Two Kisses
This was my first Phantom of the Opera fic, published on April 20, 2018. What started as a one-shot, became the first chapter of the first of three multi-chapter fics in my Gift Series, with some one-shots thrown in. I had been away from writing for almost 20 years and POTO helped me find my voice. I did do some editing to this, so it isn't exactly the same as the chapter published then – hopefully this is better written. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this piece and will check out the entire series.
"Christine, I love you."
Erik does not know what else to say to her.
Moments ago he had felt as though his heart had been torn from his chest leaving a gaping hole he could not imagine would ever heal. His brain fraught with the internal thunder driving his life, revived in these past seconds, minutes, hours – how long had it been? The old pain revisited. The humiliation, frustration and desperate longing had overtaken him again. What had he done? What had he done?
Yet, here she is standing front of him, and he is determined to recover at least some of what he believes to be his lost sanity.
He stands up, not entirely aware of how he came to be crouched on the floor next to the music box. He straightens his vest and might have smoothed his wig, but it was gone – gone with the mask, left behind on the stage. He smiles and shakes his head, embarrassed to be found so completely vulnerable. The face he so despised was uncovered to the world, such as it was at the Palais Garnier, but irrelevant now. His face was of no matter to her – or so she said. His soul was the issue.
His soul. Has something changed? She is here. He feels changed, but he cannot be certain. Perhaps the feeling of nothing more to lose gave him the courage to say those words: I love you.
For the moment, though, he simply wants to make himself presentable to her, hoping she did not see his breakdown after she left with the boy. All the suffering in his life, all the rage he felt and expressed over the years held nothing to the complete sense of ruin he felt at letting her…encouraging her… forcing her to leave him to go with the vicomte. That stupid, insolent child.
He demanded she choose between him and the young nobleman. The idea that had she not, the young master would die was of no matter, she chose him. Never could he have imagined how she would indicate her choice. A word would have sufficed. Simply saying you enough.
But she kissed him. No one ever kissed him before. The kiss took him by surprise, and he could not even find the presence of mind to touch her arms, much less return the kiss. Full lips, so soft against his tasting of honey. The faint scent of vanilla and lavender in her chestnut curls. Caught completely unawares when she grabbed his shoulder pulling him into an embrace – not one of those cordial hugs you observe people exchange in greetings found him confused. What was happening? Where did she get the strength – a strength he never imagined her having. Her heart beat in time with his. Her breasts pressed against his chest – breasts he dared brush against during their fateful duet. His knees held, but the sensation of melting was disconcerting. The Angel in Hell found himself in heaven and he was alive. More importantly, she was still alive.
What to do with his hands – the hands that could create a sonata without a second thought. Hands that killed more than once – so many times more – too many times. Hands that could turn raw stone into buildings. Magical hands. Now, they were hands that just flailed at the air, too terrified to touch her, to return her embrace. Afraid that if he did, he might never let go.
His thoughts drifted back to his fifth birthday.
"Could I have a present?"
"I suppose a gift would be in order. What do you want…within reason, of course." She waited expectantly. "Well?"
"I would like – um – I would like two…"
"Good god, Erik, two? Two of what?"
Terrified to tell her, but her increased anger and impatience had him believe there was no hope if he did not speak up. "Kisses."
"Kisses? No. You must never ask for kisses – ever. Do you want me to die?"
Here it was. The gift he so desperately wanted as a child but felt he could never have. He was too ugly, and that ugliness would infect anyone he kissed – might actually die from the touch of his distorted lips.
Christine pressed her small, soft hands in a gentle blessing against his ravaged face, her left hand caressing his mottled and scarred cheek, resting against the destroyed flesh and distorted skull. Her right hand brushed back the sparse graying hair that grew sporadically over his head.
Feeling her breath, then her tongue pressed against his lips with an urgency he could hardly comprehend, he opened himself to her and returned her kiss – becoming one. Was that not what he wrote? Becoming one? They were kissing each other fully and completely as if this was what all the sorrow and horror had been leading up to. This kiss connected with something deep in his soul that he knew could only come from someone who loved and wanted him.
"One for now and one to save for later."
Two kisses. A bond had been forged between them and with that revelation, he knew that he had to let her go. This was the exorcism the priest wanted for him so many years ago. The demon possessing him was gone – he was forever altered.
Releasing her to Raoul, that young fool who wanted him dead at any cost, was what he must do. That silly boy who risked his life for her, not knowing that he could have snuffed out the young life at any time in the past, but at no time more opportune than this. Raoul – he could call him by name now that he was no longer intent on killing him. Killing is easier when the object of your attack does not bear a name.
He did not want to give her over to this aristocrat, who for all his good intentions, could never love Christine as he did. But he could not keep her here now. He never believed he had an immortal soul until today. Now he feared for his eternal life should he betray this beautiful woman who gifted him with her love and compassion. Christine showed him what his mother claimed about his kiss was a lie; his gratitude far outweighed his deep need to keep her with him. It was necessary to prove he was a good man. His smile was sour as he processed that thought. What sort of Faustian agreement had he entered into?
She loved him. Her soul was bound with his now. Whatever happened from here on in with the boy would be colored by the kiss she had shared with his body and his soul. He had to be satisfied with that knowledge.
Gently grasping her shoulders, he broke away. He felt her clear, green eyes – eyes that would change from dark to light like a mountain stream based on her mood – study him; he could easily drown in those eyes, but he dared not hold her gaze, he would become as hypnotized as she already appeared to be. He needed to gather himself, maintain the resolve he had found to do what was right for her.
After pressing his hands against hers, he stumbled away. This was not what he wanted. Crushing her in his arms and caressing every part of her – ravishing her with kisses, was what he wanted, but that, he knew, was wrong. Not when he was finally understanding what redemption might be. To have felt joy for the first time in his life. He wanted more, but he dared not hope, dared not risk losing what he had already come to know.
"One for now and one to save for later."
Here is your compassion, his thoughts became a scream as he burned the end of the noose releasing Raoul. The Punjab lasso was not needed for this adversary – the noose sufficed. The boy was practically killing himself with his efforts to get away. How ironic that would be. He did not want any deaths tonight. He truly did not – only wanting the boy to understand what he had done. Raoul had to fear for his life as he had just done there on the stage with the guns pointed at him – poised to kill as Raoul directed them to do. Fear for his own life, as he might likely do again if the mob discovered the entry to his home.
Pleasure could be taken in watching the fool's discomfort. When he pulled away from Christine, the look on the boy's face was priceless. He suspected that Raoul was wondering how she could have kissed his face, embraced his body and caressed his skull. The disgust on his face was plain, but there was fear as well. Did he realize what had been exchanged between him and Christine? In any event, what the boy thought or felt mattered not.
He ordered they leave and forget everything.
It was too dangerous now for all of them. Whatever commitment his and Christine's hearts had made to one another, all of their physical selves were in jeopardy. In his long life of torment and abuse at the hands of others, even that of his mother – there was no suffering as great as this, in this moment watching her leave his home with the boy – with Vicomte Raoul de Chagny.
Broken – his screams of anguish tore through him until he was weak with exhaustion. He wanted to die, but instead survived, yet again. The music box drew his attention, his only constant companion. The little monkey never judged, never hurt or abused him – he just played his cymbals and his little tune. He sang gently to the music and found some solace in the toy. Music would heal him again. Has he completed his penance? Is he finally free of the hatred and anger festering inside him for his entire life?
A rustling of silk roused him from his reverie.
He rose, turning to see if it is true. His breath caught in his throat. The elegant wedding gown he designed for her torn and dirty. There would be no wedding now. But they had pledged their troth with the kiss. Then he let her go. But she was here. She was real.
Why? What, he wondered what would she say now? Do now?
She took his hands and kissed them – her tears flow freely onto his callused and scarred fingers, fingers that she once said she loved.
"Christine, I love you."
"Yes," she whispers and looks back, over her shoulder, then returns her gaze to look deeply into his amber eyes.
He follows her glance. Raoul is gone. He turns back to her. "What…"
"Erik, I love you."
"Oh." Lifting her delicate hands to his ruined lips, he kisses them. His ring is there on her finger where he placed it. Emotions are raw and the wonder of what is happening is almost more than he can bear.
One of his alarms sounds, reminding both of them that they are in danger here.
"We must hide."
Her eyes darken in a moment of fear, then the calm returns. "I will follow wherever you lead me."
He has no words. He is in awe of her grace and trust in him. He must be found worthy.
"Come." Leading her to his carved mahogany chair next to the music box, he turns the head of the monkey; the chair slides back to reveal a large square opening in the floor. A faint musty smell rises from the hole. Grabbing a lantern, he hands it to Christine. "Climb down and wait for me."
The discarded veil on the floor catches his attention. He picks it up and jams it into his vest.
Lighting another lantern for himself, he takes one last look at the room that was his sanctuary. It will likely be destroyed by the mob if they get past his traps. He hopes they will spare the organ but cannot think about that now. There are places he created in the event this might happen. An odd sense of peace floods over him as he leaves this place…his home.
Following Christine down to another level of darkness into the passage, they will soon return to the light.
A moment later, the monkey's head turns, seemingly on its own and the ornate chair shifts smoothly back into place.
