"To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering, one must not love; but then one suffers from not loving. Therefore, to love is to suffer, not to love is to suffer, to suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love; to be happy then is to suffer, but suffering makes one unhappy; therefore to be unhappy one must love or love to suffer or suffer from too much happiness. "- Love and Death

haha i love that quote, so confusing yet it makes sense once u read it a few hundred times. Anywho, thanks to my reviewers, now let the tension begin! DUN DUN DUN!

Chapter 11:Tensions Run High

Erik stirred the fire burning in the stone hearth as he gave a content yawn. A tender and peaceful smile played across his lips as he stood from his position in front of the fire and turned to look at Christine. She was sprawled across his huge swan bed, her legs intertwined in the satin sheets and her hair laying messily across the pillow. With the familiar fire starting within him, he studied the way her chest, barely visible beneath the thin satin coverlet, rose and fell with each steady breath. She looked completely content, a faint smile lighting up her delicate features.

Images of the night before repeated unceasingly in his head as he tried to go about his business. Every time he would attempt to sit and read a book or play at his organ, he would see Christine, pressed up against him, their mouths locked in a passionate kiss, or, her arms around his neck and her steady, sleeping breath warming his neck. He strode towards Christine's sleeping form in nothing but a black satin robe and black trousers and sat on the edge of his bed as he began to stroke her tender flesh. Even in sleep, he saw her shudder under his sensual touch, and he leaned down to gently press a kiss to her forehead.

When he pulled back from her porcelain skin and stood from her bedside, he suddenly felt an odd uneasiness. What if, when the time came for them to. . .join, if, of course, they did, what if he didn't please her as Raoul would?He was slightly sure now, by what Christine had said the night before, thatChristine might want them to get married, andthen, being herhusband(he shuddered at the thought), he wouldhave to. . .takeher innocence. Surely Raoul would offer her every pleasure she desired, if he were given the chance. He would try to be alluring, to be desirable, but what if it wasn't enough? She might seemed pleased, but he knew nothing of such intimate relations, what if everyone felt that way when they were 'interacting' with any person at all? He thought back to his taste of Heaven, as small as it was, and recalled vividly her tongue dancing with his, her arms gripping his sleeves and showing no sign of displeasure. Slightly satisfied that she could be pleased even that much, he began to tend to the fire once again.

Like before, he stopped. He suddenly had a thought, one that made him drop the hot iron poker and start convulsing as he stood from his position and hastily ran from the room. He flung himself onto the bench of his organ and buried his head in his hands, realizing the miserable truth of the situation. He could never take Christine. She had said she loved him, but that could not have been the truth! He was not entirely certain why, perhaps it was the fact that he had never been loved before, but he could not accept that Christine truly loved him for him. How could she see behind the monster? The thought that had ran him from the room continued to echo in his already aching head, and he struggled fruitlessly to drive it from his mind. But still, it continued to repeat, as if it were getting revenge on the pitiful creature for thinking of such pleasures.

If Christine becomes pregnant. . .what would happen if. .if. .What if the child looks like. . .me?

He knew enough about children to know that they inherited the traits of both mother and father, so the child was bound to have some deformity because of the poor thing's cursed father. It wasn't as if he was disgusted to have to raise an ugly son or daughter , if it were his he would love it as if it were a baby god or goddess. But, his mother. . .

He feared Christine's reaction. He wanted her to have a beautiful and perfectly flawless life in every aspect, and that had already been ruptured by his being. But for her to be cursed with two deformed souls, he did not want Christine to have to face the burden of raising another being that held the likeness of himself. Not that he didn't find Christine loving in every aspect, but he couldn't help but think of how his own childhood had been, and he couldn't bear to have Christine forced to prevent that from happening to their child. But what could he do? Christine may have been pregnant at that very moment, if he had given into her the night before, his demon seed planted firmly in Christine's womb. Their passion might be complete ecstasy, but he would inevitably have to pay the price. Christine would want children.

He needed air.

He went to his room and quickly pulled one of his many roses lying on his bedside and hastily pulled a black satin ribbon from the top drawer of his bureau. He tied it around the rose quickly but elegantly, pulling the ties into a gentle bow. He went into Christine's room, thankful that Christine was still asleep, he could not risk her seeing him in his current state and prying the truth from him. He wanted her happiness to last as long as he could prolong it.

He placed the rose on the pillow next to her, giving her forehead one last gentle kiss before grabbing his shirt from the floor. He swiftly threw the shirt on and pulled his cloak on afterwards, and after pulling on his boots he strode from his lair.

XxXxXxXxXxXx

Christine groaned as she rolled over in the huge bed, shivering as the cover fell from her shoulders and exposed her weary flesh to the cool air. She gave a wide smile as her eyes rested on the red rose resting on her pillow. Last night had been, in one word, perfect, despite the lack of what she had truly desired. She had waited so long for Erik to finally give in, but she knew she would have to wait. Now, with her desires temporarily sated after a blissful night of laying contently in Erik's arms, she felt an odd calm wash over her and a pleasant fluttering in her lower abdomen.

She was so caught up in her rapture that she briefly forgot that Erik was no longer in the bed with her. She frowned as she realized she had been denied the pleasure of waking in his arms. He was probably in another of his mood swings, she realized with a sudden dread coursing through her.

Why couldn't he ever just stay pleased? If one thing didn't irritate him, then the next thing surely would. Even after he had offered her his comforting arms and warm, passionate kisses, he was probably sitting at his organ pouting. Despite his immaturity, she found his whole act strangely attractive. God, she loved him so much it was starting to frighten her. She felt a twinge of guilt as she thought of poor Raoul, who was probably busy interrogating every member of the ballet to find out where she was residing. But she loved Erik, and she promised herself not to let Raoul come between them. She would make it official when she finally gave herself to him, and then he would truly be her Angel.

She thought about going to Erik to comfort him, but as she started to get up from their bed,. .- their bed. . .she smiled wickedly at this thought before brushing it from her mind- she felt her eyes grow heavy. She would talk to him later, she decided. He probably wanted some time to vent anyhow. She was drifting into a blissful state of unconsciousness when the distant sound of sloshing water outside her room alerted Christine that someone was there. She felt a fear swell within her as she did her best to cover her simple nightgowned- body with the red coverlet, knowing it was not Erik that had walked into his home, as his steps were always graceful and stealthy. She held her breath as the person's footsteps became more pronounced, and the ragged breathing became more evident from beyond the black veil.

Oh God, what if it were someone from the Opera? What would they do if they found her? How had they gotten there in the first place? What if they took her from Erik? What if they took her from her one true love just as she had finally discovered the pleasures of being in love at all? Finally her breath caught in her throat as the veil was thrown back, and the intruder's person was made drastically clear to Christine as he stood at the foot of her bed, completely in awe of her current state.

Raoul.

Raoul.

Raoul.

No! Her mind screamed repeatedly as she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping with all her being that he would disappear when she opened her eyes. Not now! Not when everything was perfect! How did he know? Why did he have to come? Why!

She opened her eyes slowly, and felt a wave of dismay as she saw Raoul still standing in the same position as before, but his eyes had a strange steeliness Christine had not seen when Raoul had come in. He knew. Or, he thought he knew. She knew what he was thinking, as she was sitting there in Erik's bed, with only a thin nightgown on and Erik's jacket laying on the floor next the bed, a look of pure pleasure painted across her features when she was supposed to be waiting for Raoul to come and rescue her. Plus, it didn't help that she was just staring at him in horror. Never had anything been more obvious. He had every right to be angry with her, and she would have been more pleased if he began to lecture her rather than have to deal with his uneasy silence. Finally, she could take his unnerving silence no longer, and remarked in a strangely placid tone,"It is not polite to walk in on ladies without permission, Raoul."

He did not speak, but his gaze hardened and his mouth set into a grim line as his eyes rested on the red rose lying on her pillow. He was fairly surprised that Erik was not with her, enveloping her small frame in his repulsive embrace. Raoul felt the anger stirring in his stomach, but forced it down for the time. Now was not the moment for anger, it was the moment for answers. Raoul noticed Christine looked fairly uneasy, and he knew she knew he was about to begin interrogating her. He studied her for a moment before beginning.

"Yes, it was rather ungentlemanly to walk in on you in your obvious state of undress. Tell me, dearest Christine, why you are wearing such a nightgown, which is really nothing more than a piece of fabric?" The word dearest was coated with obvious sarcasm, and she felt her own anger threatening to surface, but she forced it away and kept her tone strangely calm. Erik had taught her well.

"Honestly, Raoul, it is only more improper to inquire about a lady's personal business, is it not? Surely a noble of your status would know that."

She wasn't sure why she was being so cruel, it wasn't Raoul's fault he had come after her. He didn't realize she didn't love him as he wished she did. It was completely unfair to both of them, in the sense that Raoul could never be happy thinking she was miserable with Erik, whereas Christine could never live knowing Raoul was constantly worrying about nothing. She sighed and closed her eyes as Raoul's silence once again filled the air with a thick tension, and she forced herself to remain collected. Expecting a sarcastic retort, she was completely taken aback when she heard Raoul whimper before her. Her eyes flew open as he looked at her in anguish, a look she had never known Raoul to possess.

"Why, Christine? Why didn't you tell me you loved him and not me? Why did you feel it fit to torture my soul?"

This was not going as he had planned it. His original intention was to get to Erik's lair, capture her and take her back to his estate, then marry her as quickly as possible. But now, he was turning into a weak child in front of her. He hated Christine so much yet she pained him each time he thought of her in Erik's arms.

Why couldn't he think of her as the whore he thought her as only hours before? She looked so innocent, so remarkably pure even though she had been robbed of her innocence only recently by a monster.

Christine was avoiding his gaze, focusing her brown eyes on the satin sheets twisted around her torso as she chewed the inside of her lip. What was she supposed to say? Should she tell him the truth? Oh, God no, he'd hate her forever. She was at a loss for what to do, and found herself wishing Erik would come back from wherever he had gone and save her from having to deal with Raoul. She gave a sigh as she realized she had to tell him the truth. If she didn't, Raoul would never give up. Wrapping the cover tighter against her body, she rose from her bed and asked him politely to wait in the parlor while she changed, and then she swore to tell him everything.

He nodded curtly, and Christine noticed with a stab of pity that his expression was pained as he left from her room. Collapsing against the bed, she buried her face in the pillow as she cursed her whole life. Why couldn't she and Erik be happy together in peace? How long would she be paying for her betrayal? She forced herself to get up from the warm bed, and slowly put on a modest yet tasteful midnight blue gown. Not even bothering to brush her hair, she strode from the room and treaded nervously toward where Raoul sat on the Persian couch.

She avoided Raoul's gaze as she sat across from him in Erik's own personal chair, and she resisted the urge to inhale the smell of Erik's cologne that seemed to envelop her as she sat in the chair. Suddenly, all of her fear was gone, and she found herself pouring her heart out to him, telling him everything from how she had thought she loved Raoul but it was nothing but her childish fantasies of a storybook romance, to her night of slending comfort in the arms of her angel, leaving out all of the actual intimate moments. Raoul remained silent through her entire tale, never once interrupting to add comments or question her motives. Finally, she completed her story, and waited in silence for Raoul's reaction.

XxXxXxXx

Erik left the house in a haze, still consumed by his earlier thought. He walked for hours, not sure of where he was going, but always managing to remain in the shadows. It was still fairly early in the morning, so the streets were not quite so busy and it was easy for him to avoid running into strangers in his fog. Finally, hours of walking seemed to pay off, and the fog cleared. He relaxed his mind, understanding that any decisions or contemplations about their possible child had to be discussed with Christine. Feeling more resolute and calm now that he had a firm decision, he decided to do something productive since he was smack dab in the middle of the shopping and business district of Paris. Remembering he was low on food, he went to the market and purchased several fruits and meats before visiting the florist and buying a dozen fresh roses.

Contemplating what his next move should be, he perceived, with slight pain in his heart, that Christine would not be happy living underground all her life. He would have to leave his home for Christine's sake, no matter how much it made his heart ache to leave his first masterpiece behind. H e would risk anything for Christine's delight. He went to the nearest post office, and, after receiving a piece of paper and envelope from the worker, hastily wrote a letter and addressed it to a place on the outskirts of Paris. Feeling rather pleased with himself, Erik left the post office and headed back towards his home.

As he approached the entrance, he felt like nothing more than a husband gone to run errands for his loving wife. He loved the feeling. He was smiling like a complete fool, uncaring, by the time he reached the passageway leading directly into his lair. He strolled into the kitchen and set his purchases on the counter before heading towards Christine's room. He stood outside the black veil, arm poised to push it back when he froze.

There were voices coming from the parlor. One he recognized immediately, the voice he would no anywhere. Christine. And the other, . . .

He fingered his lasso beneath his cloak.