A/N: Well, obviously I was happy with my reviews so I posted my next chapter. Thank you to those of you who reviewed. They made me VERY happy. Enjoy this chapter and please review! I love feedback!
Disclaimer: It's not mine, sadly.
Christine locked herself up for hours, refusing to eat or drink. She wouldn't see nor talk to anyone, including Meg. The Girys had been kind enough to take her in after her last minute confession. Christine knew she was being rude by ignoring them, but trusted they knew she needed time. The past twenty-four hours had been hard on Christine— almost as hard as leaving Erik behind. Just months ago she had two men, both desperate for her love, and now she had denied them both— crushing not one heart, but two. She lost not only her angel but also her best friend, her childhood sweetheart— not one man, but two. Christine curled her body into a tighter ball, hoping, praying it might have all just been a dream. Tomorrow Raoul would take her shopping, hold her hand and kiss her cheek, the way it used to be. Heaving a sob, Christine shook her head. No, it would never be the same, because she didn't want it that way. She had the chance to be the Vicomtess and she turned it down.
The bed suddenly felt stiff and the smell of the fabric foreign to her— she longed to be in her own bed. Christine sat up slowly and drew her knees to her chest; she wrapped her arms around them and rocked back and forth slowly. She hadn't felt this lost since her father passed away when she was a little girl. She had nowhere to run, no place to stay- she was alone. The reality hit her hard in the stomach, making her whimper, her eyes welling with tears once more. Her first instinct had been to find Erik, to return to him and beg his forgiveness, but rumor had it he was dead. Christine didn't doubt that he would kill himself; he was miserable and lonely, and she had denied him the hope he needed to survive. As much as it hurt to think him dead because of her, she had known it was a possibility when she left him beneath the Opera House. Raoul had guards placed all over the Opera Populaire; if he didn't kill himself, they would.
She pushed the thoughts out of her mind, instead focusing on her immediate future. She had plenty of time to worry about Erik, mourn his death, even wallow in self-pity, but first she needed to form a plan. Madame Giry would let her stay as long as she needed to; however, she refused to rely upon their hospitality any longer than was necessary. Madame Giry had been taking care of her since she was a girl. Now a full-grown woman, she could no longer rely on others. No … she needed to start relying on herself.
Easier said than done, she thought to herself. Christine sighed and wiped angrily at her tears. What I need is a job. The problem was she had no clue how to get one. Madame Giry got her into the Corps de Ballet after her father died, and she had lived at the Opera ever since. That is until Raoul came along, but that was over now, and it was her doing.
Christine swung her legs over the side of the bed, and grasping the side table for support she stood up. As she arched her back she felt all of her muscles stretch. Looking at the clock, she realized she had been shut up in the room for 12 straight hours. Shaking her head at her selfishness, she went to the window and threw open the curtains. The sun was high in the sky and people bustled about the city, women carrying packages, others clutching small children and begging them to behave. Noticing her reflection in the glass, she uttered a small gasp; after the hours she had spent crying and lying in a heap on the bed she was less then presentable. Christine walked over the porcelain basin and dipped her hands into the water. Splashing it on her face, she reached for the soap, using only a little and scrubbing until the skin was raw. Rinsing it with clean water, she felt for the hand towel and dabbed at the skin until all the moisture was gone.
Feeling better, she went to her bags and picked out a fresh chemise, corset, and dress. There was a soft knock on the door and Christine jumped. For a moment she had forgotten there were other people in the house.
"Come in," she called, her voice a bit too high.
"Oh, Christine," Meg said as her best friend came into view. She rushed to Christine and threw her arms around her. "We were worried." Meg pulled back and held her at an arm's length, studying her. Christine's eyes were puffy and red; she could tell she had been crying.
"I'm alright, Meg. I don't know what got into me. Ignoring you and your mother like that… it was terrible of me," Christine spoke, her voice low.
"Don't apologize, Christine. Not to me," Meg replied, pulling Christine into a hug once more. "I understand," she whispered into her curls.
"I know, Meg," Christine said, pulling out of the embrace. "Will you help me dress?" she asked, pulling a new chemise over her head. She put the corset in place and turned her back, taking in a sharp breath when Meg pulled the first laces.
Get dressed. Get a job. She repeated the words over and over in her head, refusing to let the urge to flop back on the bed and cry her eyes out win. When Meg was finished she slipped into a simple pink dress she had owned before Raoul and Erik entered her life. Once again Meg's hands worked down her back, clasping and buttoning as they went. It was important to start over, and she might as well start with her appearance.
Once Meg was finished Christine turned to face her, smiling at the girl's face. Meg was so innocent, but never before had Christine noticed the age difference. They were only a year apart, but now Meg seemed so much younger. She had never kissed a man, let alone been engaged to one. Meg had never experienced love, passion, or romance, and she never had to choose. She'd never had to choose between two men, knowing she'd loose no matter what.
No, Meg is lucky, innocent.
"Is something wrong, Christine?" Meg asked, concern etched in her face.
"Yes, but let's talk about it later. Alright?" Christine asked, a smile on her face. The last thing she wanted was to hurt someone else. Meg was her best friend; they had been since they were girls and Christine refused to mess that up.
"Alright," Meg said hesitantly, still unsure whether she should press the subject. She wanted to know what had happened between Christine and Raoul. One moment she was standing at the altar waiting for her best friend to walk down the aisle and the next Raoul had made the announcement. He was so collected, but she supposed that was to be expected. There were lots of important people in attendance and the de Chagny family was not one to be humiliated. Meg was dying to ask what had happened, but she dared not ask before she felt Christine was ready, and she had known her long enough to know she wasn't ready.
Christine crossed the room and walked out into the small living and kitchen area. Orange flames danced in the small fireplace. In the corner was a table, two chairs set on either side of it. The table was covered in Meg's books and other small items, her toe shoes abandoned in a corner. The divan was against one wall, an antique coffee table in front of it. Madame Giry's sewing basket was set next to the divan and a grandfather clock was next to the fireplace. A small stove was also in the corner, generating heat into the small room. Although the Giry's house was small, it was homey and comfortable. Christine loved visiting Meg and Madame Giry, because the house was always warm and it felt like home to her.
"I'm going to go out for a bit. I need some fresh air to clear my head. I'll be home before supper. Tell your mother for me, alright?" Christine asked, pained at the expression on Meg's face. Normally Christine would have asked her friend to come along, but today she needed time to herself. She needed to find a job, and that wasn't something she was interested in having Meg along for.
"Sure, Christine," Meg said, giving her a small smile. Christine pulled the girl into a hug, holding her tight. Meg would never understand what her companionship meant to her. Christine released her and walked out the door, shutting it carefully behind her. Breathing in the fresh summer air, Christine started walking, unsure of where to start.
She needed a job, a good job, but where should she look? What could she do? I can't cook, sew, or clean, Christine thought to herself as she walked. Slowly she sorted through what jobs she knew were available. Never would she subject herself to becoming a prostitute. She wanted a job, but not that badly. After a few moments Christine decided ballet and singing were her only options. She was horrible with children, and despite Madame Giry's insistence she had never learned to sew properly. Christine sighed as she walked down the cobblestone street. After some walking she arrived at Main Street. She tried a few restaurants offering to entertain customers as they dined. The owners were well aware of her talents and her performance with the Opera Populaire, however they insisted her services wouldn't be appreciated at their facilities. Discouraged, Christine walked towards the Opera House, stopping in front of it and sitting on the front step. This is where her career had begun and ended; her past had died with the fire.
Refusing to give up, Christine rose off the steps and walked back down the street. Two men came out of a pub on her right and she stopped for a moment, eyeing the place suspiciously. She had heard of it; Monsieur Bouquet was rather fond of it and spoke rather highly of the owner. Christine straightened her dress and walked in, her head high. She blinked several times, trying to adjust her eyes to the dim lighting. At the far end of the room was a bar, and a few men sat at small tables scattered throughout the room. At two of the tables the men were playing cards, four of them crowded around. At the other three the men were alone, cradling their drinks in their hands. There was a man far off in the corner writing something on a piece of parchment, clothed in black. Two more figures were in the opposite corner, and a woman's giggles came from their direction.
Already Christine had a bad feeling about the pub, and she didn't like the feeling in her stomach. Squaring her shoulders, she walked up to the bar, sliding onto one of the stools.
"Can I help you, ma'am?" the man behind the bar asked, a dirty rag in his left hand. He eyed her suspiciously, wondering what a woman like her was doing in a pub like this- alone.
"Yes, may I please speak to the owner?" Christine asked, her voice higher than normal. She didn't like the way the man at the end of the bar was looking at her.
"You're looking at 'im." The man replied, smiling a toothless grin. "Name's Clark." He held out his hand and Christine shook it before dropping her hands in her lap. Clark was a large man, about six foot two, Christine guessed. His grip was strong and his hair brown hair was tangled, just skimming his shoulders. He sported a full beard and a mustache, thick and brown. He was intimidating, to say the least, and Christine was eager to get out of the dingy place.
"I'm looking for a job," she started, picking her words carefully.
"We don't need a waitress," Clark interrupted before she had a chance to continue what she was saying. "We have two already."
"Oh, no," Christine said quickly. "I could never be a waitress. I meant entertaining." Clark looked at her curiously, his eyebrows raised.
"Entertaining, eh? Well, I suppose we could use some of that around here. What do you think, boys? You want some entertainment?" The men cheered, raising their mugs. He chuckled. "Alright…" Clark paused, trying to recall her name.
"Christine. . ." she offered.
"Alright, Christine, you're hired. We'll make it temporary, though, see if it pleases the customers. Come in ev'ry night this week. You start at five and work until closing, usually around two. I'll pay you twenty francs a night, plus tips to entertain. It's a good offer," he said, grinning at her.
"Wonderful. I'll be here tomorrow night. Do you have any requests?" she asked, thinking she should be prepared with her music.
"No, just wear somethin' pretty," Clark said, nodding his head. Christine said goodbye and shook his hand once more, walking quickly out of the pub. "Hell, I might be your first customer," he said to himself, shaking his head at her. The man at the end of the bar let out a booming laugh, slopping his ale down the front of him. Foolish girl, Clark thought to himself as he continued cleaning the bar.