3) This fire in my skin
She only visited him when the smiling became unbearable, the smiling and the nodding and the pretending that she was happy for her best friend. Patiently she endured endless re-tellings of what Erik had said and done, hoping that for once Meg would hold her tongue or at least spare her the details of their wonderful encounters. But Meg went on and on, oblivious to the fact that Christine´s lips were pressed tightly together and her fingernails dug into her palms, as if to keep her from screaming.
Sometimes the tension was simply too much, and Christine knew only one way of dealing with it: She went to Raoul. It was like a frenzy, a blur of emotions, right from the moment she entered his house. They rarely talked. It wasn´t necessary – she always came for the same reason. And every time the same things happened: the hasty fumbling at various pieces of clothing, the occasional sound of ripping fabric, the urge to feel skin against skin. It was passion in its purest form.
Today was one of the few days when they had actually made it to the bed. Now Raoul was lying there, his breathing still ragged, and tried to find out how he could have ended up in this situation. It had all begun at the evening when they had sat in the kitchen of Mme.Giry´s house while Meg and Erik had been upstairs, undoubtedly declaring their undying love and unknowingly sealing Christine´s and Raoul´s fate as well. He had kissed her, and it had comforted both of them. But only too soon she had noticed that there were other ways of comforting her, so she had allowed him to go on... and on and on till they had made love, right there on the cold floor.
Since then she had come to him more and more often. It were the best hours in Raoul´s life – and the worst. When his hands and lips caressed her, making her gasp and moan, he felt like a king. Everything was brilliant as long as she kept her eyes closed. When they were open he could see the pain and disappointment in them, and all his positive emotions vanished. He knew that no matter what he did and how loving and caring he was, it would never be enough. It would never be his name she shouted. He was not Erik.
This night she had fallen asleep afterwards, giving Raoul some precious moments to study her beauty. Not for the first time he asked himself how someone could be this perfect. Her features were flawless, the cheeks flushed and the lips still slightly swollen from his kisses. Softly he traced the outline of her mouth with his index finger. She stirred, but didn´t wake up. If possible he loved her even more like this. Now she couldn´t hurt him or go away.
He knew she´d wake up soon. She never stayed till the next morning, allowing him such simple pleasures as lying in bed for hours at a time, listening to their hearts beating in unison with each other, or eating breakfast with her. She sneaked into the house like a thief and she left if like one, quickly and without any unnecessary sound. Lovingly he brushed a dark curl out of her face. If there was anything Christine had stolen, it was his heart… though Raoul had more than once suspected it really was his common sense.
Quite suddenly her eyes snapped open. He leaned closer, unwilling to miss the first moment, the moment before she realised where she was and who she was with. The look she gave him was so full of love that Raoul couldn´t help sighing a little. Then comprehension dawned on her, and her eyes lost their sparkle. "Raoul?", she muttered. He nodded. "As always.", he replied gently. "Although you´d rather see someone else…"
Instead of saying something the girl crawled out of bed as fast as it was possible when still being sleepy. She picked up her clothes from the floor and started dressing. Knowing the procedure Raoul had turned his head away from her. Her feelings of lust and passion were always followed by shame. All of a sudden she couldn´t bear being seen naked by him. It was one of the countless things he simply accepted, afraid of losing her.
By the time he looked in her direction again she was buttoning her dress. He was overcome by panic. In a few minutes she would be gone, and he hadn´t said it yet. But he had to. This time he had sworn to himself that he´d do it. He cleared his throat. "Christine, we… we have to talk.", he began slowly. "Talk?", she repeated suspiciously, shaking her head about the insolence of this request. With a few determined movements she finished dressing and practically fled from the room. She had already opened the door when Raoul, having summoned up all his courage, called after her, in a voice full of despair: "Will you marry me?".