It was clear that she had used up all her strength.
She had entered his apartment with the initial idea of having a talk with him and maybe… make everything go back to the way it was before through the open exposition of their real feelings for each other, without quarreling for once.
But there was nothing to do. The slightest hope she had brought with her when she decided to cross his threshold faded away with a simple gesture. She saw so much love, so much devotion and tenderness... Things she had never felt when she had been in his company. She would have done everything in her power to be at the receiving end of the adoring look he had given to the woman that was embracing his arm so affectionately and who had lent her head upon his shoulder.
Christine was perfect, too perfect. So much that her perfection made her perfectly hateful.
She looked across the room into her mirror, which returned the reflection of a tired woman, on the edge of collapse, desperate for getting back what she thought was hers.
Hers? For God's sake, he had never been hers. From the very beginning, he had always, always, belonged to Her. Still when she disappeared and when they were getting to know each other.
She had been a fool for thinking that he was beginning to really love her...
It seemed that Erik, or the Phantom of the Opera, had eyes and heart for one person alone.
In two long strides she was in front of the mirror. Her hair was dishevelled that day, messier because of the blowing wind and a whole day of traipsing around the city.
Her eyes turned to her bedside table, where she had left a pair of scissors she rarely used when she had to mend some clothes or something like it. She held it in her hand, determined.
'I won't give away anymore of my life for you and I swear that from now on I'll abide by that!'
She had made a promise to herself and she would keep it.
The scissors made the first cut to her long hair.
No more pain for you…
And another cut made the soft tresses fall lifelessly on the floor.
No more despair for you…
A knot had formed in her throat as she tried to keep her tears at bay. Cut.
No more crying for you…
She lowered her head for a moment, trying to assimilate the words she had told to herself and wandering whether she would really manage to keep the promise.
A familiar voice reached her ear, accompanied by the sound of the door closing.
'Have you get tired of trying to look like her at last, Angeline?', his tone was rough, ironic and furious.
She faced him. He wanted roughness, he wanted fury. Well, he would have it even if that meant shaterring her soul.
'To my knowledge, I've never given you any kind of permission to break into my apartment whenever you please...'.
A mocking laugh escaped him when he heard her remark. 'I've never needed it. What's more, in more than one occasion I've been very welcome'. He pronounced the last word as if it were an obviously insolent insinuation.
That made her fury burn. He even had the cheek to mention one of their encounters...
She came closer and slapped his left cheek without second thoughts. 'How dare you! I was trying to believe there could be still some respect for me in you', she laughed in his face, practically spitting out every single word. 'For a moment I even thought that you had the most beautiful and precious soul in the whole world', she watched him with real hatred. 'But you've finally got me to despise you so much that all positive thought I might have ever had about you has disappeared'-She was calmer yet the ice-cold sound of her voice remained. 'You have no soul, no heart for anyone except for the person who is the focus of your obsession', she turned away briskly. 'Get out right now, I don't want to see you and this is not your damned Opera Theatre!'.
He stood unresponsive for a second. His Opera Theatre? Again, she had found out more than she should… Between that and her little violent outburst against him...
He would not admit it but those words had touched a fibre in him.
She had turned her back on him, as she waited for him to abandon her house. However, he made her turn around carelessly.
'Well, well…', his voice was low but so terribly threatening that sent shivers down her spine. 'I see you've discovered the murderer, the cold-blooded monster and the obsessive and unfeeling Opera Ghost, haven't you? You are right, dearest, this is not my Opera Theatre but I thought we were on intimate terms with each other'. He forced her to look into his eyes. 'Besides…Look who's talking about compulsive obsession! A person who curls her hair with the only aim of attracting my attention!', he smiled half-heartedly. 'You don't know anything about love if you see it as a simple physical change!'.
She could not bear it anymore. He was right. He only spoke the truth. Tears collapsed in the corner of her eyes.
'I must not know anything after being beside you for so long!', she shouted at him. 'After being beside you in your weakest moment, without running away in fear when I saw your face unmasked! After…', she finished the sentence with a tinge of resignation. 'After giving everything I had in every one of your kisses and caresses without getting anything in return and yet believing that you might love me!', her voice was despair itself. 'Maybe I don't know love at all, Erik. Maybe you are right'.
He said nothing, just stared at her.
She was right. If something true had come out of that was that she had been devoted to him entirely...but it was too late for him to take his harsh words back.
As he did not speak, she returned to her speech before she was interrupted.
'The Angeline you once knew and even kissed and caressed', she paused. 'She will never be the same again. I hate you!', she was crying uncontrollably. 'You mean absolutely nothing to me now…'.
She had never spoken aloud something so contradictory to what her heart really felt.
His rage had become something else all of a sudden. For some strange reason, he couldn't bear seeing her so broken. He felt that if he did not put a stop at that she would end up doing something she would regret.
'Angie, listen to me…' he tried to get hold of her hand, which was still clutching the scissors but she recoiled too quick.
'Don't you ever touch me. Your pity and compassion...I don't want them', her reddened eyes locked with his. 'Go away, now!', she hit his chest with a trembling fist. 'For God's sake, don't make this any harder...'.
She burst out crying again, unconsciously resting her forehead on his chest.
Erik embraced her and stroke her hair until she calmed down. Then, he carefully removed the scissors from her hand.
They stood like that for an eternity until her sobbing subsided.
He was a couple of steps away from the residence. Everything seemed to be going in the right direction, or at least that was the impression he'd got, even though he felt uneasy at the girl's reaction to his story.
Did she know something else about him than what she had hinted? No, that could not be... He did not recall meeting her until that day.
Or was the coat itself which had made her realise something that escaped him?
It sounded too riddiculous to not take it into account. He was perfectly aware that, as the the coat had belonged to him for all his life, the explanation of his step-parents about its procedence suggested that the coat had been the only gift given to him by his real father before he had been given to that family in adoption.
Still, a new idea, different and upsetting, stung in his mind.
What did she have to do with him or his family?
A groan of frustration escaped his throat. Whatever it was that she had guessed, he wouldn't let that suspicions interfere in their happy little chats. He needed them, now more than ever, for he was waiting for an answer to his proposal.
'Well, well, well, Monsieur Édmond...', he recognized Jacques' voice in the middle of the street. 'We were precisely wondering where you were'.
His look met the two people he detested the most… Maurice and his partner.
He kept his composture. 'Gentlemen... I suppose you wanted something from me'.
Maurice half-smiled. 'And when have we ever get together for anything else? And now, if you don't mind, we'd love if you didn't beat the bush for once. You must have interesting news to tell us...'
He frowned. He knew what they were refering to but he prefered to keep his silence for the moment. 'News? I'm afraid you are wrong. I told you that, as soon as I...'.
Jacques went straight to the point. 'So, why were you going to the residence, then?', he smiled. 'We don't miss a single one of your movements. We know you are hidding something that is obviously of great interest to us. Information that's not of the kind one would share with some ladies in a tea party, I'd say'.
His eyes widened slightly in surprise, though he managed to disguise it under a mask of coldness. 'The private conversations I might have or not with whoever I want, I think, are none of your business'.
Jacques rushed at him and seized the lapels of his coat with rage.
'I believe you've forgotten that you work FOR us, do you remember?', anger flooded his cold grey glare. 'So I'm afraid I must remind you that it is really of our concern'.
They looked at each other for a few seconds, both trying to supress their own rage, until Édmond pulled away sharply.
'I'll contact you as soon as I find out anything valuable. Until then, I think it's not necessary for us to meet again'.
Harshness was evident in his tone. He did not let them reply but left the place at a quick pace.
She did not know how long she had been hugging him and how many tears she had shed but she did know that she couldn't have prevented it. The need of being close to him had become overwhelming for her and ;on one side she blamed herself for that.
But on the other side…
That had been like a balm on her fresh wounds, like pouring alcohol to dry them. She sighed again, sinking her head on the pillow.
At least, there was the fact of knowing he still cared for her well-being and that he had remained next to her in her lowest moment…
Deep down she felt that it had only been his way of returning an old favour but, even if that was the case, that made her smile and give into sleep.