Thanks very much everyone. Those reviews made me happy :) Now on with chapter 3 Enjoy!
'Angel of music, I denied you…turning from true beauty'
He opened his eyes. His head was laid on top of his desk. He had been working furiously so late into the night that sleep had finally taken complete possession of him. His exhausted body couldn't have resisted the brief moment of respite he was given and had unknowingly fallen into slumber.
His tired, bloodshot eyes had woken up weeping uncontrollably. The feeling of dread that usually accompanied his nightmares still lingered in his mind. He had dreamt of his childhood, or lack of it. He had dreamt of the time when he had been nothing but a caged freak in a gypsy fair, a circus attraction, a hideous mistake of nature. He had dreamt…of Christine's voice coming from afar. Anguish seemed to taint the crystal clear timbre he had grown to know so well. Was that crying he heard? Afterwards, Erik had dreamt one more night of the day she had left him… Why? Why was his subsconcious reliving that moment again and again? To torture and mock him even more? He wanted to forget her. Forever. He was fighting so hard to free himself from her memory. And yet, he still woke every day with tears in his eyes…
But that distant lament…it seemed so real… 'No!' he reprimanded himself. He had to maintain his distance from everything related to the woman who had broken his heart. If only to save him the pain he had let the flame of his passions consume and freeze with time and oblivion. Unfeelingness suited his purpose and had allowed him to survive under the shadow of her memory for a long time.
The first days without her had truly been a hell. Remembering Christine and incessantly trying to fathom the real reason why she had taken away his feelings and drowned them in the lake that surrounded his lair with her departure. Soon, he understood he could not afford to wallow in self-pity and longing forever. Erik knew all too well he would go insane if he did… Then he resurfaced and decided occupy his mind with several projects, most of them architectural designs. He loved architecture as much as he had worshipped the arts and music. Those were the only ones that would never betray nor hurt him, because they would always be there for him.
He stood up and, without delay, he prepared for the day. If he stayed locked inside his little refuge, he would not be able to contain the memories that were struggling to flood his head. And…God, anything but facing them again. Anything but her smile, her face, her voice…invading his thoughts. Erik took his cloak and his fedora, tilting it at an angle so that it shielded the masked side of his face, and left.
As he was elegantly descending the staircase, he encountered Maeghan, the woman in charge of that grimy poorhouse he had come to think of as his new home. The good woman, quiet and reserved, would have genuinely willed to offer shelter and help to all the poor, unfortunate souls who wandered the streets of Paris.
She had seen him several times…but he was quite a mysterious man, only showing the left side of his face. There was no doubt of it: her latest resident was the most remarkable one she had ever taken in...
'Bon matin, monsieur', she greeted kindly. 'Another hard day of work ahead, isn't it?'
Erik looked at her, a flicker of affection in his eyes. 'All days are hard, Madame.'
With these words, he saluted with a courteous nod and was gone. Yes, that was very odd. She had never seen someone with such an ability to vanish as if by magic.
Morning sunshine entered shamefully through the window, landing on the young woman's tresses. Peace was interrupted by the soft sound of the door opening. It had only been a few hours since sleep had taken pity and gently claimed her…
'Mademoiselle Daae…' said a voice softly, almost in a whisper. 'It's nearly midday and I thought it wise to wake you up before it was too late.'
Still half-asleep, Christine felt that her lids were heavy and did her best to pull them open. Her brown eyes, which were swollen and puffy, tempted her to keep them closed and fall into an endless, dreamless unconsciousness. Nevertheless, she was glad to find that the overwhelming pain burning in her chest had become less oppressive overnight, leaving only a void of emotion. She sat up in the bed and smiled. 'Yes…yes…all right. Thank you very much, Marie.'
'Oh, take all the time you need,' the woman said, gazing at her intently, concern clearly written in her features. 'Are you feeling all right?'
Suddenly, Christine's hand shot to her face to touch the moisture that was clinging to her pale cheeks. She had not even noticed she had been crying while dreaming.
'Oh, do not worry, I am… I am ok. I had bad dreams, that's all…' she tried to reassure her hostess.
'It must be quite natural after all you must have been through, chèrie…I'll wait for you in the restroom whenever you feel better, Mademoiselle.' Marie retired with a single bow of her head.
Christine got up. At first, she had to make a great effort. She had not been able to sleep well until well after midnight and every time she succumbed to exhaustion, a nightmare woke her up. Nightmares which were only visions of her actual fears.
She found herself at the Opera Populaire, the place where she had always met with him for his music lessons. She called to him, desperately, crying, asking for forgiveness... She actually BEGGED him not to hate her. She told him that she had suffered enormously for his absence. She received no answers to her calls. When she was about to turn her back on hope, she found him. There he was, before her. But, God, how he had changed… His eyes…they were not the same. They were not looking straight into her soul like they used to. She was in front of a completely different person. His cold, blank, emotionless stare fixed on her. Yet, he looked as calm as she remembered.
'Erik…', she tried to smile, refraining herself from throwing herself into his strong arms, imploring forgiveness once more…but his smooth voice distracted her before she could act on impulse.
'What are you doing here, Madame de Chagny?' The sound of those words had hit her like a solid ice cube. 'It is obvious that this is not precisely the place where your husband would wish to see you. And, sincerely, I can not understand what has brought you here…'
She just glared, not wanting to believe her ears. On the other side, she was not so surprised by that behaviour. She deserved it, yes, after what she had done to his poor, lonely heart…
'Please…' Christine whispered, fresh tears flowing freely from her eyes. 'Let me explain it…Raoul…he is…'
She could not finish her sentence. Erik had crushed both her arms with his strong hands and leant forward, until their faces were just inches apart so that she could clearly feel the waves of rage radiating from his towering form.
'I do not mind!' he growled. 'Whatever happened to your precious Viscount de Chagny, however much you have cried for my absence or however much you want to apologize and come back… Apologizing after a year is pretty useless. Tell me, are those apologies worth any merit?' Erik increased the pressure on her arms, willingly bruising and hurting her, making Christine cry harder. He sighed and let go. 'Go away. Go now and never return again searching for me. You beg me not to hate you… well, ma chère, I'm afraid it is a bit too late to make that claim…'
When he finished his statement, her Erik retreated from her. Trembling, she looked at him one last time. He was already showing his back to her, he did not even stand the sight of her anymore. Christine burst into tears once more while she ran away from him. Rejected, rejected by her Angel…
The dream had been extremely vivid and her tears had not subsided yet. She entered the bathroom, drying off her tears with her hands but the crudeness of his words still echoed through her clouded mind.
Meanwhile, life went on in the streets of Paris and in front of one of the most ancient buildings of the cité, a gentleman had just arrived in a carriage. Clad in elegant clothes, warm cloak and a dark fedora covering the right side of his face, the figure walked through the front doors. They were waiting for him and, fortunately, he had been punctual.