Thanks for the interest. Apologies for the strange format; I'm working on it. And now, the second chapter!

Chapter 2

Weeks later, Christine found herself at the opera house once more to attend an opera. Since becoming vicomtess, she needed to keep up public appearances for Raoul's sake. Her hair was up in a bun, her makeup was done elaborately. She wore her red dress, a full, off the shoulder gown that she only wore on special occasions. Needing to get away from all of the women of the upper class, her class, that only cared about gossip and scandal, she had fled for a moment.She was now on the roof, where she and Raoul had shared their first kiss and gotten engaged.

Thinking back on that night, she felt the guilt that she had been pushing away return, remembering the most recent time she had gone to the opera house.

Despite the warm May air, she felt a chill rack her body, as her thoughts switched to Erik... The way he had looked at her, the way he had touched her... Christine knew that everything about that evening had been wrong, but if Erik hadn't have told her to leave, it would have led up to everything she had been secretly dreaming of since she had left, and how quickly she had welcomed the idea scared her to death.

Erik, of course, had been aware of her presence since the opera began. He had spotted her from his box; how could he not? She looked so damnably beautiful. Naturally he'd followed her when he noticed that she was heading for the roof. He watched from behind a statue as she gazed on Paris below, noticing that her bun slightly looser than previously. He cursed himself for studying her so closely.



Christine walked over to the edge of the roof, looking down at the people bustling around the busy Paris streets. She took her bun down, letting her long curls fall down her back. As she often did when she was upset, she began to fiddle with her wedding ring. She pursed her lips, messing her lipstick slightly; she then licked them, another nervous habit of hers. She cursed herself for doing so, seeingas she would eventually have to go back down and socialize, and she wanted to remain presentable.

He watched her intently, knowing he was a damned fool for feeling the way he did. He nearly stepped from behind the statue, to reveal himself to her. To kiss her lips once more, and to take her. But he stopped himself, trying to be content with just watching, as he had been doing all his life.

"No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy... No dreams within her heart but dreams of love..." Christine sang. Where did that come from? she thought, surprised from her actions. She had not sung since the night she had left, whenever she had sang one pitch Raoul had stopped her, saying it conjured up too many memories...

Erik listened, amazed, as her perfect, pure voice sang out a line from his opera. That particular line did nothing to help his current situation. Despite what his mind told him to do, he found his legs carrying him toward her. He reached his arms out, encircling her and pulling her roughly against him.

Before Christine could register what was happening, she found herself pressed against him, his arms around her.

"Erik... What are you doing?" she asked, looking up at him, trying to remain calm. He made no reply as he began to allow his hands to explore her body. His breathing was becoming more and more shallow; Stop! his mind screamed at him You fool! Get away, now! But he ignored it. Only one thing mattered at the moment.

Christine closed her eyes, feeling her desire overpower her mind once again, her breaths became quick and short as he touched her. Involuntarily, a moan escaped from her lips; she resisted the urge to cry out and beg him to take her.

One hand rested on her breast, the other on her hip. She leaned her head back, resting it on his shoulder. He took advantage of the opportunity by kissing her neck hungrily, only encouraged by her lustful sounds.

She felt a wetness between her thighs once more as she leaned into him, the kisses he left on her neck becoming more intense. "Oh, God..." she said, the words coming out as more of a moan than a sentence, in a voice thick with passion that didn't sound like hers at all.

He cupped her breast harder in his hand as he moved his lips up her neck, until they covered hers. He kissed her in a way he never had before; it was much different from the kiss they'd shared on that night. Guided by instinct, he slide his tongue into her mouth, subconsciously deciding to wait for her reaction before continuing.

Christine met his tongue with hers. This was something she and Raoul had never done. Raoul. Her husband. Right... She was married. Oh, she couldn't do this! Yet... She couldn't stop. She had wanted this for too long to stop.

He moaned as the most delightful feeling overtook him, entwining his tongue with hers and sliding his left hand up her body so it too rested on one of her breasts. She turned in his arms, so she was facing him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him, their kiss growing even more passionate. Raoul had left her thoughts completely. Now it was only him. Only Erik.

Erik could hardly believe what was happening; it was so surreal. Many nights he'd dreamed of this moment... Never had it been so intense or passionate. He'd never before felt what he was feeling now. His hands found her hips again, and he pulled her closer to his body, if that was possible (despite his apparent arousal).

Christine broke the kiss, needing to breathe. She couldn't believe this was real; that it was happening... That she was letting it. She took deep, uneven breaths, her hot breath against his neck. He gazed on her, her lips slightly swollen, her cheeks flushed, and her hair disheveled.

"Christine, you must leave... They'll be looking for you," he said bitterly. In the midst of it all, thoughts of the vicomte entered his mind (perhaps given the setting of the rendezvous). Damn him! he thought, We could have been so happy together... But never mind happiness... It is too late for that. He parted from her embrace.

Christine couldn't believe he was doing this to her again... She was too far gone to leave now; she shook her head. "No," she said simply, leaning up and capturing his lips with hers once again. He allowed himself to indulge in her kiss before pulling apart from her again.

"Christine, you are married. To the vicomte," he added resentfully. "I will not have you when I know that you belong to another." He turned from her.

"I do not love him..." Christine said breathlessly, feeling a desperate need for Erik take over.

"Of course you do. You went away with him," he said flatly. He paused a moment. "Go now Christine, go and gossip with the other fine ladies of your newfound class. I'm sure you will have a lovely time," he said cruelly.

"I will go, but do not think that I enjoy the company of the other trophy wives, Erik... And do not think that I love him... I don't believe in love anymore." With that, Christine turned and left. Those last words that had escaped her lips... She didn't even know if she thought them to be true or not.

He watched her go, mildly puzzled by her parting words. He'd known that she would not enjoy the life of a noblewoman; what troubled him were her last words. He had no idea what to make of them, or if she really meant what she said. For most of his life, he'd agreed with that statement. That was before he had met Christine. He stayed up on the rooftop for a good while longer, watching the city below
him as all the theatergoers returned to their homes. When the last of them had filed out, he began his descent to his own home, many feet
below.

After leaving the rooftop, Christine had not gone back to the after party to socialize. She had gone there to get a drink. Well… Two drinks. Three at the most. She had drank them down relatively quickly, the desired affect put into action rather soon afterward, which she assumed was because she rarely drank alcohol. Christine was by no means drunk, she knew that much; the alcohol had only eased her troubles a bit, had only relaxed her. Thankfully, none of her upper class "friends" noticed her in the subdued corner, finishing off her glass of wine… Or was it whiskey? She couldn't remember… She had grabbed whatever she had come across first, for she had needed a drink badly.

Slowly, a steady trickle of people began to exit the opera house, and she followed, but she found her feet carrying her, not in the direction of the doorway, but to the dressing room, and through the mirror. For some strange reason, she wanted him -needed him- right then more than ever. The drinks she had just consumed had given her the confidence to pursue her need; that had been the whole point in drinking them after all.

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