Disclaimer: It's been a long time since I've updated, so I'll just write this out to remind all of you who may have forgotten. I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, Erik, Christine, Nadir, or Raoul (though only the first two characters appear in this chapter, I thought I'd just name 'em all). They belong to Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay and… Andrew Lloyd Webber (UNFORTUNATELY. More on that later). I own Wesley Pryce (who likewise does not appear in this chapter, but I lurve him, so he gets a nod) the character, but not the name, which is owned by Joss Whedon. All up to speed here? I know it's difficult to remember that I don't own these characters, but try really hard. (Just kidding, if you didn't know.)
A/N: Well, this here is my Author's Note. And I have quite a lot to say. Sorry. But that's the wonder of the A/N! First of all, sorry about the delay in the update. This semester has been crazy—I was a stage manager and I got a job and had my classes and rehearsals on top of all that… Let's just say it was busy. Plus my computer died. Twice. So I had no Internet access for awhile, even if I had a chapter to update. For the people who have been emailing me about Reality Issues (first off, awww, how sweet you care! Thank you!), I kind of thought that the story might be dead. Unlike this story, which lives in a little black notebook that I carry around with me everywhere, in case inspiration ever strikes, Reality Issues lives in a big heavy binder that's on my bookshelf in my room. But I had typed up three more chapters on my computer, just playing around with things. And then, well, my comp crashed. I thought it was gone and it just seemed like way too much effort to re-write three chapters. BUT, I was cleaning out my room to pack for Christmas, and I found print-outs! Now I read them and they're pretty meager, need a lot of editing, but I'll work on them and hopefully get a new chapter up by the end of January (because I forgot them in my room in New York, to be quite honest).
About this chapter though, which is obviously what you are waiting to read. Well, this is chapter seven, which I have been excited for since I wrote the story. Unfortunately, like most things that you anticipate to an extreme degree, it is not how I would like it. And the mental block that I struggled through to write these few pages is not letting me retool it very well either. So I thought—here, send it out as a belated Christmas gift to yourself (so I don't have to stress about it any more—MERRY CHRISTMAS everyone, by the way!) and move on. Because I always write half of the next chapter (or more) before I update and chapter eight is flowing so much easier than this one did. I'll go back and rework some things when I have the ambition to later on. Just so you know, the main problem I'm having with it is that there's way too much emphasis on dialogue instead of narration. And I see it like a play or a movie, right in front of me, when I write, so I get the characters' emotions in my head, but other people might not. So if this is just terrible, I'm sorry, it gets better later, I swear. This A/N is VERY LONG, so I'll leave my other comments til the END. Uh, enjoy!
PS: The Chapter Title is EXACTLY what this chapter should be like and what it definitely was like writing it.
Chapter Seven: Love like a Raging Storm
Christine and Erik sat on opposite ends of his parlor sofa in awkward silence, sipping tea. Christine wished mightily that she had attended charm school as so many in her new social circle had. They seemed to know what to say in any uncomfortable situation and there was nothing in this room that was not smothered in discomfort. It all felt so familiar yet so… distant. Like a different life altogether.
Christine gave Erik a slight smile and he bowed his head, unsure of how to respond. He had enabled her to see him, but what to say now… this he did not know. She was mere inches away from him and he could hardly bring himself to look at her. He stole some glances (how could he not?) but could not find anything to say to her. He wanted to tell her how he loved her still, how she was the only thing that kept him from going mad in a world filled with darkness and torture. But she was married to a man who hated him and thought him dead—what kind of relationship could be born through that?
Out of the corner of his eye, Erik saw Christine finish the last of her tea. In the manner of host, he politely asked if she would like more, which she declined. In hardly any mood for tea himself, he brought the small cups and saucers back into the kitchen, but when he returned something had changed. Christine was standing and approached him slowly, but strangely confidently.
"This is not how I pictured this." How beautifully strong she looked. Erik breathed in the wondrous sight of her for a moment before his ears caught her words.
"Pardon?" he asked, slightly taken aback.
"Last night, once I knew I had to see you, a thousand different scenarios played through my mind. Not one like this though." Erik nodded, understanding her completely. The ends of her lips tilted slowly up toward Heaven, and they both resumed their places on the sofa, the thick layer of ice that lay between them beginning to melt. Christine boldly, slowly, crawled her fingers across the sofa until they covered Erik's naked hand. He could easily count the number of times they had experienced flesh on flesh contact and the unfamiliarity was enough to make him try to quickly draw his hand back. She was prepared for that, though, and firmly wrapped her other hand around his, their palms kissing like Romeo and Juliet. She pulled them closer examining them.
"So real…" she murmured. "You're so real." She looked at him then, and Erik found himself lost in the brilliant golden bliss of her touch and eyes. "Where have you been this last year? Why did you…" She shook her head. "No. No, we have forever to talk of the past now. I shouldn't question, just relish that you're alive. I'm sitting here with you, and you're alive." She smiled brightly until a sudden thought violently struck her. The smile faded then, and she inhaled deeply, her face draining quickly of all color. His hand slipped from her fingers and before Erik could make sense of the situation, she had gotten up from the sofa and was pacing furiously, massaging her temples.
"No, no! You can't be alive! You just can't! This changes everything!"
At first Erik remained in a pure state of shock, but the longer she repeated her refusal to believe his state of living, the more hurt and humiliated he became. She had sought him out, hadn't she? This was not his fault, not this time… He wanted her to leave. It was better to be in lonely solitude than bear this final rejection.
"I apologize if I've ruined your life, madame," he said, interrupting her mutters, "but if you just leave, you can pretend I'm dead again, if it makes you happy."
"No, now I can never be happy again!" She looked at him desperately. "Don't you see? I could never leave Raoul but I can't go through this life without you, knowing you're alive! Oh, this is all wrong, this is terrible, this is too much—"
"Why not?" Christine, who had begun to pace again, turned to him automatically. There was a moment's pause while she tried to decipher what exactly he was asking, but failed.
"I…beg your pardon?"
Erik stood up slowly, confused himself. "Why can you not… 'go through life' without me? I don't seem to understand you, my dear. You seem to have been doing just fine."
"Why?" The look on Christine's face informed him that he should know very well why. "Because I love you, of course." All the air left Erik's lungs and he mouthed silently; oh, there was no torture like a woman! Christine saw this and her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my, I haven't said that before… It's been so long that I knew, I forgot you didn't…" Lowering her hand, she looked at him with the glimmer of passionate honesty in her eyes. "I love you. For a year I have thought of nothing but you, wanting you with me, aching to feel your arms around my waist, to hear your voice, to look into the well of your eyes again. I've loved you for so long and…" And what? Christine thought, her words trailing off as Erik still stood there in stunned wonder. She had been prepared to give herself fully to him a year ago, but instead he destroyed everything that might have been between them, and everything that has been between she and Raoul, by… by… "You tricked me."
Erik's eyes had glazed over into introspection after her sudden proclamation, but after this one he was jerked back into the present. Christine's eyes had changed as well, and were now filled with a thick, noble anger. "What?" Erik spat in surprised response. How mad this whole meeting was!
"You tricked me! You've been alive all this time, letting me suffer! You must have heard me calling to you that day, waiting for you." Her body expanded in her rage and she gestured grandly and slowly, as if she was reciting a Shakespearean monologue to a packed house. "There I stood, on that bank with a shattered heart, and you just let me believe you dead! What am I, some kind of game to you? Do you delight in playing with my mind, using me as some kind of sick experiment in human nature?" As her voice raised to a yell, her eyes narrowed and she threw herself at him, her hands finding contact with his shoulders. Erik, surprised by her sudden physical outburst, felt his back hit the wall with a thud. A bubble of laughter escaped him.
"Who are you?" A proud smile played on his lips. This only seemed to aggravate Christine more, who was completely serious. Her hands remained steady against his shoulders and, though he could easily overpower her, he let her believe that she was in control.
"I am no longer the naïve girl you once knew."
"Oh, come now, Christine," he laughed. "You will always be the ingenue; you're eyes are forever wide."
"Now you mock me!" she cried, venom seeping off her tongue. "How can I love you, you, who care for no one's pain besides your own!"
Heat rose up his neck as anger invaded his blood. With calculated force, Erik broke Christine's hold and marched her backwards to the sofa. "I," he said calmly, keeping his hurt and anger out of his voice, "I care for no one's pain besides my own? Everything I've done has been for you." With a gentle push, he sent her to sitting on the sofa. Defiance had all but left Christine's eyes and was now slowly being replaced with creeping fear. Erik didn't care. She should be afraid. "Do you think it was easy for me, Christine? Listening to you call my name for two hours and not being able to respond? I tried to snuff out the sound of your voice, but nothing worked. I almost went to you—I was ready to forego any thoughts of what was best for you and take you into my arms, never to let go. But Nadir talked me out of it—he always was my conscience, you know—and he went to you instead. I am sorry I hurt you, but I am not sorry that I did what I did. For the first time in my life, I did what was right, without thinking of myself. I cannot apologize for setting you free." He had surprised himself for being so collected when all the wanted to do was rage and rip her heart out for hurting him again. How dare she say those things! She knew nothing of pain, of disgrace, of inner torture!
Christine had retreated into her defense of child-like behavior, and why would she not? She had just received a lecture from the man who had once stood as a teacher and father to her. Erik's heart softened and he recognized that, no matter what she said, inside she was just as innocent and afraid as the day he first saw her. He was about to apologize, that back all that he had said, but Christine spoke before he got the chance.
"I just… I never believed that you could hurt me like you did. You betrayed not only my love, but yours, in some momentary fit of nobility. You had no right to decide what was best for me, and you do not have that right now."
"You're correct. I am not your husband; perhaps it would be best if you discussed your welfare with him. Shall I send for him? Fill him in on where your heart has lain all these months you shared his bed?" The gleam of water swelled in her eyes, but Erik could not care. Their bloody battle would not be settled now by an actress's tears.
"How can you say such hurtful things?"
"Simply by opening my mouth and forming words, which are made up of vowels and consonants. Come now, my dear, I do believe we had a lesson or two on the proper forms of vowel sounds; surely you haven't forgotten all I've taught you."
"The man I fell in love with would never had said such things to me."
"You lie. I have said and done far worse things to you than anything that has transpired here today. In my absence you have built me up to be perfect, Christine. You forget—I am far from that."
Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. "I never—!"
"Yes, you did and you always have! You have always wanted me to be something that I'm not: an Angel, a father, a ghost. A man who could give you the perfect, beautiful life you always dreamed of. But I am none of these things, Christine!" He was shouting now, his gentle façade shattered. He paced wildly, flinging his arms around in a most un-gentleman-like manner. Christine was withdrawing even further into herself, a half-released sob bursting forth every few seconds. Where had her power gone? When did she lose control and become this pathetic version of herself that she had learned to loathe? Erik continued his rant. "Do you love me or the idea of me? These hands, which you have apparently begged God to have round your waist, have been responsible for the deaths of hundreds. It may sound like a Romantic fallacy, loving the monster through all this faults, but it is not as simple as that! Love is work and sacrifice. I have given you everything I have and even things that were not mine to give. Letting you go was a sacrifice of everything I ever wanted. A sacrifice of my happiness." He bent down and extended his long, thin finger toward her nose. "For yours."
The parlor was once again filled with a pregnant pause, although this time it was not awkward, but contemplative. Erik walked away and positioned himself near the fireplace (yes, he had a fireplace, although it had no chimney and was never lit. As with many parts of his underground house, it had simply seemed like something that needed to be built). Christine fingered the fabric of her skirt, empty of rebuttals. She couldn't just stand up and walk out; she needed Erik to row her across the lake. Besides, that would mean giving up when nothing was solved, although at this precise minute, Christine couldn't see how anything could possibly be solved from this meeting of theirs. They were both too upset to find any solution, if such a thing even existed.
A soft sigh tickled Christine's ear and she raised her eyes from her lap. Erik was leaning his elbow against the mantle, his fingers raked through his hair, completely lost in thought. Christine forgave him everything instantly. His reasons for sending her away were not important. When she thought about it, she realized that she had, after all, spent the last year quite contently living with all the luxuries of the modern world with a man who loved her and never let her fall asleep cold. Christine knew that Erik had never felt that kind of warmth in the night. As much as it pained her to admit it, he had suffered more without her than she had without him. But even so, they had both longed for the other passionately for so long—they should be holding and comforting each other, not arguing. She stood up and smiled at him though he was not looking at her.
"Erik," she softly called. When their eyes met. Christine knew that he had been as hurt by her words as she had been by his. A knot tightened around her stomach and she couldn't form the words of love and passion that she meant to proclaim. Instead, she quickly said, "I said some very cruel things. Please forgive me."
His shoulders softened and he took a small step toward her. "If you will forgive me my harsh tones. I did not mean to lecture you."
"It's done." Christine could feel the peace in her heart radiate through her entire body. "And I also forgive you your words as well." The look that Erik gave her next crushed that peace.
"That is not yours to forgive. I did not offer an apology for my words."
"You don't regret anything that you said?"
"No. I meant every syllable." Christine must have appeared to burn with rage, for Erik silenced her before she could even think of anything to say. "Before you speak, Christine, let me point out that it is obvious that there will be no reconciliation here this morning. I propose that, before either of us is mortally wounded, we go our separate ways, calm down and meet again only when we've both decided what we actually have to say to each other. How does that sound?" During this speech, he had moved towards her; now, he was close enough to smell.
"Fine with me," she sneered as he had not thought she could and turned quickly away. But as she walked out the door, her mind was completely focused on keeping his scent within her nostrils.
A/N: So. That was it. Hate it? Think it okay or 'eh' (that's where I fall, 'eh')? Well, review anyway, please!
Before you leave my domain (mwah-ha-ha), I just want to comment on the movie. Falls on the ground kicking and screaming and crying 'WHY, GOD, WHY?!' That should suffice for now. I mean, obviously I'll buy the DVD, but I don't think I can ever sit through it again. Too horrible (and by the way, if Erik actually did have a sword fight with Raoul—if he actually knew how to sword fight, which I don't think he does, but I'm pretty sure he could master it quickly—RAOUL WOULD NOT WIN. IN ANY LIFETIME. I was just waiting for one of them to scream out "HELLO! MY NAME IS INIGO MONTOYA. YOU KILLED MY FATHER. PREPARE TO DIE". That would have made my day. I just laughed that entire time… it was pathetic. I could go through a step-by-step, scene-by-scene analysis of what I HATED and what I though was okay and what I liked (very few… I liked Raoul during All I Ask of You and… that may be it…). Hey, did the song Phantom of the Opera remind anyone else of the old Sarah Brightman music video? On that note… review please! More to come! I'm leaving for Mexico (my mom's Christmas present—yay!!) on Januray 8th. Expect at least one more update before then. And I will be writing on my trip, so expect one as soon as I get back as well!! Merry Christmas again, everybody!
