XXXVIII
Erik paced irritably, and closed the curtain that lead to the mannequin. He knew that is wasn't right for him to feel the way he did. After all she was his student and he was her teacher. Besides she was so much younger than him, well, perhaps not that much younger.
It didn't seem to matter what he told himself though, it never changed anything. She was beautiful and had the voice of an Angel. She called him her 'Angel of Music' ad he thought of her in nearly the same way.
"This is ridiculous," he grumbled, crossing the lair and climbing into the boat.
He hadn't been able to sleep in days, at least not for long periods of time. So he spent most of his time wandering the empty halls of the theatre. They weren't all that exciting, occasionally there was a dancer sneaking out to meet a lover, or sneaking in after meeting a lover.
A lover, he had thought about that before. But of course it was a foolish idea, besides he wanted real love. Real love, that of course was an even more foolish thought. After all when one lived under a theatre it would be hard to find love, but then again there was Christine. He turned away from that thought though, it was stupid…at least he told himself that.
He sighed heavily and found himself wandering towards Antoinette's apartment, after all it wasn't that late. Before he thought it through he knocked on the door, immediately regretting his actions and backing back into the shadows. There was always the risk that one of the dancers was in there, or perhaps the manager had needed to discuss something. The door opened and he prepared to turn and leave.
"Erik?" Antoinette asked, "what are you doing here?"
"Nothing," he replied shortly, "I was just…nothing."
"Ah, I see," she replied, "so you came here and knocked on my door for no reason?"
"I…yes, I suppose so."
Antoinette frowned slightly, she knew Erik better than he thought. He never did anything without a reason, even if he did not know it himself or simply did not want to admit it. Something was troubling him, that much was obvious, the question was what.
"So, there is nothing you wanted to talk about?" Antoinette asked.
"No…I should be going," he replied hurriedly, "good night, Madame."
"Erik, come here," she said, "I just made tea, you may come in and have some if you want."
"Thank you, but-"
"Non, come in. It is no skin of your nose and you are here," she interrupted.
"Madame, I really don't think-"
"No you don't think," Antoinette sighed and, rolling her eyes, grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into her small apartment. She didn't care that he had an aversion to touch, sometimes an extra shove was just what was needed with him, "Now sit down and I will pour us each a cup of tea."
Erik obeyed reluctantly, choosing to sit on the corner of the bed instead of taking the chair. It was almost comical really. The infamous Opera Ghost, feared by all who worked in the theatre, sitting down in a small apartment for a cup of tea. It made Antoinette give a small laugh under her breath.
"Thank you," he muttered when she handed him the tea.
"You are welcome. Now, why is it that you come knocking at my door so late at night?" she asked.
"It is not that late, Madame. And I already told you, there was no reason."
"Non? Perhaps, or perhaps you do not know the reason, or maybe you do not wish to tell me," she said, thoughtfully sipping her tea.
"Madame, do not pester me."
"Fine…how have you been, Erik?" she asked, already looking him over. He was still thin and from what she could tell he was tired.
"I have been fine," he replied.
"You seem tired, have you been sleeping and eating properly, or even regularly?"
"I am doing just fine, Madame," he replied a bit sharply, sipping his own tea, "you needn't concern yourself with my health."
"If I do not then who will?" she queried, "Lord know that you will not."
Erik gave a frustrated sigh, "I have not been sleeping well."
"I see," she said thoughtfully, "why not?"
"How would I know?" he snapped.
"There must be a reason, have you been composing?"
"If I were composing then I would not be here talking to you, would I?"
Antoinette shrugged and got up to pour herself some more tea. He might decide to tell her what was bothering him still, but she would not hold her breath for it. After all it was Erik, and he was not known for being open. The man lived under an opera house. Still, there was a chance.
"Antoinette?" he asked quietly, swirling the remaining tea in his cup and watching it at tentatively.
"Yes, Erik?" she asked, intrigued that he had used her name.
"I…what is it like…to be in love?"
The question threw her off and it took a minute before she could compose herself to answer, "Well, its…its Is hard to describe, Erik, you simply know."
"But how?"
"Do you want to see this person as often as possible?" Antoinette asked, "your heart races, you can't stop thinking about them, you think that they are the most beautiful or amazing person in the world…does that help?"
"Yes…I guess it does."
"Why are you asking, Erik?"
"I was just curious, Madame," he said defensively.
Antoinette made a thoughtful noise in her throat. If Erik did think that he was in love then who could it possibly be? After all he had no contacts that she knew of other than her, except…Christine. She knew that he was teaching her to sing. She tried to listen whenever possible, the girl had an amazing voice.
"So, you are in love with her then?" she asked.
Erik looked up with a mixture of confusion and anger on his face, "Her?"
"Christine Daae," she clarified, "and do not deny your connection to her…Angel."
"When?" he hissed, eyes narrowing.
"A while ago," she sighed, "perhaps a year ago, I have been listening whenever I am able to. She has a lovely voice, Erik, you have taught her well."
Erik smiled slightly, "Yes…merci."
"But remember Erik, to her you are nothing but a voice. There is no face, no body,. Just a voice, the voice of who she believes is the Angel of Music."
"It's a better title than the Phantom of the Opera, don't you think?"
"I do not know, Phantom has a certain ring to it," Antoinette jested.
"Hmm, funny."
"I will not interfere with this affair, Erik, but keep one thing in mind. You are an angel to her, and an angel is somewhat like a ghost."
"I know," he interrupted, "both are simply figments of the imagination…thank you for the tea, Madame."
"You are welcome," she replied, "oh, and if you've been having trouble sleeping, try putting some laudanum in a glass of water."
"Perhaps I will try that."
"Only three or four drops," Antoinette said.
Erik rolled his eyes, "I am not an idiot, Madame. Good night."
Christine sighed heavily as she stared at the dark ceiling of the dormitory. She could hear Meg snoring quietly and the even breathing of the other dancers as they slept. She couldn't sleep though, music was running through her head, the voice of her angel and the sound of the instruments in the orchestra playing softly.
It was strange, at least she thought it was, that his voice could make her feel so strange. It was as if there was no one else in the world when they sang together. Everything melted away leaving just him and her in the small stone chapel.
Sometimes she thought it would be nice if he were real. That it was a real man and not just an angel who sang to her. But somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that he had to be real. That there had to be a face, a body behind the voice, but she didn't want to accept that. Sometimes childhood fantasies were nice to believe in.
A/N: Its an update! Yes, shocking I know, so please read and review.
