My Savior

Disclaimer: Unfournately, I don't own The Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters. If I did then Raoul would be no more and Erik and Christine would be together forever. I am just a poor sailor with a love of the Phantom.

Summary: The de Changy marriage seems perfect. Is it really all it seems to be?

Chapter One: Perfect as it seems?

The wedding was beautiful. Christine wore a beautiful white gown and had her chocolate curls pinned up and down everywhere, while Raoul wore a black tuxedo, the same one he wore the night of her big debut. They seemed the picture perfect couple. But that was where the happiness ended. Ever since that fateful night at the Opera House, Christine had not sung a note. Raoul had forbidden it, thinking that it might bring "him" back. Every time she wanted to sing and tried to let the notes escape from her lips, he would seem to show up and stop her, every time warning her that "he" could come back.

It had been three months since Christine and Raoul were married, and already she was extremely unhappy. Christine knew about her husband's "secret" trips. The trips that he took frequently and almost always came back with the marks that drew her suspicion. She finally figured it out one night, but never confronted him about it. Christine just went about her daily life as the Vicomtesse de Changy.

One day, while she thought Raoul was out of the house, Christine crept down to the piano that sat in the living room. It was never played and she was hardly an expert at playing the piano. But M. Reyer had taught her a few things when it came to music… the things that her Angel of Music could not teach her. Lifting the cover over the keys, she sat down and smoothed her skirts. Placing her fingers on the keys, she started to play the familiar song. Softly at first the notes came out of her mouth.

"Think of me, Think of me fondly when we've said goodbye"

Her voice started to grow stronger with each note until it rang out through the house. When she had finished the song, Christine smiled. She hadn't smiled in the past few months, not since she had left her Angel. Suddenly, the double doors to the living room slammed open and Raoul stormed in.

"What do you think you are doing Christine?" he shouted, advancing towards her. "Do you really want to bring him back here?"

Christine's smile quickly faded from her beautiful face and she looked at her husband. "It's been so long since I sang Raoul. I miss it."

His eyes flashed wildly. Pacing, he ran a hand through his hair, placed his hands on his hips and stared at her. "You will not sing another note ever again! Do you understand me?"

She shook her head. "Raoul, you cannot take something that I love from me, something that I hold so dear to me. You've forbidden me to sing, I can't go back to the opera house to see all of my friends. Do you really intend to keep me here locked up like your prisoner?" she said, her voice rising.

It was then she felt the sting of his hand meeting her cheek. Shocked, she stumbled back and held her hand to the injured cheek, looking at him.

"You will never talk to me like that again Christine. Do you understand me?" he shouted. "You are my wife and you will do what I say!"

"And if I don't?"

"Then you might not like the consequences."

She strode toward Raoul and looked up into his eyes. "I know about your secret trips Raoul. I know what you are doing behind my back late at night," she said. "Did you think that I wouldn't find out? Do you really think that I am that stupid?"

Raoul took in the information that he had just been given. "Actually, yes, I do," he replied smoothly and calmly.

"I'm leaving Raoul. I'm leaving you and I will never come back."

"You wouldn't dare do that Christine."

For the second time that night, the Vicomte's hand struck his wife's delicate cheek. This time, Christine fell back and dropped to the floor. "Get up!" he shouted, pulling on her arm.

Desperately, Christine tried to free herself. But it was no use. His fingers dug into her flesh painfully. He pulled her close to him and for the first time that night, Christine could smell the alcohol on his breath. It had become a familiar scent since the Vicomte had taken to the bottle lately. Seeing him raise his hand again, she closed her eyes and braced for the impact. She felt the pain of the attack, and then nothing.