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Chapter 3 - Musing and Masseuse

When Christine finally arrived last night after rehearsals with the assistance of Madam Giry, Erik had insisted that she went to bed and get a good night's rest. The next morning he promised her they would speak. That sounded like an excellent idea for two reasons. The first being she still did not know how to express her thoughts or feelings to him yet. Christine was not ready to confront him when even she did not know how she felt yet. And secondly, since the night before held hardly any sleep do to dreams filled with her angel. Some good, of their singing together. Others nightmares, full of his past and what he went through. He was just a child! Tears of empathy consumed her and that was the condition she was in when she finally fell asleep. Raoul, and the distant memory of his saving her scarf from the cold grasp of the unfeeling ocean, also came to her in the night. She had finally had a chance to speak with him two nights ago. He had seemed so sincere, full of interest in her. Like nothing had changed the years they had been apart. A lot had changed. She had changed or rather grew up.

When Madam Giry spoke to her of Erik and all his past. The subject of Raoul also came up. She reminded Christine of the Vicomte's sudden interest of her after the gala. She was there and had seen Raoul walk past Christine during the rehearsal. Madam Giry had not hesitated to remind Christine of this as well. Yet, on the day of her arrival to the opera house, Erik had come to her, a lowly orphan. There was much to seriously consider.

No longer was she such a child as before. Her times spent with Raoul were of young love. A boy and a girl. Now she was not a girl, but a woman. Erik, reclining on the chair in front of her, had always treated her with love and respect. Especially during the difficult years of the loss of her father. Never absent when she needed him or called for him. He even helped to mold her voice to what it was today, and for this she would be forever indebted. True, he did misrepresent who he was, but didn't he now show her who he really was, taking an enormous risk of even loosing his life in revealing this knowledge to her? She could have gone to the authorities and told them where to find this infamous Phantom of the Opera, but she never would. How could she?

Perhaps Raoul had grown too, no longer a boy. She hoped he did. Christine did not want a boy for a husband. However as a Vicomte he had other people to keep him company. To be there for him at his every beck and call. Erik did not, only Madam Giry. Now her. Raoul wanted her, but Erik needed her. Contemplating Erik sitting ahead of her, and really looking at him, not just the outside but inside as well. He had seen and been through a lot, never really even having a proper childhood. These experiences did not crush him as they would most people, if anything they made him a stronger person. He was without question not a boy. No. Erik was Man.

"Christine? Did you hear what I just asked you?" He said breaking her from line of reasoning.

"Me pardonner mon Erik, come again?" She said, embarrassed that not a single word of his fell upon her ears. Instead her musings taking over her senses. Ever so slightly her cheeks were tinged with pink.

"I said, what do you plan to do with that lotion I bought for you? I believe, mon cher, that it is more than warmed enough by now, don't you agree?" Teasingly his eyes smiled and betrayed his calm visage. She knew that he was aware of just what her planes were. Well, he was a genius after all.

Chiding him with a smile she retorted, "Oh, I do, monsieur, believe you know perfectly well just what it is I plan to do! I am about to give you the best hand massage you have ever had in your life, to relax you and take your mind off your music a bit. You know, sometimes a little break can do wonders."

"Well then, I am looking quite foreword to this. I'm sure it will be the best massage considering I've never had one before." She could see by the dispirit look that he wore on his face due to the poor choice of words she had used. Of course he had never had a massage. This was the man that instead of massages received beatings. A glossy layer of dampness began to cover her eyes. Now was not the time to cry. She had an apology to make, even though she was still not quite sure how to come about and say it.

Blinking back her tears before he could see them, she made an effort to lighten the mood and clear the silence. "Well then, It's better late than never." The corner of her mouth moved slightly and so did his.

After the moment of lull had passed he said, "Tell me Christine, how exactly did you become an expert at massage?"

"To put it simply, when I would travel with my father form one violin and singing job to another, his hands would hurt. Especially after some of the longer performances, like festivals. So, one night when we were done, I noticed him rubbing his hands in unique rhythmic motions that he repeated on each finger and asked him what it was he was doing. I was very young at the time and had never seen anyone do this. So, he told me and I asked him to show me. So he did. It has come in handy. After ballet rehearsals my muscles ached and since I knew the proper way to massage my calves and feet I would. Some of the other ballet girls heard of my technique, and for a frank or two I would help them out as well. You know," she said with a thoughtful pause, "if I don't make it as a singer, I could always be a masseuse!"

A deep melodic sound emitted from the back of his throat, his body shaking ever so slightly. She realized he was laughing! Even his laugh was a breathtakingly beautiful song.

She stared at him. That was all she could do. Never had he ever been this happy before, it was undeniable from the look in his eyes. In them she could see devotion and love in those beautiful green eyes. They had the spectrum from the lightest shad of jade green to a deep fiery emerald, and within the short amount of time she was with him, she had experienced them all. How she could spend the rest of her life like this, gazing into those eyes. The rest of her life? Where did that come from?

Erik cleared his throat, "I suppose you could, but in order to decipher that, mon innocent, I'd have to experience it first."

"Hmm? Oh, Right." For a split second when he first spoke, she thought he had could hear her thoughts aloud. Relax Christine. Sheepishly reaching for his right hand she hesitated for a moment. Maybe she shouldn't do this. Massaging a man's hands seemed rather personal, especially since they finally meet in person only forty-eight hours ago. Christine reasoned with herself that she had held his hand all the way down to his home. While he sang to her hadn't she caressed his face, and the next morning as well. That was much more close than a silly hand massage. Deciding to just move on with it before she lost her nerve again, she reached out closing the final gap of distance between them and grasped his hand in hers.

A/N "Me pardonner mon Erik" or Forgive me my Erik.