A/N: Thank you to all my lurkers and readers for your patience! My move out of state went well, and I am nicely situated and enjoying being a homeowner for the first time. Finally, after the last cliffhanger, I present this chapter to you. Please enjoy…
Touch the Moon
He lingered for a moment, holding her in his arms at the bottom of the staircase. His fingertips were gently kneaded into the waves of her hair, embracing the full weight of her head in the palm of his hand. She reached out tentatively, still dazed and out of breath from the fall…yet now, her thoughts gathered between each spot of bright light, bridging together the dream-like event of plundering down the curved flight of carpeted stairs. Her hand reached out for his chest instinctively, grasping onto the crisp white shirt underneath the jacket of his tuxedo. It was simply a moment, but her face betrayed her, blushing deeply as she felt hard-lined sinuous muscles underneath…
Giving her away.
Just as it was in her dream.
But cold and cruel reality snapped its fingers, and in an instant the dull roar of the filled lobby resounded over their painted forms, and a loud male voice rang over the rest…
That voice…how she hated that voice. She hated the eyes she was about to see; the cold unfeeling gaze of a man that harmed and tainted her, that made her bruised and unwanted…
A lonely orphan sitting by a windowpane. Watching the rain fall upon another dreary Sunday afternoon…
"Christine! Oh thank god you're all right…" Raoul had rushed down the entire flight of stairs to the man – Erik's side, contorting his face into a delicate lover's farce of concern.
Erik bent over gently, releasing her legs and allowing her to touch the marbled floor with both feet. He did not look at Raoul or respond to his feigned distress; instead, he crouched down in front of Christine, who now perched upon the bottom step, the folds of velvet midnight surrounding her.
He look steadily into her eyes, not blinking or changing his expression. He seemed to be studying her, and under his prolonged gaze she could not speak; instead, she averted her eyes from his, staring down at his polished black shoes.
Raoul seemed to stand from a distance, growing quiet as he observed the interaction he had so desperately planned out. For what could be more archaic or valiant than a man saving a damsel in distress? It was written in the oldest books of desire, love, and lust…
"You," Erik whispered, his lips falling slightly agape as the word slipped out. It was one word, but her heart played a symphony upon its single syllable. You, you, you! She sang in her head. He remembered her face…he knew it had been her!
And he was not angry. He seemed relieved, and…surprised.
"I know your face," he breathed, his eyes falling down upon the dress folds that surrounded her. "Now that I finally see you again…it seems as though you are always surrounded by the night sky." He ran a finger along the edge of her dress, and although it was not her skin, she shivered delightfully. Her lips fell open to respond, but her throat was dry, and she found she still could not speak. For if she spoke, he might drift away and she would wake in her bed, covered in sweat from dreaming of him, again and again…
And it would be only what her mind could make of it.
It would only be a dream.
"I…yes," she stammered quietly, forcing herself to say something, anything! Something that would show her that this indeed was real, that he had felt her presence behind him, that she had not intruded as he struck each chord, but in fact was apart of the music, somehow…
His music.
"Your song," her voice fell to a whisper, not wanting to break the spell that kept Raoul a couple steps away…the spell that continued his lingering, his gentle concern, and his eyes that she could not stop falling into…it was as if each glance he gave caused her to forget herself – to forget her own name…
"What about it?" he whispered back, and the corner of his mouth – the side that was without stitching – curved up slowly, as if to half smile at her. She found her own lips unwillingly begin to bend as well; he was contagious, infecting her…poisoning every inch of her that was near to him.
"It…it was like dreaming, but I was…I was fully awake," she managed to answer softly, and to this, he smiled; a full smile, with both sides of his mouth dimpling his cheeks. Christine let out a small breath as she gaped at his lips, and she bent her own spirit to his, searching his entire face as if to memorize him. She never wanted to forget his smile, and how his eyes seemed to light up – as bright as the midnight sky.
"Sir, I hate to intrude, truly…but I must see if my wife is all right," Raoul's voice cut into the sensuality that lurked in the air like a serrated knife, causing Christine's heart to lurch with irritation and pain. Erik stood up abruptly, breaking the spell between them like the shattering of a glass onto the marbled floor. She watched as Erik's smile disappeared just as soon as it had come, and his eyes hardened into glints behind his mask, gleaming with an animalistic vengeance.
He stepped around her with youthful agility, charging up the staircase to where Raoul stood staring. Christine's mouth fell open as Erik seized Raoul by the lapels of his tuxedo and slammed him against the railing of the staircase. Raoul ripped at Erik's hands, screaming obscenities loud enough to resound in echoes across the majesty of the lobby – but Erik did not let go.
"Everyone in this fucking room saw what you did," Erik snarled, slamming Raoul harder against the banister. "I should throw you down an entire flight of stairs – without anyone to break your fall at the bottom." His fists were lined heavily with pink and white scarring, she noted – and his anger at her own expense caused her to suddenly feel shy.
No one had ever seen Raoul harm her – and if they had, they had simply looked the other way.
"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about! But I do know who you are – and I know what they did to you – you're fucking insane!" Raoul shouted into his face, struggling beneath Erik's ironclad grasp. Erik's face turned to stone – his eyes growing murderous and wide, like a demon set free of his chained cage in Hell.
"You don't know anything, little boy," he pushed his face close to Raoul's, baring his teeth. "Just keep running your fucking mouth and I'll toss you over the banister. The crowd would open up just for you…do you think anyone would give a shit if you broke your fucking neck? Hm?"
Raoul spit straight into Erik's face, aiming just below his mask. "Is that why you wear a mask, you pathetic thing? To guard your face from people spitting on it?" Raoul threw his head back and howled with laughter. Erik dropped his hands from Raoul's jacket, wiping away the spit from his lips. Raoul began to dust himself off as his laughter continued. "Oh, did I hit a nerve? Aren't you just a scared little boy behind that mask? Why don't you show me what you really look like? Or is it too fucked up for even you to bear?"
With one swift and powerful movement, Erik shoved Raoul so hard that he lost his footing and began to tumble down the rest of the staircase. The crowd in the lobby had grown quiet, and the ladies of the evening stood adjusting their gloves and heavy jewelry while gossiping in whispers. Christine stood up quickly, gathering up the folds of her dress as she hurried to move out of the way. Raoul landed on his side at the bottom, with one hand clutching his ribs and the other covering his nose. Blood leaked out from between his fingers, full of golden and crystal lined rings. Christine stared down at him, feeling as if she were dreaming. Never had he sat bleeding and bruised at her feet, indisposed and unable to speak. She did not know how to feel – it was a numbness that settled through her, gradually growing into something she could not place. Was it elation? Or the terrifying notion that he would somehow blame this on her…
That she would receive punishment later that night.
The horror must have shown upon her face as she stared down at him, but she did not speak a word. She did not bend to help him – she found herself completely speechless and frozen, with heaps of her starlight black dress still clutched in both hands.
Christine finally ripped her eyes away from Raoul, and lifted them to Erik, who was still standing about six stairs upward. He looked magnificent in that moment, to her; his chest was heaving, his scarred hands were relaxed at his sides. His deep black hair was mussed, and his dress shirt looked slightly disheveled, yet…he looked like the personification of power.
Erik descended the staircase with ease, straightening his jacket and combing fingers roughly through the waves of his hair. His eyes stayed upon hers – victorious and gleaming golden from behind the black leather mask. He stepped over Raoul's body that was shaking and moaning, stopping once to perhaps consider kicking him – but instead, he leaned down to Raoul's pitiful form, smiling as he did so. "A scared little boy, you said…Oh!" Erik laughed, a deep melodious sound that rang out across the lobby. "I see it now…it is you, fucking degenerate!" Erik spit in Raoul's face that was covered by a hand, laughing viciously as he did so.
Satisfied, Erik strode over to where Christine stood, her mouth still agape from the events that had unfolded before her very eyes. His mouth curved again when he was close to her; looking her directly in the eyes. He offered her his hand without a word, and she averted her eyes to his large, scarred up palm. "Come with me," he commanded softly – it was not an order, not a forceful coercion of any kind – it was smooth and soft, just as he had whispered to her on the bottom of the stairs; the plea of a man who had seemingly become her protector, all in the matter of five incredible minutes.
Christine lifted her hand, hesitant to touch him…but she gained the courage somehow, and set her a small dainty hand upon his. He intertwined his fingers with her own immediately; he was warm and calloused, and her heart fluttered at the feeling of him.
"Where…where would we go?" she asked him tentatively, blush spreading across her face as she looked up into his eyes.
"My father's gala," he said simply, leading her away from where Raoul still lay, writhing and moaning in pain.
And she followed him through the crowd that had opened, tracing every single step that he took. And as they exited the building through the double glass doors, for the first time in her life, Christine was not worried about Raoul.
For her heart had sailed up into the sky and touched the moon.
A/N: Again, thank you to all of my lurkers and readers for your undying patience! Any feedback, emotions or comments are always precious to me.