woman, and she was acutely aware of him standing over her, only a foot away, half naked. His lithe torso shone out from underneath the torn shirt, faint scars lining his belly. She tried to thinking about something else, other than the ache she felt accumulating in her stomach to just reach out and trace those scars. Slowly he walked over to the fireplace and began to prepare the tea, leaving Christine to her thoughts again. She tried to think of what he was wearing when he rescued her from the back of her carriage. He had been just in shirtsleeves, and the cloak, billowing behind him.

"Christine!" He had called to her. "Christine! You must trust me!"

"Christine?" He said waking her from her thoughts.

"Here you are Christine." Erik said placing the cup in front of her.

Quietly, she reached out her undamaged hand and took the cup from in front of her. It tasted completely different and the same all at the same time. Almost choking strong memories flooded her as the tangy mixture of orange, cloves and cinnamon.

"Erik," She asked curiously one day after lessons.

It was a Sunday, the day of rest. For Christine however she did not use it to read fantasy stories or gossip and shop like the other girls. Sunday's carried a strict schedule. In the early morning she went to mass for her father, then proceeded back to the opera house where she'd meet Erik at noon. Together, they'd dine on bread before hours spent dedicated to furthering her voice. After that, they'd have supper and a quiet evening where she either spent the night or was returned to her room quite late.

"It's a samovar Christine. It makes tea." Erik explained hesitantly.

"I've never seen one before." She said, furrowing her brow and looking at him cautiously. It wasn't that she thought him a liar; it was just she hated it when she came off seeming naïve or not knowing what certain things were. It was moments like these that made Christine realize that even if Erik didn't sing like an angel upon the earth, that he was still so very cultured it would make her feel small and insignificant.

"That is because, my child, the French are too obstinate and foolish to enjoy the taste of a much better tea. The samovar is used in the process of brewing Russian tea." He said tracing her jaw with his finger lightly. She shuddered at the touch, how light and soft he could caress her. Quickly he pulled away and his eyes clouded over coldly, anger tightened what she could see in his jaw. She turned away angry with herself. She should have never allowed herself to show such willingness to her teacher at his touch, he must be disgusted with her unlady-like manners.

"You simply must make some, we've never sat down and had afternoon tea together." She said and looked back towards him, hoping to change the look of deep regret on his face. Instead, it only made the obvious creases in his face deepen.

Taking another sip of the liquid, she looked at him as he sat across from her. "I'm sorry about the taste, I don't have a samovar to prepare the drink properly, I just use the pot and hope for the best."

She studied him, noticing those lines that were so faint only a year ago, now etched his face. It had been ages since she had seen him this close, since she had been able to just look at him. It was obvious he was trying not to stare. He was looking at the wall as though it had captured his attention. She remembered a time when he had the ability to make her want to study the same wall, just because he was doing it. It was then she realized, she had done the same thing he had done to her, she had placed him on a pedal stool so high, that he had crushed her by not living up to his standards.

For the love of god Christine! Think of anything else! Think of father, think of the cabin! When she was a child, she lived in a cabin not so different from this for some time; there were no rooms, no solitude. Everything she had done, she had done with her father's constant vigil. It had been a piece of heaven, which she wished she could get back. Perhaps, sometime in the future she could ask Raoul to take her and their daughter back to the shores of Brittany.

"I suppose I should fix your hand, after all it is why you are here." He said shifting in his seat, finally looking back at her with his intense amber eyes. She met the intense gaze and finally understood him like she never had. She finally was the Christine he needed, the woman he had wanted her to be, and she hated herself for it.

"I suppose that would be best. You should change your shirt, you will catch a cold." She said smiling carefully, so not to reveal her revelation, as he got up and moved behind her.

When he was out of sight, Christine bit her lip. She needed to slow her frantic heart. A heat rose to her cheeks that made her feel like a wanton fool.

All those nights at his home on the lake, he was a gentleman. That desire in his eyes, I know what it is now. I never knew because no one has ever desired me the same way. I have seen half of the passion in Raoul's eyes before, but that was long after I had left Erik. Why couldn't things just be so much easier? I thought things were supposed to be happy and delightful. All I feel is torn between the father of my child and an angel descended from heaven. She thought.

She still loved Raoul, but there relationship had begun to diminish in its stability. He didn't trust her to be herself, and she did not trust him period. Things just changed, and she didn't know if they could change back.

"Here, show me your hand," Erik said sitting in front of her. She obediently gave her hand to him, and noticed he had changed. Maybe it had been best for him to do that, she thought blushing as he carefully unwrapped the throbbing mass.

"This is dreadful Christine, your hand will surely scar." He said unhappy looking at the tears and gashes created by the shattered glass.

"It doesn't matter, it's only a hand. Who cares what it looks like?" She said with a hint of venom in her voice, surely many of her 'lady friends' would notice it and comment. Why should she have to explain herself to them? The hand was still functional, and wasn't that what mattered most of all? It wasn't until he stopped moving that she looked up to his eyes, and noticed his sharply stunned look.

( ' ) '
-

We never said
our love
was evergreen,
or as unchanging
as the sea...

She said looks did not matter, what kind of game of the head or heart is she playing? Erik thought. When he looked her in the eye, he saw she had not said it for him, she had said it subconsciously, lost in thought.

When she realized he was looking at her, she broke her trancelike look and blushed furiously, it was if, her heart had been speaking for her and now she comprehended what it had said on her behalf.

"Do you really think that?" He said gently massaging the broken skin into place, so that it would heal flat instead of lumpy, trying his best to make the damage as minute as possible.

"Well, of course, how vain would someone have to be?" She stammered pretending that the topic of conversation was not one of so much importance in their relationship.

He smiled warmly, and kept massaging the hand. Christine searched his eyes looking for something and he quickly dropped his head to study the hand carefully.

( ' ) '
-

Once more to my
welcoming arms,
my love returns
in splendor!

What was she doing? Why was she playing with a fire that would surely burn her! Erik was a killer, he was a maniac, and he surely would of killed Raoul that night if she had not prevented it.

However, something in the back of her mind was fighting that impression that was so ugly. Something kept reminding her that in the last year she had not heard a peep of him and he lived so close, reminded her that if he had wanted to he could of killed in the last year. He could of killed Raoul and made it look like a mere accident, and he had not. In fact, he had watched over her, taken care of her and made sure she was safe without making himself present.

Slowly she placed her hand on top of his after he stopped massaging and had finished bandaging it. She stop him because she had to stop pretending and so did he.

Ever so slightly Erik raised his head and met her eyes, she knew it was hard for him, he was trying to make things as formal and friendly as possible, but she was getting tired of it, they couldn't hide from their past much longer.

"Erik..." She said as he half laughed and shook his head, letting his hair fall over his eyes.

"Erik, why did you stay? Why didn't you just leave me? After all I did, all the hurt I caused?" She said taking her broken and cut up hand to his face.

He closed his eyes as her little hand met his cheek on the side that was unmasked. Subconsciously he pressed his face deeper into the cup of her palm and Christine had to bite her tongue from screaming out in pain.

"I stayed because you are my life, and though you didn't you hold mine in your hands, I will not leave or rest until you are finished here in this world and return to the arms of heaven were you belong. Even if you cannot give me yours, you own my heart and soul. You cannot give them back until you are ready." He said shakily.

She felt a sudden stream of hatred towards him. It was so much easier to blame Erik than blame herself. Crying out in frustration, she rose from the chair.

"Then why Erik!" She cried, "Why did you have to kill Bouquet?" She asked him. Releasing a sob, she turned away from him, her curls flinging too and fro.

Sighing, he rose and took her shoulders; he turned her face towards his own so she could see him in the eye. "I NEVER killed Bouquet. I was going to tell you, but you were too afraid to ask. By the time I realized I should have told you instead of waiting for you to come to me, you were off with your now husband."

"You… promise me, that you do not lie?" She asked him shakily.

"I promise you on my love for you, that I do not lie." He stated, still staring her directly in the eye.

"No… you do not. I can see it in your eyes." She said searching his. She was numb; to think that so many decisions had rested on the thought that he had been responsible of the murder of the old stagehand. "And Piangi?" she asked hesitantly.

"Does it really matter now Christine? What piece of mind does this earn you?" He asked her, with much trepidation.

"Please Erik, my whole life has been surrounded in lies. Lies that were all made to blind me to the truth, to preserve my innocence. What I have caused, without knowing… I just want you to trust me with the truth." She finished. Taking a deep breath, he squeezed her shoulders and turned from her.

"I killed him. I will not lie and say I felt it a great tragedy. But I can only hope you believe when I say that I had not intended my name to be the last thing that escaped his lips." His whole back tensed with the words.

"You killed him to get to me, didn't you Erik?" She asked.

"Yes, and I would do it again. I would kill a thousand men to get to you Christine. Just to hear you whisper my name on your breath. The only reason I don't is that I know it confuses you even more, to care for a man who can murder so easily. You, so kind and gentle, would like to think your moral is black and white, that you do not tolerate evil. It is because you are so kind and gentle that you can. I never meant to compromise who you are, and so, I have tried to… curb my blood lust."

She didn't know what to say, or if she should say anything at this point. How could it really help if she told him the truth that she honestly did love him and he did own her heart and soul, but that she could not give up her duties as a mother and wife?

Or could she? She wasn't sure; she did not know what she wanted or what she should do. What was there to do? What did he want her to do? Would he accept her if she did leave Raoul?

For the first time in a long while, Christine wished someone would just make the decision for her. To just be young and naive like she was so many years ago, for then maybe everything would be all right. She cursed the day she met Erik and he made her realize life could be more than just someone's wife and mother, and yet how important those two jobs could be to one man.

He let her go, proving his love, which made it harder for her not to love him. So many things told her in her head that she was wrong, that he was a murderer that he was insane, that he was a monster not of the flesh, but of the soul, and at the same time an itch, a yearning had been in her ever since she left the tormented man. Something she didn't understand but she knew was love. She did begin to resent Raoul for him coming and getting himself into the position where Erik would kill him. She wondered what her choice would have been then, would she of choose Erik anyways? Maybe she would have, and maybe she might have even stayed if he would of allowed her too. Maybe, but there was one thing she knew for sure, she loved that tormented soul and man. Now all she had to figure out is if she loved him more than Raoul and the lifestyle he could offer her.

Christine loved her daughter with all her heart and still loved Raoul for her own reasons. He was the father of Danielle, her love, and her life. Without Raoul, Danielle might have never been. Therefore, Raoul still held an important part of her, not to mention how much he loved their daughter himself. In fact, if he didn't, it would be so much of an easier decision.

If he didn't love Danielle with every fiber of his being like she, then she would have no problem telling Erik right now that she loved him completely, and they could run away together hand in hand, heart and soul, with Danielle between them. However, she couldn't take away the only thing left for Raoul to love, and have loved him back unconditionally. He spoiled and fawned over the child as though she were a goddess and she knew that once Danielle was old enough she would love him with the same devotion, something Christine could no longer do. So how could she take that away from him? How could she leave the one thing in her life that was stable, her daughter?

"It's dark," She ended up saying, hoping that he would not take her changing of the subject as her not feeling something.

"It is," he said finally dropping the hand he had ended up holding between his own and his face. He then took out his pocket watch and checked the time.

"It is 12:00 am it seems, late indeed. You should go to bed, you must be up early tomorrow so that you are home on time." He said clearing his throat and gesturing her to follow him over to the bed.

Quickly he pulled back the covers and motioned her to slip underneath them.

"Where are you to sleep?" She asked him softly and gazed up into his amber eyes.

"Me? I am to, well the divan will suit me just fine." He replied hastily.

"Why don't you sleep with me?" She said without shame.

He looked at her with confusion, anger and shame at her request, she could see him blush and about to object when she explained.

"I'm not suggesting anything other than for you to sleep with me, please Erik, just sleep with me. For tonight, I'm still a bit afraid and don't want to be left alone." She said, laying a little bit near the end.

"Alright," He managed to choke out and slipped off his shoes before sliding under the covers as well. He lay there rigid for a moment not knowing what to do. Christine waited for him to wrap his arms around her like she had wanted for so long. She had dreamt of this night since she fled those very arms, but the gesture never came.

Sighing she rolled over, grabbed them and placed one around her waist, if they were to do this they might as well do it properly, though she still felt that she was doing nothing wrong.

As long as they did not do anything immoral under God's standards, she felt no regret. This would most likely be there last night together and she wanted to go have him hold her as much as possible, for she realized she couldn't leave Raoul. As long as her daughter was apart of her and Raoul, she would not tear the little family apart.

She had grown up she realized, and unfortunately that meant she knew not to be selfish. She had to be strong and suffer for the sake of Danielle. That was one of her duties as a mother. To make sure that the needs of her daughter are met.

"Oh my angel, what are we to do?" she asked, snuggling against his body which spooned hers.

"I do not know my Christine." He cooed softly in her ear.He felt the brush of her curls against the exposed side of his face.

"Say it once more please." She asked him barely above a whisper.

"Say what?" he asked her curiously.

"Call me, 'your' Christine."

"Only if you call me 'your' Erik," he retorted.

"Alright, my Erik."

"Goodnight, my Christine."

She would leave her angel again, however this time not willingly.