Woo hoo for strong Christine's! One of my biggest pet peeves is when Christine's character immediately falls in love Erik, when she had just despised him a chapter ago. This girl has got some backbone, and I'm not afraid to show it!

Chapter Five

Christine had not left her room for hours. She was frightened to leave. The screams she heard coming from her Angel's body terrified her. She had cried as well, but softly and quietly. After her crying ceased, she got out of bed and changed into the nightgown that was provided. She was in no mood for squeezing herself into a tightly corseted dress. She sat down at her vanity, picked up a brush and began to brush her hair. As she did, she began to think of someway to get out of this predicament. She believed her Angel had just gotten carried away, and she would do whatever necessary to change his mind. Refuse to eat. Refuse to talk. Refuse to sing.

On the other hand, she wasn't sure if she entirely wanted to leave him. She loved Raoul very much, and would never want to see him hurt or alone. But something drew her to her Angel like nothing before. If she really and truly wanted to leave, she knew nothing could stand in her way short of death. But did she want to leave?

"May I?"

Christine jumped at the sound and sight of her Angel standing behind her. She hesitantly handed him the brush, never taking her eyes off of him in the mirror.

Erik took the brush and began to stroke it gently through her hair. He had always wanted to brush through it, to touch it. It could be so wild, with its curls and bouncy attitude, the way Christine could behave. At other times, it was soft and demure; Christine could act like that when she wanted to as well. He loved it when it was down, and sat gracefully on her shoulders.

He didn't dare look into Christine's eyes in the mirror; he was too frightened to see if she were still crying. He could feel her eyes on him, piercing through his fragile face.

"Well?" she asked suddenly.

Erik cleared his throat and responded, "Well what?'

"Well have you changed your mind yet about your ridiculous request?" She began to notice how gentle he was being with her curls, making sure not to pull her hair, treating each strand as if it were enlaced in gold.

"I'm afraid it wasn't a request, Christine. It was an order." He glanced up quickly with only his eyes to see the reaction on her face. Their eyes meet and he quickly looked back to her hair.

"I see. And who are you to give such a command? You can't force me to stay here."

"My dear, please stop argu—"

"Arguing with you? What is that not allowed all of a sudden? I'm not allowed to say how I feel anymore?"

Erik was beginning to grow angry. With each demoralizing word she spoke, he began to brush her hair more harshly.

"I don't understand you." She continued, "One minute, I'm being told to sing all of my feelings and express my emotions, the next thing I know, I'm being to told to shut my mouth." She noticed his strokes turn from smooth to rough within a matter of moments. "Ouch! You're hurting me!"

"Well if you wouldn't say such things to me, I wouldn't feel the need to, now would I?"

"Ugh. Here we go—"

"Stop it, Christine! Just stop it now!" He pulled her by her shoulder out of the chair. "I'm trying to be patient with you, but you are pushing yourself to a very fine line. And once it's crossed, I swear to you, I'll—"

"You'll what?" She stared defiantly into his eyes, alive with anger. She didn't care though. She knew he would never really hurt her. He didn't answer, so she repeated her question, "You'll what?"

Erik honestly didn't know. What would he do to her? He could never hurt her, but somehow he must convince her of his wrath. He had to teach her somehow, without crossing "the line" as he had so eloquently put it. People had crossed that line with him before, and now they were six feet underground.

He couldn't bother coming up with an answer now, he could see this argument wasn't bettering his situation. He violently threw her arm down, and dropped the brush on the floor.

"Go to sleep. You're not well."

"Why must everyone say that? I'm fine! You are the one who is not well!" Christine began pacing around the room, on her way she knocked over a candelabra. "You live in this sickening place, you put a few candles in it and a bed, and suddenly it's supposed to be my dream home?"

Erik clenched his fists, growing ever more upset, "Do as I say. Go to bed. Now."

And with that he left the room, and locked the door behind him. He was in no mood for her to come prancing out, tossing more accusations at him. If she did, he knew she would upset him, and he would get very angry, or even worse: sad. She couldn't see him cry. If she did, she would never take his commands seriously. He needed time alone where he could think threw this. He had not thought it through initially, and now he was suffering the consequences.

"I'm not tired! I've slept for more that 24 hours for God's sake! I'm not sick!" She pounded her fists on the door, though she knew it wouldn't do much good.

"What am I to do?" She wondered. Should she obey her Angel, and stay with him forever? She was fond of him, she didn't think she loved him. But he did spark a certain passion in her, which no one else could. And what about Raoul? Was she to just leave him, make him think she abandoned him? Could she write him a note? She imagined what it might say:

Dearest Raoul,

I'm sorry but I can't see you anymore. I'm living under the Opera House with my Angel of Music from now on. It's not what I had planned but it's the Angel's orders!

Ta-Ta!

Christine

Christine amazed herself that she could joke in a situation like this. Most girls would be contemplating suicide. Perhaps she could joke, because the idea of staying wasn't all too far fetched. But she still couldn't come to a conclusion.

She said, aloud this time, "What am I to do?"

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