Thanks so much for the reviews! They brightened up my day so much. My MSU Spartan BBall team lost yesterday, so I'm a little sad over that. But luckily during my sociology class today, I was able to sketch out my storyline (see what a good student I am?) , so I'm not sitting at my computer, writing aimlessly.
Chapter Four
Christine's face suddenly went blank. What did he mean the rest of her life? If she had known that was his request, she never would have followed him into the mausoleum. The rest of her life? Those five words continued to echo constantly in her mind. The rest of her life. Her face grew pale. The rest of her life.
"Christine? Are you alright?", Erik stammered, "I know this must come as a shock to you. I'm going to do my best to take such good care of you. I promise you Christine, I promise, you'll be the happiest woman in France. You're safe with me."
Christine's eyes began to water.
"Oh God! She's crying! Did I make the wrong choice?" he wondered, "Should I command her to quickly forget I ever said these words, and send her up to the Opera? Oh God….."
"But I…….. I………Raoul……the rest of my life….", Christine choked. It was all too much.
Not knowing what to do, Erik hesitated, and did what his initial impulse told him to do. He wrapped her in his arms. "You'll be fine, you'll be fine. Ssshhh. There, there. I know, you'll be fine," he tried to comfort her as best he could. Once again, she was sobbing into his chest. But this time, it hurt. She was not crying out of the loss of her father, or her vulnerability, but directly from the words he had spoken. He had wanted so badly to only make her happy. She will be he assured himself. She doesn't know I am saving her life and music by doing this. She'll learn.
"Christine, I want you to take your time and drink your tea," he said, staring into her tear drenched face. He couldn't bear to look at it anymore, for it was forcing him to well up tears of sadness, "If you feel up to getting out of bed, there are clean dresses in the closet. Otherwise, there is nightgown in the top dresser drawer; put it on and rest."
And with that, he quickly left the room, gently closing the door behind him. At the click of the knob, he burst into tears. He loved her so much! Why couldn't she see that? Why couldn't she see that she would be happier in one lifetime with him, than a thousand lifetimes in the poisoned sun? He slumped pathetically into the bathroom, blubbering like a child. He pulled off the sheet that covered the mirror and gazed at himself. On the right side of his face, he wore a white leather mask, concealing the deformity which lived underneath. He slowly peeled it away and winced at the sight of his scarred reflection. He looked to the left side of his face. It was smooth and supple. He felt his body underneath his silken vest. So defined, so strong. It was all a cruel mockery to the blemished agony of his face.
Screaming, he rammed his head into the mirror, full of rage. It did not break, and his reflection was as clear as ever. He slumped to the ground and cried. He cried until he had difficulty catching his breath. He forced himself to calm down. Standing up, he looked back into the mirror, and as infuriated as he was the first time he looked, he began to cry again. He repeated this over and over. Praying that somehow a divine being (he didn't believe in God) would hear his cries, and turn his tears into soap that would wash the imperfection away. But with each glance into the mirror, he was more and more convinced that no such being existed and that Christine would never grow to see past his tortured appearance.
What he did not know however, was that with each tear he shed, Christine shed a partner for sympathy, as she could hear his wails between the walls.
Side note: I'm honestly not crazy about this chapter. It felt choppy to me, and I didn't really want Christine to have another crying fest. I mean, I'm two for four so far with the breakdowns. Don't worry though, in the next few chapters, Christine gets some attitude.