Hi again; Chels here. Thank you so much for all the reviews... Patience is a virtue, my friends... On with the chap!

Disclaimer: We own none of the charaters of the Phantom of the Opera... Not even Erik, unfortunately for me (this obviously applies to previous chapters as well)

Chapter 8

A few hours later, Erik woke, a terrible pain in his neck. As the
effects of the alcohol had worn off, he remembered that Christine had
been resting in the bedroom. Stiffly, he rose from the chair and walked
to the bedroom, surprised to see Christine, asleep on the bed.

She looked so perfect and beautiful, lying there on his bed, her dark
curls spread out on the pillow. Slowly and silently, he approached the
bed; he stood gazing her upon her for a moment more before lying down
on the bed, scooting up next to her. He contemplated putting his arm
around her, unsure with the fear that she might wake up.

Suddenly, he felt like a fool. What was he doing there? How would she react, finding
him next to her upon her awakening? But there was no way he could go
back now; he lie still on the bed, remaining as silent as he could.

"Raoul...?" Christine whispered as she felt a body slide up next to her
in the bed. It had all been a dream. She was back at the estate.
None of this had ever happened.

Erik stiffened. She thought he was the boy. Well, what had he
expected her to think? Cursing under his breath, he quickly pulled
apart from her and rose from the bed sharply. Once more he found
himself at the liquor cabinet, grabbing a random bottle and taking a
deep drink from it.

Bitter tears stung his eyes. She'd spoken the boy's name in her
sleep, just as he knew he often spoke hers. She loved the vicomte; she
would never love him. Even when he'd poured his soul out to her, she
turned and run to the open arms of deChangy. When he'd taken her, he'd
been nothing but a temporary replacement, to satisfy her hungers,
whilst the one she truly loved was unable to. He'd never be able to
fill the vicomte's place. He meant nothing to her.

The sudden absence of the warm body next to her stirred Christine from
her sleep. Slowly, opened her eyes and sat up, surprised to find
herself in Erik's bedroom. So who was the person who was just lying
next to her? It must have been her imagination... No... It must have
been Erik. Had he heard her speak her husband's name? What did he
think now? Surely, that had been why he had left. She got up from the
comfortable bed a little reluctantly, and went in search of Erik. She
found him in the kitchen drinking... It was alcohol, she was certain.
She stood there, not wanting to disturb him.

By this time, tears where running freely down Erik's cheeks. He knew
she was there. As embarrassed and upset he was at her finding him in
such a condition, he knew he could not go on ignoring her.
"Christine," he managed.

Christine could sense the hurt in his voice. She walked over to him
and hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder. He pulled away from her
touch, as if it would burn him.

"Leave."

"Erik..."

"Leave, Christine. How much more do you wish to hurt me? Just leave."

"I did not mean to hurt you, Erik..." she whispered, feeling her heart ache as tears
ran down his face, though she was not sure why. She yearned to kiss
his tears away... Which was another mystery to her. She longed to wrap
her arms around his neck and tell him everything was alright. She felt
like such a horrible person for inflicting this pain upon him.

"I'm sure," he said flatly, doing his best to force the tears to
cease. "Leave my home. Do not punish yourself by looking at this
carcass any longer." He turned away from her.

"Erik... Please don't be like this..."

"How else did you expect me to be?" he asked, a slight amount of anger
entering his tone.

"You could at least try to understand..." she said, feeling the anger
she had let go come back into her heart, rising to her voice.

"Understand?" he shouted, "What the hell is there to understand? I do
not understand why you continue to return to me, and deepen my wounds
each time. You have the vicomte; you love him. Why the hell do you
need me? Why do you continue to torture me?"
In spite of his efforts to stop, tears began to fall once more. He
felt like an utter ass. Christine felt like his words hit her like a
blow to the face; she felt tears of her own escape from her eyes.

"I've told you time and time again... I do not love Raoul... I love no
one..." she whispered, wondering why the last phrase felt like such a
lie.

"That does not answer my question," he retorted impatiently, though he
was somewhat surprised by her tears.
She looked down at the ground, unable to come up with an answer. Why
did she keep returning to him? Why had she in the first place?
Christine knew that this time it was because she felt the need to be
saved... Because he had a right to know. But the time before that?
Closure? Some how that didn't fit... Then what was the real reason?

"I'm waiting, Christine," he said in a dangerously quiet voice.

"I have no answer for you, Erik..."

"Excellent," he said, slightly exasperated. "I think it would be best
if you took your leave."

"How am I supposed to get back home?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"How the hell should I know? That is your concern." Suddenly, he felt
himself soften toward her. You are a fool. A damned fool, he thought to
himself, but that did not stop him from caring about her. "I suppose
you can stay here the rest of the night... Leave in the morning," he
said dully.

Christine swallowed, and nodded. "Thank you," she whispered, still
unable to meet his eyes. He nodded wordlessly.

"I suppose you can go back to sleep," he prompted lamely, after a
pause.

"Right... Where?" she added, feeling like a fool.

"In the bedroom, damn it; that is the only place to sleep."

"Right... Right... Sorry..." she said hastily, turning and hurrying
out of the kitchen.

Erik sat at the table, a fresh bottle in his hand. He did not care
how drunk he got. He needed a release from reality, desperately.
Christine being in the house had taken away his music; he'd gone to the
next best thing.

Once she entered his bedroom, she unbuttoned her dress and stepped out
of it. Only in her chemise, she looked down at her slightly bulging
stomach, immediately filled with the worry that she had become
accustomed to once again. She climbed under the blankets of Erik's
bed, and soon Christine fell into a restless sleep.

He drank an immeasurable amount of liquor; by the end of it all, he
was quite drunk indeed. There he remained the rest of the night,
wallowing in self pity, and alcohol, until early in the morning, around
5:30, he found himself quite hungry. He rose and stumbled around the
kitchen to find himself something to eat. He hoped Christine would
wake soon, so he could get her out of the house; he had no desire for
her to see him this intoxicated, and he knew that he would only drink
more as the day went on.

Christine woke, unrested, due to a pang of morning sickness. She felt
nausea consume her and she rose from the bed, not even bothering to
dress. She hurried into the kitchen where she had heard Erik moving
about. "Erik?"

"Yes Christine, it is I. What do you want?"

"Where's the bathroom?" she demanded, knowing that she wouldn't able
to hold her stomach much longer.
He made a vague gesture towards a partially hidden door.

"Why? What do you need it for?" He was not proud of the garbage that
was flowing from his mouth, but he could not control it, no matter how
hard he tried to.

Christine had no time to answer. She clasped a hand over her mouth
and hurried into the bathroom, spilling the contents of the meal she
had eaten at the masquerade into the toilet. She leaned against the
wall, sweat dripping from her forehead, and closed her eyes trying to
compose herself.
After a few moments, she rose from the floor and made her way back
into the kitchen, still feeling the nauseated. She leaned against the
cool counter and closed her eyes, wiping the sweat from her brow.

"You alright, there?" he asked, taking another swig from the bottle.

She looked over at him, rolling her eyes. "Do I look alright?" she
asked, surprised by her uncharacteristic sarcasm.

"No," he replied honestly. He remembered what he'd been thinking
earlier. "You'd better be leaving," he said abruptly.

"Right now?" She was most certainly not ready to leave, not when the
morning sickness was still taking its toll on her body.

"Soon... You see, I've been drinking a lot over the night. You would
not want to be in my company while I am like this," he explained.

She raised her eyebrows. "How much did you drink?" He nodded
towards two empty bottles on the table.

"That much I suppose."

"That is a lot... You must be quite drunk." Christine wasn't exactly
sure where she had been going with this, she supposed she was just
talking to get her mind off of the morning sickness.

"I wouldn't doubt that... I was quite depressed last night. What do
you care?"

She shrugged. "Just... making conversation, I suppose."

"Right." He, finally, replaced the bottle in the cabinet and sat at
the table. "I'm quite tired."

"You should sleep then."

"I can't."

"Why ever not?"

"You are here."

"Since when do you care about what is polite? I can manage."

"I have manners, you know. I am actually a gentleman; perhaps you
have failed to notice. And no, you cannot manage. At least not while I
can offer my help to you."

"Why can't I manage?"

"Christine," he said with a slight laugh. "Please, do not force me to
explain. You are not even dressed properly, for going out, I mean."

"I want to know what makes you think I can't manage... Humor me."

"Dearest Christine, you are a child. You can manage little by
yourself. I know this."

She gawked at him. "I can manage many thing by myself."

"Indeed? My darling, let us not discuss this now. Let us speak of
nice things."

"What nice things are there to speak of?" she said bitterly.

"I'm sure there is something we can find, if we look hard enough...
How is the vicomte enjoying his fine trip?"

"Yes... He's having a wonderful time," she muttered.

"Well, that's great to hear," he said sarcastically. "Tell me
Christine, did you enjoy his company while he was here? Did you make
love to him often?" Christine felt her cheeks grow crimson; she turned
from him.

"What? Are you embarrassed? I suppose you did, then, and I suppose
you enjoyed ever moment of it. I suppose you pretended I was him the
whole time I made love to you; I was doing my very best to please you,
too."
She still said nothing; how could she? Christine nervously tucked a
curl behind her ear and fussed over the hem of her chemise trying to
distract herself from his words.

"Well, is it true?" he asked loudly.

"No," she said quietly, her back to him.

"No what? I'd think the vicomte would make an excellent lover."

"I did not think of him while I was with you, Erik..."

"Nonetheless, I'm sure he put you into a delightful ecstasy, one that
he alone could provide," he said mockingly. "I'm sure you made love to
him each night, sometimes more than once." He no longer cared how she
felt. Anything to make her uncomfortable, unhappy, embarrassed,
without inflicting too much pain.

"Why are you doing this?"

"I'm curious. I want to know why he is so superior to me."

"What makes you think he is?"

"You act as if it is so. So I assumed that there must be something
spectacular about him that no other man could touch. Is that true? Or
perhaps I'm so horrible, anyone would be better than me. Which is it?"

"Neither," she said, her whisper barely audible.

"Oh? How interesting. Well, since you will not answer any of my
questions, I will cease my interrogation." Christine turned her head
to look at him, pain in her eyes; she said nothing.
"Why do you look so unhappy?"

"How am I supposed to look?"

"Well, you could display any emotion you wish. I am simply asking why
you are choosing this particular one."

"I have been unhappy for quite some time."

"As have I. Finally, we are the same in some way. Why are you
unhappy, dearest?"

"My life has not turned out as I thought it would, I suppose."

"That is interesting. Mine has turned out exactly as I thought: I am
alone, unloved, and unwanted. At the very least, you are loved. You
have the vicomte... You have me, as well, if that counts. I have no
one. Be grateful for at least that, Christine."

He had her there; she was speechless. All she could do was gaze at
him intently, unable to break her stare.

"You see, I am correct. Stop looking at me. It can't be pleasurable."

"You only say such things to get others to agree with you, so you can
have all the more reason to wallow in your self pity," she said, not
looking away from him.

"Well, what else have I to do?" he asked in an overly loud voice.

"There are many other things one can occupy their time with..."

"Perhaps that applies to you. Leave me now."

"Why?"

"You have a home. You do not need to stay with me."

"You shouldn't be alone when you've had this much to drink... Who
knows what you could get yourself into? I am staying until the alcohol
wears off," she said firmly. In truth, Christine simply did not want
to go back to their huge, empty estate, only to be alone.

He laughed hardily. "So, you are to be my little nurse?" She rolled
her eyes, but couldn't help but cracking a smile, as much as she tried
to hide it.

He felt oddly pleased with himself for making her laugh. It wasn't as
if it was a new experience; his usually sharp, witty humor often
delighted others. "As I said before, I feel quite tired. Please take
me to bed, nurse."

"Come on, you drunken fool," she said, still smiling; taking his hand
and leading him to the bedroom.

He quite enjoyed the sensation of holding her hand, but he choose not
to say anything. Once they'd reached the bedroom, he said, "I must
change now. Leave the room a moment, if you wish, nurse."
Christine picked up her dress from the wardrobe she had set it on the
night before, then left the room. After he'd change into his
nightshirt, he called, "You may reenter nurse, to put me to bed." She
entered the room, now fully dressed.

"I will do no such thing, Erik. You are perfectly capable of putting
yourself to bed," she said, smirking at his boldness.

"It is part of your duty," he said with mock sternness.

"Erik, come now..."

"Oh fine, what a boring killjoy you are," he said, sliding into the
bed.

"Christine," he asked, turning his face into the pillow, "Do you wear
perfume? I believe I detect a pleasant scent which was not here
before."

"Yes... But perhaps it was one of your other fine women," she said,
laying down next to him. He laughed loudly.

"There are, of course, no other women. Only you, my sweet little
nurse." He watched her as she settled next to him. "That's nice of
you."

"What's nice of me?"

"To lie with me. That has never happened before. I suspect it is
quite nice."

"I suppose it is," she said, settling down on her back, placing her
hands on her abdomen once more.

"Well, you would know." He yawned and closed his eyes. "How long do
you plan on staying here? I shall be asleep for a good long time,
quite possibly the whole day."

"I haven't given it much thought really... I can't be sure."

"I see... That is certainly a good answer. Well, good night, or good
morning. I hope to see you when I wake."

"Sleep well," she said quietly before she too closed her eyes.

"Thank you, you as well, if you plan on sleeping," he responded before
falling into a very deep sleep.

Christine opened an eye to find him fast asleep. Strangely, she felt
comfortable and at ease there, lying next to him. She closed her eyes
once more and soon she too fell asleep.

Thank you so much for reading... If you like it, please review.