Chapter 5

When our embrace eventually ended, she looked up at me with such tenderness in her eyes. Her gaze changed, however, to note that my tears were now slowly slipping down my chin. My mask had caught many of them, but eventually the torrent had pushed through the barriers and leaked out the bottom. Her brow puckered in sympathy and she rested her hand on my covered cheek. There was nothing in this world more divine than having Christine put her hand on my face in gentle affection. Her skin's heat slowly started to spread into the mask's otherwise forbidding porcelain. While I could not feel the temperature change on my skin yet, I knew she was showing me more of her limitless kindness.

Slowly, almost so slowly I did not notice, her other hand kept up to the back of my head. I felt an experimental tug on the ribbons holding my disguise in place. Her eyes searched mine, but I could barely keep the contact. I knew I would let her remove it whether I truly wanted her to or not. I was powerless against her pleading expression. I consented in a slow blink and she undid the bow.

The satin ribbons seemed to fall past the mask in slow motion as the weight transferred from pressing slightly downward on my cheeks and beginning of a nose, to being relieved of it completely. It slid into her waiting hands as if it was destined to rest there.

I still could not meet her eyes. I knew she was looking at me, seeing my uncovered face in all of its hideousness, but I could not bring myself to make it seem real by sharing her gaze. The monster is only real if he looks back at you.

It was her hand on my cheek again that finally made my shocked eyes snap up to hers.

The softness of her skin against mine, the heat finally penetrating through to my bones, and the sweetness of her blue eyes all mixed together to make tears prick my eyes again.

'Oh, now, don't start that up again,' she said with sympathetic tiredness. She was likely remembering all of the times I had cried on her in my home under the Opera. I made her weary.

Surprising me further, she produced a handkerchief from I knew not where and began to gently dab my face with it. It took me a moment in my paralysed shock that she was drying off the tears from my skin. She also wiped down the inside of the mask for me so I would not have it wet when I eventually put it back on.

'Christine,' I murmured, 'why are you so kind to me?'

She seemed oddly taken aback by my question, but she did consider it a moment before answering. 'Well, I suppose one reason would be because you were very kind to me when I needed it most.'

I wanted—in that twisted part of my mind that seeks to ruin every situation—to remind her of all the times I had not been kind. I wanted to tell her about the times I had yelled at her, cursed at her, the time I had dug her fingernails into my face until blood crusted under them, staining her with my ugliness. This torturously cruel side to my brain wanted to ruin everything good about this. It was out of fear that I wanted this illusion to end. I wanted it to all be fake. I could not comprehend what to do with myself if this was real.

Somehow, in that impossible way of hers, she seemed to sense my self-destructive mood and decided to change the subject.

'While you were sick and I was taking care of you, I found that putting lotion on the dryer parts of your face seemed to help it.'

I do not know what I was expecting her to say when she started that sentence. I had felt humiliation rise in me, but when it turned to talk of looking after my face, I was caught somewhere between mortification and surprise. 'Y-You touched my face?' I did not dare ask the question most pressing on my mind of "you put lotion on my face?" This act would require not only contact but also prolonged contact of smoothing something around on my skin.

She blushed, making me feel even worse. I wanted this conversation to end. I would go back to the other one in favour of this. 'I wanted to help you. Those welts you get on your cheeks looked so painful that I couldn't imagine how you live with them.'

I did not want to think about the pimples and occasional blisters I suffered from because of the trapped oils and constant rubbing from the mask. She would have had to take care of those. I shivered just thinking of her trying not to vomit as she worked on my face. I do not even like to do those things. I had all but given up on them, yet between wishing to look my best for her—regardless of the fact that the mask hid them—and the pain they caused me, I could not ignore it. Knowing she had seen such further examples of my hideousness did nothing to help my current mood.

'Erik?' She sounded tentative and I noticed she was slightly flushed. 'Have I overstepped?'

I wanted to honestly answer her that yes she has overstepped in the most beautiful way imaginable, but all I did was shake my head. She seemed to remain sceptical but did not press the subject.

Somewhat thankfully, a knock at the front door changed our focus. I nearly jumped out of my skin, searching the room instantly for good hiding spots. Catching Christine smiling towards the door made my heart sink. I had yet to ask her my biggest question of all and I feared it would be answered now.

She rose easily, holding out my mask. 'You won't need it, but I know you will probably want it,' she explained cryptically.

She expected me to greet the person with her?! If the guest was who I thought it was, she must be out of her mind! Still, I accepted the mask and did not protest when she took my hand and led me out of my study. She glanced back only once to make sure I had not somehow detached from my hand to escape.

My gut sunk further and further with each step we took towards the front door. I could not see who was waiting for us, but another string of knocks made Christine's voice chime out that we were coming. I lived in that ringing of her voice for as long as I could. It was so musical despite its simplicity in words. It reminded me—as if I had forgotten—why I loved her so.

She let go of my hand and for that instant I felt like I was lost at sea. I was drifting away into the unknown depths and a fear gripped me that I would fall too far to see her light ever again. I felt the gripping panic rise in my chest that she would fade away into the bright sunlight that flooded in from the now open door. She would walk off into Heaven and leave me all alone. It was like watching her leave my Hell to be with her boy all over again. She would leave me now and never looked back.

My panic made me almost lunge forward to reclaim her hand. She had been in process of greeting our guest. The moment our skin touched, I felt the sensation of falling disappear. I kept my head down as I just stood there, clutching her hand and breathing a little more heavily than was necessary. A flush was creeping up my neck as I felt her surprised stare on me. I could feel our guest's stare equalling hers, but I did not look up. I just needed to hold her hand and know she would not leave me again.

'Erik?'

She keeps asking that and it made me briefly wonder if she did not recognise me. Had I changed so much from the last time we were together? Had my illness changed me? Has living outside of my home become so unusual? I supposed that seeing me somewhere else could be a bit shocking. I must have looked severely out of place in this home and away from my shadows. I felt more exposed here, but not quite uncomfortable. Christine's presence was helping me a lot in that.

'I just…needed you,' I mutter, feeling pathetic.

I nearly looked up when I felt her other hand cover mine. Our hands touching feels like a bolt of lightning had shot up my skin and skated along my skin. It was comforting and thrilling at the same time; it made me want to hold her again.

There was a silence that stretched on between us, but it was soon interrupted by the clearing of a throat. I recognised the noise and looked up so quickly my head almost spun.

The Daroga stood in the doorway, his black hair shining in the sun and his tan skin seeming to glow. His green eyes flashed in a smile and I knew he was holding in laughter at my reaction.

'Oh, please come in, Nadir. It's good to see you again,' Christine said cheerily.

I whirled my eyes to her. 'How do you know him?! And why do you call him by his first name?' My voice was booming as it had not been for a month, yet it came back to me rather easily and my spine straightened itself automatically. Once again, I was feeling the power of the Opera Ghost running through me.

Her hands fisted on her hips and her eyes sparkled dangerously. She had broken our contact and though its loss did not bother me now, I realised the peril I had stepped into. Christine was becoming angry with me and that was more dangerous than my Punjab Lasso.

'I know him because he helped me return to your house on the lake and drag your nearly dead body out and into the sunlight. He has been helping me look after you this whole time and even moved into a house out here so he could stay close in case I needed something. I call him by his first name because he is my friend and has allowed me to do so. Now, do you have any more demands or are you ready to be a pleasanter host?'

Let it be known that my reason and my stubbornness are not always in agreement and that my stubbornness is enough to make a mule seem fickle. I held her stare, not caring for the warning bells going off in my logical brain. I kept my head high, hoping she would back down as I somehow thought she should. When she did not, I resorted to the only thing I knew to do.

'I am going to play the piano in my study. I would kindly request no one disturbs me.'

I turned on my heel and stalked out of the room. I heard, just as I was closing the door, Christine sigh in tired disappointment, 'He hasn't changed.' To which the Daroga replied, 'You expected him to?'

I must admit that this stung my pride a bit, but I could not take another hit by turning back now. Like the child I was behaving like, I closed the door firmly and did not leave as Christine and the Daroga had their little visit. I thought them both traitors anyway, talking behind my back—ignoring the fact that I was the one who turned aforementioned back on them. Here I was, enjoying my time with Christine and of course the Daroga had to come and stick his handsome nose into everything. He just had to ruin it all.

Banging on the piano did little relieve my mood. Like a dark cloud, it hung over me, blocking out any chance of sunlight in thoughts of Christine. The sad thing was that I was honestly curious as to how all of this had come about. I was still caught up in the gratitude of not being dead and alone in my home underground that I had been putting off the important questions as to why I was here. I knew I needed the answers soon, but fear paralysed me. Much as it had when Christine had been living with me. Her returning to me seemingly of her own free will was something of a miracle and I did not dare look that gift horse in the mouth. Things were different now, though. I needed to know why she saved me and kept me in her life. Were it not for the fact that she specified only this particular room in the house was designed for my tastes, I would think this house was meant to be a gift to me. She would get me settled and then leave to whatever it was she was supposed to have.

Her words at the beach came back to me, though. She wanted to share her memories of this place with me. She wanted me here with her. Could it be that she was no longer engaged to the Vicomte? I scoffed at that idea. Though I had not noticed a ring on her finger, I could not make myself believe that she would turn down the love of her life for someone like me. That boy was everything I was not and could give her everything I could never begin to offer. She had her dream prince waiting for her to take her away from the hideous monster. Yet like the tale of Beauty and the Beast, she returned. Perhaps she thought that she could get some kind of prince out of me. A bit of sun, some healthier eating habits, and fresh air would transform my hideous exterior into something much more resembling of a living human being.

I nearly cackled to think about that. My poor, deluded Christine. She would be so disappointed. After all, I thought I had already proven to her that my true face is no mask. There is nothing else hiding beneath. She had pulled down all of my defences that night and it scared her beyond reason. How could she forget that? I had nowhere left to hide, so what she saw in that raging, crying lunatic was who I truly am. All of the gentlemanly behaviour I exhibited was all an act to fool her into loving me. I was willing to play the part forever if she would have me. What more could I offer? Yet it was not good enough. She wanted more from me when I had nothing left in me to give.

So caught up in these thoughts was I that I hardly noticed her enter the room. She was like a mouse sometimes, tiptoeing about as though she could sneak up on me.

'Erik?' There was that plaintive question again. I was beginning to hate it. Did she not know it was me? Was she hoping for someone else? I felt my fists clench, the blood rushing through my head almost drowning out her next words. 'Nadir left. He really only came by to make sure you were well and I did not need anything.' I heard a tender smile enter her voice as she said softly, 'He is such a nice man.'

I could not take it anymore. Her thoughtlessly kind comments, her gentility, her compassion for those who do not deserve it. I could not understand it. I rounded on her, my shoulders high and my height daunting as I loomed over her tiny figure.

'Yes, he is nice, isn't he,' I sneered. 'Unlike Erik who is cruel and wicked and repulsive. I do not know how you stand me, Christine.' I may have spoken the truth, but it came out with a sickeningly snide voice. 'It must pain you to have to have looked after me day in day out. I cannot imagine the strain.'

Her eyes showed her emotions as they always have. She oscillated between fury and confusion. 'Erik, what are you talking about?'

'I am merely noting how much easier it would have been to just let me die! Did you ever wonder if maybe I did not want to live?! Did you ever consider that I was better off alone in the dark? No. Because you are my angel. You are my saviour and must pull me to the light. My poor, misguided child who thinks she can save me. Leaving me to die would have been a sin and my good Christine cannot allow that. She cannot bear the thought of being bad. She cannot imagine anyone wanting to be that.'

I had been walking forward, backing her up until she had fallen into the sofa's welcoming cushions. Her eyes were wide, still unsettled on their mood.

'You think that with a little kindness you can change me. You think that there is something worth saving in me. Well there isn't! There is nothing in me worth having. I am nothing! What you see,' here I pulled off my mask, 'is what you get!'

I stood there, breathing hard as she stared up at me like a startled deer. We were frozen in this awful moment where I could swear I could still hear my voice echoing through the house.

My shoulders felt suddenly tired and fell. My eyes were prickling, but I did not acknowledge the tears that threatened. My voice, when I spoke next, was broken and hollow. 'I can never be who you want me to be.'

I crumpled. I was so weary, so lost, and so very sorry. I felt sobs choking me and just sat there crying. The day had been so full of that already, but I could not help it. Too much had changed. Too much had happened for me to just accept it like a normal person might. I was not normal. I was not strong. I was fragile, unlike Christine. I once thought her delicate, and in some ways she was, but never in the ways I expected her to be. She was stronger than I had ever been and I took that for granted every time. She knew how to see the best in everything and make it that way. I just ruined everything I touched.

'I am just so confused,' I wept. My mask laid a bit away from me, its empty eyeholes staring at me in silent judgement. The cracks in the porcelain felt like the cracks in my soul. I was bleeding inside and I did not know how or if I could fix it.

Christine gave a sigh that sounded as though she was not only tired but was being forced in a direction she had been hoping to avoid. 'You have a question you want to ask me.' She said it rather than asked. It made me feel even more like a child.

'Why are you not with the Vicomte?'

She took a breath and let it out slowly. She reached down and tugged at my arms, urging me to sit on the sofa beside her. I clambered up and sat with my shoulders hunched forward, forcing me to look up like a dog being scolded. She watched me sit like this for a moment before reaching out and moving my shoulders back to a more straightened position. She muttered something about not liking bad posture and I was instantly reminded of my mother, hitting my back with a ruler when I slouched as a child. Christine was clearly much gentler in her corrections, though I still flinched from the unfamiliarity of her hands on my shoulders.

'Erik, I know some of this will not make sense to you and I will try my best to explain it so you will understand.' She gave me a look of expectation, so I nodded solemnly. I never interrupted her when she was telling me something important unless I was already upset. I knew what it was to not be taken seriously or feel as though no one cares what I had to say and Christine had already experienced that far too much in her lifetime. I vowed to sit quietly and listen until she had told her tale.

She sighed again, only this time it was more of an exhale to gather thoughts. 'That night, when you made me choose between you and Raoul, I do not think either of you understood what I really wanted. Both of you were deciding for me, like I was some child. Now, I will be the first to admit that for a long time, I did act like a child because I did not know what I wanted or what to do with myself. When you first came to me as my angel, I was so lost and did not know what I wanted. You gave me something to want and I followed blindly. When Raoul stepped back into my life, he showed me a different path and that was so exciting. You had changed and lied, I was lost again. Raoul gave me the promise of a safer option for my life. I followed him out of fear of you.'

I could not help but cringe as she told me these truths. I knew I had not right to object, and I was not about to dare, but it still hurt to hear.

'When I made my choice that night, I did it out of fear, pity, and—though it pains me to admit it—a sense that I still owed you for all of the pain I put you through. You did not deserve all the hurt I caused you and I was sorry for that. But then, you let me go and none of that seemed to matter anymore. I was happy with Raoul, but I quickly discovered that he wanted things I did not. I did not know if I ever wanted to sing again after what you had done,' here she looked down, muttering that she had not sung since that night, 'but the idea of losing music entirely still hurt me. I associated music with my father and I felt that bond being severed. It hurt too much to think of letting go. I also worried for you. I wondered what had happened after we had left. Where you alive or dead? Had I doomed you to that fate? I had to know, so I went back to your house and found you nearly gone. I had not expected to feel so happy to see you alive. I realised that you were in need of me more than I needed you.'

I sat there, thinking over what she had said. There was a block in my mind that kept me from completely seeing what she meant by all of this and I boldly voiced it. 'You chose me over the Vicomte?'

Her face got stern for a moment. 'Not exactly.'

My head hung down at this. I did not require it to be happy necessarily, but my hopes had gotten high.

'Erik,' here she turned and took my hands. 'Raoul wanted things I did not and though you have asked some of me before, I know you will not force the issue. Raoul and I never had much in common beyond our childhood time together.'

'What things did he want that you could not give him?' I asked, ignoring the fact that just because Raoul was right for her did not mean that I was all that better. Despite everything, my desire for her happiness still came first.

'Marriage.'

I was shocked to hear this. She had once admitted to the Angel of Music that she dreamt of her wedding day and the handsome husband she would marry and all of the music that would fill their home together.

Seeing my utter confusion, she smiled. 'Erik, marriage in this time means that the husband gets to decide everything the wife is and can ever be. I do not want that. I wish to remain a mistress of my own actions.'

My strong, beautiful Christine. Perhaps I loved the sea as well in all of its untamed glory. No matter how many ventured across the ocean, or learned its ways, none could claim control over it.

'You wish for a partnership,' I said. I knew that husbands were meant to dictate what their wives would do, just as Christine said, but what she proposed instead was rather unusual.

'I wish for someone to love me and not control me. There are things that cannot be given to another, but must be taken for one's self.'

'Would I not make you a happy wife? I would do anything for you, Christine. I would give you anything your heart desired and more!'

'My heart desires freedom and no one to tell me to stay put when I wish to fly.'

'You think I would cage you?'

She looked at me with those sharply knowing yet sweet eyes. 'You already tried once.'

Guilt rushed through my face and I knew she saw it plainly, exposed as I was to her. Her grin remained. She had beaten me as she often did. I remained still and silent for some time, trying to wrap my head around this. For so long, I had imagined and dreamt of her as a wife, and me taking care of her. I could not let those dreams go so easily.

'I know this is a bit unusual and you probably were not expecting this at all, but this is my choice.'

I nodded slowly, though I did not fully understand. I should be jumping with joy as Christine chose me over spending time with the Vicomte. But at the same time, she was not choosing me. She was choosing herself. A third part of me was unspeakably proud of her. It was the same side of me that said I would be fine if she had become extremely famous at the Opera and travelled to different theatres or even around the world. It was a part that was the best of me that I rarely listened to but knew I should. It was the side of me that I used to hide my jealousy and bitterness.

She continued to try to catch my eye, but I did not allow it. I merely kept my gaze glued to my hands and the fabric of my trousers as I picked at it slowly. The silence continued to stretch on between us for a moment until I blurted out another question that probably should have been left in my chest. I was afraid of the damage it could do there, though.

'Do you still love him?'

She blinked, somewhat surprised by my query. I looked up to see her reaction. She seemed at a loss for words then very thoughtful. 'In some ways, yes. I did enjoy our time together, but I no longer want the things he wished to share. I suppose I never really did.'

I blinked, feeling my eyes prickle, but not letting anymore tears slip free. I had cried enough today. 'If he came here and asked you to go with him, would you go?'

Her tenderness returned to her eyes. 'Erik, I would not simply leave you.'

'But would you go with him? You are not going to be tied to me here. We will not be married and I do not know if I have the strength with which to follow. Would you go with him?'

'You are asking if I still want to be with him,' she said, looking at me with that knowing gaze again. I nodded. 'As a friend, I would not mind seeing him every now and again. But nothing more than that. He wants things I do not and he belongs in a different social circle than I do, especially now. If he came here and asked me to go somewhere with him, I probably would not go.'

I let out a breath and nodded. This had been eating at me more than I had thought. Ever since waking, I had wondered where the Vicomte had gone and when he would return to our lives. Knowing this, I felt a bit more secure. I had not realised how much I needed that safety. I did not have to worry about someone breaking down the door to take Christine away from me. With the exception of visiting to check up on us, even the Daroga seemed comfortable with the arrangement. I suspected that his comfort was at least partially from Christine's insistence. She was a force to be reckoned with and he was a smart enough man to know when to just let those be.

Finally, she offered quietly to make us some lunch and I joined her by going into the dining room to wait. She said she could not allow me to help her in the kitchen, despite my being a fairly adequate cook. I thrummed my fingers on the table as I continued to think about the sudden change of events that had taken place. I played Moonlight Sonata on the wood of the table without even realising—something my fingers did when I was nervous or especially thoughtful.

Christine had brought me to this house to live with her, but not to marry her. She wanted me here and had intended for us to be together without interruption from the Vicomte.

This all seemed so magical and too good to be true, but I still found myself questioning. She had not been overly happy in my home, try as she might have to seem so. She was not very happy with me, so why did she think this would be any different? Was she running from something? Did she need me to help her in some other way she did not wish to reveal yet? Did she still feel badly for me and was doing all of this out of some misplaced sense of pity or guilt? She had no reason to feel either of those for me. I had acted abominably to her and the Vicomte. By all sense and logic, she should be cursing my name, not making me lunch in a house she brought me into.

Perhaps I was dreaming after all.

With this thought, I tried to put aside everything else and simply enjoy the day. The queries and curiosity still came unbidden, however. I feared I would never escape them until Christine had answered them all or changed her mind about having me stay with her. She would throw me out in disgust. I could not let it be and would keep pushing and poking where she did not want me to. I knew from my own experience how that could go. Still, the thoughts would not let me be.

That night, I went to bed with a mind swirling with doubt, fear, and questions. I felt myself spiralling into the darkness of a mood that I knew would not be helped come morning. I wanted to stop existing. Perhaps if I faded away, I would not be such a burden to Christine and she could finally have true happiness. I had thought this before when considering my death and had be wrong, though. That reasoning did not make it far in my head, however, and I simply kept falling down into my own hideous soul.