A/N: Many heartfelt thanks to all of my lovely reviewers. Your encouragement is greatly appreciated. This chapter is dedicated in memory of my parents' marriage. It ended about six years ago.
Erik rested languidly, curled in Giry's arms. Her head rested on his, and he could feel her breathing against his naked skin. They had made so much love that night, in fact they had fallen asleep only hours ago. With a light finger he traced his hand from her cheekbone down to her breasts. She stirred slightly, and her emerald eyes fluttered open.
"Erik," she murmured. "I love you."
"I love you, Antoinette. I really do." He assured her, kissing her lips.
She adjusted the covers with an air of a woman who has offered her innocence and is ashamed. With a furtive movement she brought the sheets up to her chin.
"Why so ashamed, mon ange?" he asked slowly.
"Erik, maybe, maybe, it wasn't the right time. I am only a girl." She said.
"You sound as if you're sixteen!" he scoffed. "But, Antoinette, you are a woman. You proved yourself, last night." He winked flirtatiously at her, and in muted exasperation she hit him with her pillow.
"Erik!" she scolded, and then hugged his frame. "Erik! How dare you say that about me!" Her voice was muffled against his flesh.
He petted her head limply, and sighed.
"Antoinette, in some ways you are so mature, others, so infantile."
"Are you the one to talk?" she asked pointedly, and raised her eyebrows.
"No." he muttered. "But I see more than you ever will see."
"Erik, I love you." She said again, as she could not help that phrase escaping from her lips.
"I do too, Antoinette." He whispered, as he got up to get dressed. She still admired his physique with that attention and speculation of a schoolgirl. She followed his lead, allowing the nightgown to slip graciously over her shoulders.
"I must go." She said. "The ballet rats will need me."
Lightly she stepped into the gondola, and Erik guided her through the swirling waters. He pushed the pole deep into the thick, oozing mud and brought it out again with firm strokes. The dim underworld of the Opera Populaire shrank back into darkness.
It had been three weeks since Erik and Giry had made passionate love. Erik regarded the night as magic, and Giry thought of it as an escapade to the distant stars. Clearly, the two were enamored of each other. Each night Giry would kiss her pillow, pretending it was her own Erik, and while she did not know it some of the ballet rats would laugh mutely from their own beds. Erik, meanwhile, would sit and think of nothing but Giry, and sometimes would feel like going without eat or sleep while he was away from her.
One lonely night, Giry crept from her bed to go and visit her beloved. She tottered down the steps, and her posture gave off an air of foreboding. Soundlessly she stepped into the gondola, and pushed herself to the opposite shore. Erik saw her, and rushed forward. He kissed her lips fondly, but she did not return it. Her eyes were cold, and she looked upon him with fear and hatred.
"Mon ange." He said slowly. "What is the matter?'
"Nothing, Erik, nothing." She replied, turning her face away from him so he wouldn't see her silent tears.
"What is it?" he repeated, his voice growing more impatient and demanding.
She said nothing, but went into his bedroom. She did nothing, but sat on the bed, furling and unfurling the sheets through her fingers.
"So much was gained…" she murmured. "And lost here, Erik." The tears rolled freely down her cheeks. "Erik. I have something to tell you."
"What is it?" he repeated. "Damn it, Antoinette, tell me!"
"Erik, I no longer desire to be with you."
"What?" he replied, exasperated. "Antoinette, why? Was it something I said?"
"No." she whispered. "Erik, I am pregnant."
Erik's eyes glazed over, and he kissed Antoinette on the forehead.
"Erik," she began. "We will have a child. But I shall leave the Opera Populaire, tonight. I will never come back. You must do without me, Erik."
"But…" he began.
"No buts." She said suddenly, cutting him off short. "Erik, my position, I am through. My religion, I am unmarried, bearing a whelp, a bastard child. I cannot work here anymore, I cannot…"
"So that is what you think of me?" he spat into her face. "Our child, a bastard child! An unwanted whelp!"
"In truth Erik." She said. "I feel no love for you."
"Then go." He whispered, his teeth clenched. "Go. What do I care?"
She did not move, but stood looking coldly at him.
"Erik." She said, her voice resonating through the cavernous room. "I hate you."
"GO!" he shouted at her, and brandished a lasso in front of her face. "Go, or I will kill you! I never want to see your wretched face again!"
She said nothing, but with one firm motion cast the lasso to the floor, and walked from the room. She stepped into the gondola, and then began to push herself along. Erik watched her fleeting figure disappear among the mist, and he let out one sob.
"Curse you." He whispered. "Am I doomed to Hell?" He threw the lasso to the ground, and sat at his piano. With one cruel whip of his hand he gathered up the score of Divine Heaven and held it over a candle.
"You are over, Giry." He muttered cruelly, and watched the flames lick the pages. And he gave one triumphant, solitary laugh.
A/N: Sorry for the shortness of this chapter. I hope you enjoyed. My parents' marriage did not end like this, but it hurt me equally. I tried to magnify the feelings of anger and confusion in this chapter. Please tell me I did a good job.