A/N: Love to Chatastic for betaing. Found this update while cleaning out my hotmail inbox. Hope you enjoy!
BROKEN
"Do you love me?"
She does not hesitate. "I love you, Erik."
He clasps her hands in his more tightly, though he does not bring her closer. Even in the darkness, she can see the steady stream of tears that trickle down his mask. She is crying as well.
"I once thought that to be true," he remarks sadly, more to himself than to her. "Impossible, perhaps, but then I could always believe in you so implicitly."
She clutches him desperately, wanting him to pull her close. "Please," she cries. "Please believe me, dear. I love you! I will go away with you! I will be everything to you! I give you my word!"
His tone is emotionless. "I have had your word, Christine. Or did you forget?"
She sobs as he says this, but cannot meet his gaze.
They are both in agony.
He wants to leave. He doesn't want to be near her. He could leave her. He could just take the ring he had given her, the ring she had lost so carelessly, and never, ever look back again. All he desires now is drowning his love and his misery in a damaged, unconscious death.
But he simply cannot let go.
"Christine," he says, letting her fingers slide through his ever so slightly. "My heart is broken."
Her cries are now turning into desperate sobs, and she begins to cling to him more fiercely. "Erik…. please…" she whimpers. "My heart is yours! Believe me, oh please believe me!"
He wants to.
It takes everything in his power to resist the urge to bring her against him, to hold her and love her and believe her so implicitly, just as he used to. He could have, once upon a time. He would have lived and breathed only to fulfill her every desire. He would have even killed for her.
He already had.
"I would have given you the world, if you had only let me." He is not even really looking at her, though his glare is trained on her face. "What would you have given me?"
"What do you want?" she gasps, wanting to please him. "Tell me what you want! I will give you whatever you desire!"
His thumbs trace the back of her slim hands. "Do you know what I want?" A pause. "I want to know, Christine. Know your heart and your mind. I don't want to deceive myself any longer. You see," he sighs, "lies have corrupted my faith in you. Lies have killed my devotion to you. You have broken me, Christine. I am undone. Are you broken too?"
She moans softly. Her senses are becoming dizzy, and she is pleading desperately to God that he will not abandon her. Her throat tightens, even as her hands do. "Erik," she begs silently. "Don't leave me…"
Miles below, on the Rue Scribe, the Vicomte's body resembles the twisted remains of a dying fawn, lying awkwardly in a forest of marble and gaslights. His insides are strewn about the cold and crushing pavement, his bones have broken through the skin at odd, unsettling angles. She dangles from above, grasping desperately to those cold fingers that once made her cry out in terror.
He, in turn, feels the smooth skin on her fingers, particularly where her ring used to be. He would have relished the sensation, if she hadn't already killed him under the bronze and solemn gaze of Apollo.
They stare into each other's eyes. Both are silent, save for the quiet sounds of her gentle sobbing.
He knows.
And she knows.
She is broken too.