Forget Me Not: Chapter 5
Authors Note: Thank you to all my loved reviewers, you lahve me! Especially to Tasha and Emily, but I love you all! I'll try to make this chapter a little longer than the rest, I had such a craving to write today! I don't own POTO, although, I'm hoping if I tied up Andrew Lloyd Weber he would give them to me….moo-ha ha ha ha! -cough- Right. Oh, and by the way, AJNemo, yes, this will be EC. I couldn't write a POTO fic without it being an EC…seriously, Erik would kill me.
PS: Everybody feels sorry for Erik, right? Well, in this chapter, you'll probably feel worse for Christine. Actually, in this chapter, I'm sorry to say, Erik is kind of a jerk…but who can blame him, really?
Erik felt glorious. This woman, she was holding him, of her own free will! She was staying with him, of her own free will! And yet, he fought a battle in his mind. He tried to think clearly, but his own sinful thoughts got in the way. He wanted more than anything to kiss this woman, to make her his, yet deep in his mind….
If he lay a hand on this woman, he would hate himself more than he did already.
And yet, she held him! He looked into her eyes, and he could almost feel the happiness that illuminated them! But why? Why was she so happy? No woman would smile so in the warmth of a stranger's arms...they had only known each other for a few days. And she had seen his face…his devil's face. He felt tears fall down his face, and did nothing to stop them.
Christine saw. Her perfect lips curled down into a frown. She brought her fingers up to his face, brushing away his tears.
"Angel, why do you cry?" she asked timidly. Erik was silent. Once again, she called him her angel…but why? She believed him this angel, yet all his life had been crime! Why was he her angel? Why was she so blind to the fact that he was a murderer!
"Do not call me that, you silly girl!" Erik snarled, pushing her back. She stared at him, ignoring the searing pain in her back from the odd wine barrel. "I am no angel, and you would be wise not to pity me as you so clearly do!"
Christine felt hot tears fall down her cheeks.
"Erik!" she cried, her voice shaking. She took deep breath., trying not to sob in his presence. "I do not pity you! The reason I stay with you, the reason I hold you and care about you, it is because I love you!" Christine spat out her words. Erik gazed upon her, unsure and untrusting.
"I love you…" she repeated, softer. Erik's gentle features turned cold. He grabbed a barrel and began to lug it up the stairs.
"So you say nothing?" she cried out as they made their way up the stairwell. "Erik, I adore you and you say nothing?"
He turned around and faced her. He had tears falling down his cheeks, and his breathing was heavy. He was caught in a fit of dry heaves. Christine did nothing.
"You say nothing?" she asked again. They were at the top of the stairs, and the light peering into the pitch black made her eyes squint. With his free hand, Erik ripped off his mask. Dropping it to the ground, he grabbed her wrist. He began to run it along his face, allowing her to feel every bump, every vein.
"You dare love this? You really love this?" he screamed, holding back hysterics. Christine tried to stay calm, but seeing him cry like this…
"I do." Christine said simply, fearing her words would be engulfed by sobs. Erik growled and dropped her hand. It fell limply to her side.
"No one could ever love the devil's child! No one could look upon the devil's face and not cry out in terror, nonetheless touch it as you have insisted on doing so many times!" he coughed violently, his grip on the barrel weakening dangerously. She held onto it. His grip tightened.
"Don't pretend to love me. You are a married woman, and I am a beast. I do not need your pity and I do not need more misery. Do not lie to me again!" and with one last sneer, he stumbled up the remaining steps, only to find himself face-to-face with Madame Giry.
Oh, God…Christine thought, her mind racing. Did she hear? Does she know? She turned her attention to Erik. His chest heaved and sweat poured down his forehead. This wouldn't cease his pride though…
"Madeline." He nodded. He walked past her, holding his chest. He placed down the barrel and surrendered to the dry heaves that taunted him. Madeline glanced at him, a worried expression in her eyes. Erik held up his hand, signaling he was alright. She nodded and waited silently. He soon straightened up and composed himself.
"Erik, if it would not be too much trouble, I was hoping to have a few words with Christine?" Madame Giry asked.
"Be my guest." Erik sneered. Giving Christine one last, cold look, he turned his back and sat at his organ.
"Come with me, child. Erik cannot hear this." Madame Giry said, taking her hand and leading her to the gondola. Christine glanced at the man at the organ.
"I'll be back soon, Erik…" she said. She was going to tell him she loved him, but immediately thought better of it.
"Take your time." Was Erik's only response. He wouldn't turn around to see Christine's disappointed face.
They sat together in the carriage, the old woman cradling her adoptive daughter as she did when she was young. Christine held her face in her hands, making inaudible moans as she sobbed. Madame Giry, rubbed her back as they made their way up the cobblestone steps to the Giry residence. Meg jumped up from her chair at once at the sight of her best friend.
They listened in silence as Christine sobbed out the story. Her tears dropped into her untouched tea.
"Oh, I…I have never loved like this…but now it's too late!"
Meg's already big eyes grew larger.
"Love?" she whispered, Christine nodded her head sadly. But she was married! And to the Victome Raoul de Chagny, a man of such status!
"What about Raoul? Don't you love him?" Meg inquired, receiving a sharp look from her mother.
"No…" Christine tried to dry her tears with the handkerchief Madame Giry had supplied for her. "We have drifted apart…" she blew her nose, crying the last of her tears. She'd cried many times in only a few days, and she refused to cry any more. Madame Giry gave her another cup of tea, but knew it would be ignored like the last one.
"Madame Giry, " Christine said finally. "You said that you wished to talk to me…"
Erik fell to his knees. He'd never coughed like this before. Though he'd never admit a weakness to Christine, he was starving from his lack of food He hadn't eaten in days. Unsteadily, he poured himself a glass of wine. He drank it slowly, preparing himself for the vomit. He began to regurgitate. He had only just finished when he was thrown back by a fit of violent coughs. He covered his mouth with his hands. He felt as if he was going to die…
"Oh God…" he whispered, his heart beating rapidly. Where was she?
"My dear, your devotion to Erik is wonderful, " Madame Giry began, sipping her tea. She let out a long sigh. "But if you leave him again, I fear it will kill him this time."
"At the moment I don't believe he cares whether I stay or go. In fact, I'll bet he would prefer if I left him be," Christine said sadly. "But I never would."
"So you will never return to the surface? Never return to your husband? Your friends? Say what you will, but Erik is a passionate man. Just having you with him is giving him all the happiness in the world." Christine smiled a little. Madame Giry sighed and looked at the clock. Quarter past three. She'd been gone for an hour.
"He will remember you, Christine. I know he will. I can see it in his eyes, he's already getting parts of his memory, but…" she paused again, her eyes closed.
"But…?" Christine pressed. Madame Giry sighed.
"He was angry, Christine. I've never seen him so angry…he swore to himself he didn't love you…"
"That can't be true!" Christine cried out, getting to her feet. Meg flinched, staring up into her best friends angry eyes. " He has to love me…otherwise, why did he care?"
Erik made his way to his bed. He needed sleep. If he slept, he couldn't feel the pain…
"Of course he loves you, my dear. But he is so angry with you, Christine… I just don't know if he could accept the fact that you've returned. And even if he does, you couldn't stay down there forever…what about your husband?" Madame Giry eyed Christine, who was staring at her tea and playing with one of her curls. Meg took her hand and pulled her down. She didn't fuss.
"If you leave him again, it will kill him."
The words rang in Christine's head, tempting her to cry once more. The memory of her dream, of her dead angel… it couldn't happen. She wouldn't let it happen!
It was a dream
Yes, it was a dream, it was of course a dream! For the territory Erik found himself in was not only unfamiliar, but unrealistic. Never before had he been on a stage, never before looked out to see hundreds-no, thousands of people who all had their eyes on them. And yet, when he turned to his left, there was only one person. A woman. She sat with a basket, fingering the contents-blood red roses. But the woman, she wore a mask, a full faced, black mask. His eyes widened as he noticed his own face was naked, no whie porcelain shielding the eyes of the people from his grotesque curse… His hand shot to his face. It was smooth…there was no mask, and no deformity! For the first time, he felt joy, true, spotless joy! Looking around, he suddenly recognized the set- Don Juan Triumphant! It was just as he'd imagined it! Then this woman, no doubt, must be Aminta! And he, Don Juan! He smirked a little. He knew just what to do.
You have come here
In pursuit of your deepest urge
In pursuit of that wish which till now
Has been silent
Silent
I have brought you
That our passions may fuse and merge
In your mind you've already succumb to me
Dropped all defenses
Completely succumb to me
Now you are here with me
No second thoughts
You've decided
Decided
He watched as the woman turned her head in his direction. Hey eyes were wide behind the slits of the mask, her mouth open wide. She began to stand, slowly, never taking her eyes off him.
Past the point of no return!
No backward glances!
Or games of make-believe are at an end!
Past all thought of 'if' or 'when'
No use resisting!
Abandon thought and let the dream descend!
What raging fire shall flood the soul?
He lunged toward her, taking her neck in his grasp. She gasped, eyes now closed, standing in front of him. He smirked as he sang into her chocolate brown curls.
What rich desire unlocks it's door?
What sweet seduction lies before us?
Past the point of no return
The final threshold!
What warm unspoken secrets will we learn?
Beyond the point of no return
The woman stared out into the audience, but Erik didn't take his eyes off her for a second. What could be so wonderful in the audience? A man was pouring his heart out for her, and better yet-a normal man! No mask, no scars, no disfigured features! He looked out, his normal eyes squinting in the bright lights. And there, in one of the boxes. A man. Quite a foppish looking man, at that. And yet, he seemed quite distressed at the whole situation…
You have brought me
To that moment when words run dry
To that moment when speech disappears into silence
Silence
He was jolted back to reality as Aminta began to sing. Her voice was that of an angels! He was in disbelief. The woman sang his words so passionately, and yet, the voice was so familiar to him…
I have come here
Hardly knowing the reason why
In my mind I've already imagined
Our bodies entwining
Defenseless and silent
Now I am here with you
No second thoughts
I've decided
Decided
The two of them began to climb the spiraling staircases. His heart speed up, his mind raced, his eyes watered. The voice, it was…Christine's!
But he had not once heard Christine de Chagny sing. Why he thought of her, he had no idea. It must have been a…momentary weakness…
Past the point of no return!
No going pack now!
Our passion play has now at last begun!
Past all thought of right or wrong!
One final question
How long should we two wait before we're one?
When will the blood begin to race?
The sleeping bud burst into bloom?
When will the flames at last consume us?
After what had felt like an eternity, they reached the bridge that connected the two staircases. He whipped off his cape, walking slowly and dramatically towards her. This woman wasn't an actress playing Aminta, oh no-this woman was Aminta! In every way, this woman was his character. And this was just how he had imagined Don Juan Triumphant-perfect! He had often cast himself as Don Juan. He had been the inspiration, after all…he had no more time to think of his own sorrows. The two of them, Don Juan and Aminta, began to sing together as the song reached it's dramatic climax.
Past the point of no return!
The final threshold!
The bridge is crossed
So stand and watch it burn!
We've past the point of no return!
The song was over…and yet, it felt incomplete. His hands had traveled up her body and ended on her neck, just as he'd imagined. Why did it feel so empty? He had to make this work. He began to sing to her, the words forming in his head as if they were a distant memory, not his own creation…
Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime
Lead me, save me from my solitude
Share each day with me, each night, each morning
Anywhere you go, let me go to!
Christine, that's all I ask of-
Christine? Why did he say Christine? This was Aminta, not Christine. Why did he say Christine?
Aminta stared at him. Her mask was gone, and he now saw her face.
It was Christine.
But that made no sense! How could it be Christine?
No time to think of that. The audience was reacting to his masterpiece…but not with the thunderous applause he had dreamt of. No, no, far from it.
They screamed.
"He's a monster!"
"It's the Phantom of the Opera!"
"Kill him!"
He felt his face.
Oh God…
All his pride, his joy, melted away as he felt his hand over the all too familiar bumps and veins. He had to leave. He had to escape, and quickly. He looked out, only to see that foppish man calling out Christine's name…
Erik awoke in a cold sweat. Breathing hard, he tried to calm himself before he surrendered to another coughing fit.
It was all a dream…It's over now, and it's all a dream…
He carefully got out of bed. Christine hadn't returned. Sitting at the organ bench, he began to write the words he had sung, striking the chords gently. New lines coming to him effortlessly, endlessly.
Say you love me every waking moment
Turn my head with talk of summertime…
She began to gather up the food Madame Giry had given her.
"Remember what I told you, child," she told Christine, embracing her. "And come visit us whenever you want to. I'll be stopping in from time to time. It think it's only a case of the flu, but I would keep your eye on it, it could be deadly…" Christine shuddered. Never would she forget her dead angel, his body cold as ice, his voice, cruel and mocking… it had been nothing but a dream, and yet it chilled her like a harsh reality.
"But it most likely is not. I would fear more for his heart. It can't take much more pain, Christine. He loves you, would die for you, but I fear he may die if you can't stay with him…" Christine didn't want to hear any more about Erik…dead. She couldn't. With a final hug from Meg, she was on her way, hoping Erik was alright. She'd only been gone for an hour and a half, he should be okay…
He was at his bench. He immediately looked out as she stepped off the boat. She smiled at him, but he turned away.
"Have you been well?" she asked timidly, tripping on her skirt as she made her way towards him.
"Fine." He said quietly, not wanting to look at Aminta. Christine!
"You're hungry." It wasn't so much a question as it was a statement. She held the chicken and bread under his nose. He stared at it ravenously, but politely declined.
Fool! He thought to himself, ignoring his watering mouth. You'll likely starve! The woman has offered you food, now take it!
"Yes, you are. Now eat." She said. She put the food on the table and pointed at it. He sighed, pretending to be reluctant.
She's quite the bossy thing, is she not?
He felt an odd combination of pain and pleasure. The food was delicious, but he could feel his stomach churn. He began to cough violently, but he didn't vomit!
"You're keeping it down! You're getting better already. Madame Giry said it was only the flu, after all…"
Erik didn't hear the words, he only heard the voice. Yes, she was Aminta. But how was that possible? He had created the character of Aminta long before he had met Christine…suddenly, an idea popped into his head.
"Christine, do you sing?" he asked her. He began to make his way back to the organ.
"Oh, yes," Christine flushed. "But not for so long…my husband didn't like me singing." Her face fell, her eyes looking out. Should she tell him more?
Erik's felt a stab of pain in his heart.
Husband…
"Will you sing for me now?" he asked, realizing it might be a sensitive topic. He sat at the organ and placed his fingers on the keys. Christine's face brightened.
"I would love to…maestro."
Well, I wanted to make this longer, and I did, the grand total of words coming to: (dun dun dun DAH!) 3, 284! And eight pages. That's like, a triple chapter! Ooh. Me needs a long break. But I won't take one because I'm nice. More coming soon! (hopefully before Tuesday, I'm leaving for Ottawa on Wednesday and not coming back till Friday. Au revoir! (I'm sorry if I offended anyone with my horrendous spelling of that word)
PS: If I screwed up the lyrics to any of the songs, I'm really sorry!