Christine

He had not knocked, but I had heard the quiet thump against my door moments after I shut it, a thump which seemed to indicate someone sitting down and leaning back against my door, patiently waiting for me to come out. Wishing Erik a long, cold night on the floor, I blushed even as I thought: Perhaps it will cool him off. If nothing else, such a night could work wonders for his temper.

Or make it simmer. I knew that, as frightening as his rage was, his coolly calculated anger was worse still.

Despite the early hour, I readied myself for bed. I was tired and was not surprised when I fell asleep almost immediately; when I woke, however, I looked at my clock and unhappily realized that only a handful of hours had elapsed.

And I was starving.

The bruises forming on my wrist were throbbing as well, and my bathroom was out of washcloths to wrap around the joint. I crept to the door and listened; there was no sound. I had not heard Erik move away from the door, but if he didn't want me to, I wouldn't have. Nearly six hours had passed; surely he would not still be waiting for me to come out?

Cautiously, I opened the door, and gasped when it revealed Erik quite calmly residing on the floor, his steady hazel eyes watching me.

Erik

I was such a fool.

I couldn't even be angry when Nadir and Raoul entered; all I could do was stare at the bruises on her wrist after my old friend pointed them out, a gruesome, black-and-blue silhouette of my grip on Christine.

My claim to have never injured a woman was, it seemed, at an end.

She would return to him, and I would once again be alone in my darkness. As it should be, I had realized; no matter how I loved her, no matter how deeply and thoroughly she was in my heart and soul, she did not belong to me. She couldn't; Christine was an angel of purity, and I think everyone knew what I was. That I had actually harmed her released any claim I may have had on her heart. Despising myself for allowing her to crack open my armor once again, I turned my back and let Christine return to her light.

The world spun.

I was her choice. I could hardly understand what she was saying; all I knew was that Christine had sent the Vicomte and the Daroga away, that she had stayed . . . and that I was utterly and thoroughly unworthy of her.

Which was about when I heard the door to her room lock.

I stared at it.

If Christine was going to make a habit of turning my life inside out with her arguments and her mad decisions, the least she could do was tell me why. Because I had no idea, and she was driving me out of my mind.

Women, I have decided, are utterly inexplicable. Especially former chorus-girls.

I settled down in front of her door to wait. I knew my Christine; she had been growing as a direct result of my—not always positive—influence on her life, but she still did not possess the patience to win a battle of wills with me. Not yet, at least.

I lost track of time, staring at nothing and waiting for her to emerge. I may even have drifted off for a while; my mind was spinning through a tangle of thoughts. Our fight and her choice to remain seemed so entirely at odds to one another that I half-convinced myself they were part of two separate storylines; one could not logically lead to the other . . . she had called me obsessed; she had spoken of my murders. Both were correct and neither would have caused her to live in this dark underworld with me . . .

Fortunately, my face was quite clear of these thoughts when she did, at last, open the door. I smiled inwardly; she was shocked at my presence. We stared at each other for a painfully silent period, then Christine gestured vaguely toward the kitchen. "I was . . . hungry," she said at last, her voice subdued.

I spread one arm in an expansive movement, pointing to the same part of the house in an open invitation. "By all means."

She stared at me, and I realized my legs were stretched out before me and crossed at the ankles, a barrier to her progress. I defeated the urge to pull them back. If she was hungry enough, she would have no trouble stepping over me, as indecorous and even intimate as such as simple motion seemed.

"You can't make anything easy, can you?" Christine demanded as she lifted the skirt of her nightgown slightly and took a long step over me.

Once she was safely across, I lazily reached out and lightly grasped the hem of her nightgown between my fingers. "There's a fee, of course."

Christine froze and looked down at me. "A fee?"

"For crossing the bridge." I indicated my legs, nearly lost in the darkness. "Sit," I suggested—well, commanded—as I tugged on the thin fabric in my hand.

Her dark eyes were blazing at me. Christine angry is truly a sight to behold, and I had been blessed with it so far twice in one day. "What might that fee be?" She demanded as she slowly sank down, sitting far enough away that I would have had to stretch to retain my hold on her gown.

"Not there," I remarked in a pleasant tone. "Here." I gestured toward my side; her jaw clenched, but Christine scooted next to me. She sat with her knees bent, her modestly-covered legs curving back toward her side, and my breath caught a little at her grace.

I trailed my hand lightly down her back, reveling in the warmth of her skin hidden just beneath the thin, silky material of her nightgown, before gently wrapping my arm around her. Christine's eyes had closed at my touch; she leaned her head against my shoulder. I watched her, absorbed in the translucent skin of her cheeks, the pale rose of her lips, until her eyelids flickered open and we were left staring at each other.

"Why don't you," I whispered, stroking her jaw with one finger, "explain to me precisely what happened this afternoon?"

Christine stiffened under my arm. "I had thought it was obvious."

"Not to me."

She pulled away. "I'm hungry, Erik. Let me go."

Reflexively, my arm tightened around her; then the bruises on her wrist caught the light and glared up at me. I swore quietly and yanked away from Christine as though she was burning. "Go," I muttered, turning away from her. "Go."

"Erik?" Her voice was confused, uncertain; I hated hearing the pain in it.

"You wanted me to let you go," I replied shortly, fighting to keep my own voice under control and knowing that I was failing miserably. "So go." I paused, and more gently, added. "You need to eat."

She still hesitated. "You aren't sending me away?"

Oh. "Never," I told her hoarsely. "I already made that mistake once, and you can see how well it turned out." An apathetic gesture of my hand indicated our current situation. Christine nodded and silently stood to go to the kitchen; when she returned, I was gone.

My coffin room was abysmally cold; I nervously paced, still trying to make sense of the afternoon. Presently, I heard her door close; this only reassured me a little. She hadn't left . . . that was good. She hadn't left.

I was still pacing when I heard her scream.

Christine

It was a nightmare of blood and death and black pain, and it woke me with my own voice screaming Erik's name. He was there, suddenly, in my room, holding me as I shook. That rich, deep angel's voice soothed me as he carried me into the music-room, the warmest part of the house, and sat on the couch. Erik held me in his lap until my tremors had ceased; I curled up against his chest, desperate for comfort.

"Easy," he whispered, "easy. You're all right; I'm here."

And it was true. I was fine as long as he was near.

Maybe I should tell him that.

"I love you," I replied softly, leaning my forehead against his neck. "I love you."

Erik froze completely and utterly. Had I never said that? I looked back on all the words we had exchanged, from the first time he sang to me until this very moment. How was it possible that I had never said those words to him, when I had loved him from the beginning?

"I love you, Erik," I repeated, wrapping my arms around him. Heaven on earth, had no one ever said that to him?

After what seemed like an eternity, he pressed a kiss into my hair. "You're delirious," Erik murmured to himself.

"No." I lifted my head to stare at him. "I love you."

He answered by gently taking my arm and holding my bruised wrist up for us both to see. "You cannot. I forbid you to love the sort of monster who would do this to you. If that boy had touched you the way I have, I would have killed him. Do you understand, Christine? I would have killed him for harming you like this."

"Don't you dare, Erik," I retorted sharply, taking his face in my hands. "Don't you dare leave me again."

"Why?" I stared at him, stunned. Erik repeated, "Why? Why not free us both? Why did you stay, Christine? After everything we said today, why did you stay here?"

"They're called 'lovers' spats' for a reason," I answered, finding myself blushing at using the word lovers to describe us. "We're allowed to fight. It doesn't mean I'm going to walk away; it doesn't mean I don't love you, it doesn't mean you don't love me. It just means that there are things we need to talk about." I hesitated, gazing into his eyes, then timidly asked, "You do love me . . . don't you?"

Erik closed his eyes and groaned. "How can you ask that?" He questioned softly. "After everything, how can you ask? Christine, I love you . . ."

I smiled and cut off his song with a kiss. For the moment, all was well.

----

Wow, guys, thanks for all the reviews! They make me happy. To readers of Beyond . . . I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't update Voice until I have another chapter up for Beyond, but I'm struggling a little with the next chapter in that, and this just sort of flowed out . . . I'll update the other in a hurry, I promise!

intoxicated by eriks music: Grin Hey Savy, glad you like this so far. Pizza is good! Yeah, Erik has a few issues he needs to work through . . .

Mz. Kelsi: Thanks! And yep, Erik, as much as I love his sweet fluffy side, is not always either sweet or fluffy. Besides . . . it's kind of fun to write EvilErik.

phantomlovin4ever: Thanks much for liking the chapter despite AngryErik--here's an update for you!

Anacari: T'ankyee kindly. Continuing for your (hopeful) reading delight . . .

ChristinO: Thanks! Yep, I'm planning on finishing this . . . not quite sure where or how, but it will have a definite ending.

AliciaRoseM: Thank you!

Marykate: Thanks -grin-. Here's another bit, glad you think this is interesting so far!