A/N: I've decided to shake things up and use Christine's POV.
As I move to exit my dressing room door and retire for the evening, I feel a chill take over the room. He is here. At once, every candle extingushes, as if by themselves. There is a thundering in my ears, a rumble seems to quake throughout the room.
"Insolent boy!" I freeze on the spot. He had seen then. It was stupid of me to think he hadn't. "Ignorant fool, this brave young suitor!" My childhood sweetheart had come to congratulate me and offer to take me to supper.
I was to have no distractions while under his instruction. The Angel had made that clear.
"Angel of Music, my soul was weak," I plead. "Forgive me! Guide me! Enter at last and grant to me your glory!"
"Child, you shall know me and see why I hide. Look upon yourself in the mirror." I walk reverently toward the mirror, eyes wide as a human figure appears next to my reflection.
Slowly, so slowly, it seemed the mirror disappeared into the wall as if by magic. The tall, dark shape, shrouded in a billowing cape, that stood before me, was in shadows created by candelabra lit on the passageway behind him. Unconciously, I take a timid step back. His head lifts from it's bowed position and a white mask glows luminously upon the right side of his face.
"Come to your Angel of music," he sings softly, his beautiful melody drawing me to him.
As if miles away, I hear a vague pounding on the door and shouting.
"I am your Angel of music." A leather wrapped, long fingered hand extended toward me, waiting. I glance down at it, then up to meet his eyes.
His eyes. They seemed to glow. Once more my eyes lower to the outstretched fingers and I hesitantly place my hand in his.
I am gently lead through the narrow passageway. He stops only briefly to light a torch, constantly turning as if to make sure I was still there. His words finally sink in.
"The Phantom of the Opera is there inside your mind." The Phantom. He, who had terrozied the managers for months...years...was my Angel. He set me on a black stallion as we continued our journey down into the cellars of the Opera. He lead the horse to the bank of a lake. From there he lifted me down from the horse's back and into a gondala on the lake. All the while, he sang, we sang. My eyes never leave him until he steps behind me on the boat.
"Sing for me!" he commands, his words echoing throughout the cellar. So I did, obeying him, eager to please my Angel. Once we reach our destination, he steps effortlessly off the boat and anchors it. With a dramitic spin his cape twirls from him, floating down to settle near the edge of the lake. Behind him was a large room carved in the stone. A multitude of lit candles fill the space with flickering light. He stands before me explaining why he had brought me.
"Since the moment I first heard you sing, I have needed you with me to serve me, to sing. For my music." Afterwards, he began to serenade me before offering a hand to pull me from the boat. Slowly he took me through the first half of the room, past his artwork and a replica of the Opera's stage. Then on to a pipe organ that was seemingly built into the very structure of the Opera. Playbills and sheet music littered the top of the organ and the floor.
He held me at arm's length.
"Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world, leave all thoughts of the life you knew before. Let your soul take you where you long to be. Only then can you belong to me." I can feel my chest heaving, while I gaze wide-eyed at him. His eyes...oh his eyes...smoldering, burning with something I have no knowledge of. Heat courses through my body.
Briefly, I feel his fingertips lightly brush my chin and cheeks before he gently turns me from him. My breath catches when a hand rests on my hip and another at my waist. Ever so faintly his hands trade positions. I tremble when his song continues, whispered into my ear. Every hair on my body stands up. A buzzing begins within the very core of my being. I feel his hand slowly slide down the length of me to take mine. He raises it to his uncovered cheek, moving it against his smooth, squared jaw.
I feel his warm breath against the back of my neck as he pleads.
"Touch me, trust me." Then my hands are in his and I am given the gift of seeing his eyes again. Desire burns there, as I'm sure is reflected in my own eyes. He leads me to the next room where I am greeted with myself dressed in a bridal ensemble. Shocked, I lose consciousness.
Some time later, a musical tinkling pulls me back from sleep. My hand touches a soft velvet blanket on top of a soft feather mattress. A dark, sheer curtain surrounds the bed. After a quick pull of the cord, the curtain rises and on a dainty table sits a beautiful wooden music box. It is adorned with a plush-looking monkey playing cymbals. He keeps perfect time with the tune coming from the box. I smile as I brush my fingers against his fur. During a break in the song I hear a softer tune coming from outside the room.
Suddenly, it all rushes back to me. The mirror, the boat...the man. I rise from the bed following the notes. Across the distance he sits at the organ working. Completely unaware of my presence, I walk silently toward him. He pauses his song to record some notes and catches sight of me from the corner of his eye. The mask glares at me. His dark lashes fan out against the pale skin that is visible around his eye. I reach out to stroke his unmasked cheek, now rough with the day's stubble. He reacts, rubbing his cheek against my hand, much like a cat would. A lock of jet black hair falls over the mask and I reach to push it back. My fingers so close to edge of the mask...
I wake from the dream, much as I always do, with mixed feelings of dread and desire. A strange combination, I know. I always wake after touching his bare cheek, even the phantom feeling of the stubble on my fingertips gives me goosebumps. I always wake before whatever terrible thing happens next. I know it's terrible by the feeling of dread that fills me right after I wake. Then I remember the voice, that beautiful angel's song, and dread turns to desire. Although I have had this dream for years, I know now the voice belongs to him. To Erik.
Reaching over, I find the bed empty. With a small sigh, I run my hands through the mess of my hair and climb from the bed. I find my discarded panties on the floor at the foot of the bed where Erik must have dropped them. Smiling, I grab his rumpled undershirt and pull it over my head. I breathe in his scent. I'm not sure if it's his laundry detergent, bath soap, cologne, a combination of them, or just him, but I have a sense of euphoria when I inhale it. I imagine it's like an addict's high.
I am so drawn to him. How do they say it? Like a moth to flame.
I walk quietly toward the living room. The terrycloth fabric of his robe stretches taut over his broad shoulders as he reaches for the lower octaves. He pauses for a moment to scribble down some chords, then plays them again with a slight tilt of his head. I stare at the back of his head. His hair, usually slicked back so neatly, was relaxed, brushing against his ears. His left hand moves back over, long, elegant fingers stretching to hit a chord. I hear his curse as he misses a note. His head falls back, once he corrects it, once more getting lost in his music.
Suddenly a wave of déjá vu hits me and I gasp softly. I see the change in him immediately. His spine straightens and his hands falter. I see the rise and fall of his shoulders quicken and I find myself approaching him. My hand reaching for the far side of his face. I feel him lean into my hand, but when my other hand slides into his hair, he flinches.
I feel myself fading. My eyes roll back and I hear him calling me, but everything is muted. He supports me, holding me against him.
"Stay with me," I hear him plead. "Please. Stay with me." I feel the couch beneath me and slowly I come back around. I really don't know what to make of these continued fainting spells. He leaves the room for a moment. His movements are so light and quiet. Then there he is kneeling in front of me, setting something next to him on the floor. Finally his eyes meet mine, then almost instantly fall away. It's as if he's nervous, his adam's apple bobbing, before he takes a deep breath.
When he presents me with the monkey, I nearly pass out again. It's from my dreams. I had dreamt of it this morning. I nervously reach out, my fingers visibly shaking. His hand goes beneath it and after a moment a song starts. The song rings loudly in my head. And then he sings.
"Masquerade...paper faces on parade." In my mind a flash of a broken man, sitting cross-legged holding the very same monkey, comes forward. And he looks up at me, the man in my mind and the man kneeling in front of me. The same unique turquoise eyes stare at me. Eyes that burn straight to my soul. The man in the flesh looks up at me expectantly while the one in my mind looks up on me with sadness, so much sadness.
My fingers finally reach the bristly fur of the monkey and the soft velvet of his robes. This time I cannot fight it.
Gasping, I come awake. I feel his fingers combing my hair back. So gently, gingerly. Still, he sits on the floor. He stares at me, never breaking eye contact. Something tells me these are not merely dreams and I can't explain it. My fingers reach out touching his perfect skin. I recall his talk from earlier in the week. Am I covered? It hurts to sleep in. You don't have to look at me.
That face in my mind.
But he doesn't have a mark on him! His eyes though, there is no mistaking those were his eyes behind the mask.
"There was a mask?" I ask uncertainly, my mind still muddled. The color drains from his face but he gives a subtle nod. A tear sneaks down his face. "I hurt you." The only movement from him is the closing of his eyes. He sits so still. Like a statue. Then I feel his lips at my wrist and he takes a shaky breath.
"I hurt you, too. I hurt so many people. Hurt or worse, Christine." He whispers miserably.
"Tell me."
"I'm not sure if I should. You will leave me again. I don't think I can bear that." He says this so softly I can barely hear it.
"Please try. I'm afraid I'm going crazy."
He lets out a huff of laughter. "You aren't going crazy, my dear. If I try to explain this, you certainly will think I am." After a brief pause he let's out a sigh. "Why don't you tell me what you remember and we'll go from there?"
"Remember? Just dreams."
"Well tell me about the dreams then." He pulls himself up on the couch and takes my hand. I stare down at our hands thinking back to that leather-clad hand from my earlier dream.
So I begin, starting with the dream I had today. He listens intently, his thumbs running over my knuckles. He even fills in some of the information I leave out.
"Do you remember when I sang to you last week? Before you fainted the second time?" he asks, intertwining his fingers with mine. He can't seem to keep his hands still. I try and think but I come up blank.
"I remember that you were singing but not really what." Now he is massaging my fingers.
He stands then, reluctantly releasing my hands, and walks to his piano.
"Come sit here. I want to make sure you don't pass out again." He pats the bench next to him. I settle down on the bench and he begins to play. "Keep eye contact and try to stay with me."
I nod and he sings the words from my dream. Every word of it. I am able to fight off any feeling of fainting but no great revelation has come to me.
"And that's where I faint in the dream." His eyes glance away. "What happens after Erik?"
"I told you. You hurt me, in turn I scared and hurt you." He has his arms crossed over his stomach as he sits forward on the bench. "You took it from me. You took it! You touch me, caress me, give me a little hope, then humiliate me. I pushed away from the organ too fast, knocked you over. I was furious though. And devastated. I went a bit mad then. Shouting and screaming at you. You were young, curious. Even if it was impertinent, I still shouldn't have gotten so angry."
He stands and begins to pace, if you can call his agitated movements pacing, and tells me then he begged for me to see beyond the mask, see the man beneath it, not the monster.
"You gave it back, but it was too late. The damage had already been done. I had to take you above ground. We never made it though."
There is a slight buzzing in my head. When I close my eyes I see a man lying on a sofa, eyes closed behind the mask.
"You got sick."
His head spun to look at me. Then his head turned back slowly.
"You could say that. I'm not sure what it was, some kind of cardiac episode, but it kept me down for two weeks. I couldn't take you back, and you couldn't get back without my help. Oh the stories they made up. Even Nadir thought I'd kidnapped you."
"Nadir?" I ask, trying to make sense of anything he was saying.
"A friend. I met him on the shore of the lake every week. He grew concerned-well let's be honest-suspicious. Anyways," he pauses, "you said dreams. Tell me another."
"The rest are mostly flashes or visions or something."
"They are memories buried deep inside." He stares at me across the room. Then he is there beside me, kneeling on the carpet again. "Tell me."
"Memories? Are you saying I have amnesia or something?"
"No. Not exactly. It's difficult to explain. Impossible really." He purses his lips. "I was hoping they would come back on their own, but it doesn't seem like that will happen. Or if it does it's going to be very slowly."
"You have all of these...memories?" I ask, skeptically.
"I knew you'd think I was mad." He stands straight up from his kneeling position.
"No. I don't think that, Erik. I am just having a hard time accepting all this. This...I don't even know what it is." I search for the right words. He is visibly upset, pacing again.
"I suppose you could call it reincarnation." He pads back and forth between the piano and the hallway. "Maybe you should talk to Margaurite. She may be able to enlighten you and I'm sure you have much more faith in the stability of her facilities." He says defensively and a bit coldly. The grimace that plays over his face afterwards tells me he regrets his words instantly.
"Do you want me to go, Erik?" I ask softly, rising from the piano bench.
He turns his head sharply in my direction, and rushes toward me. I feel my eyes widen.
"Haven't you been paying attention, my dear? That is the absolute last thing I want." His fingers tilt my chin up to look at him. Again my mind flashes to that gloved hand. "If I could manage it, I'd never be parted from you again." He whispered it so softly, then averted his eyes. His hand falters and lowers. "That wouldn't be fair to ask of you. You don't know me as I know you." I feel frozen to the spot I am standing on. He continues talking, more to himself than me. "You don't know the whole truth. The true Erik. I-I did have moments of madness, many moments. If you knew, if you remembered," he shakes his head "...you'd want to go. Yes, you'd go again. Leave me broken and bruised again. Even though that's not me anymore. I've changed. You see..." He looks up then, eyes bright, "I knew I had to be good to deserve you. No lying, no deceiving, no hurting, no..." His words fade off then he runs a finger along the edge of the piano. "That's why I want you to remember, so it won't feel like I'm deceiving you. That's one of my rules. I find I'm too much of a coward to tell you myself. I want to. I want to tell you everything and make you remember me. Then I can beg forgiveness. Oh they were right. If only I'd listened to them." He continues to ramble on, tears threatening to fall at any moment. In that moment I did wish I remembered whatever it was he wanted me too. I didn't want to see him like this. So I do the only thing I can think of to stop his vague confession.
"Erik." The silence stretches between us.
"Yes, my dear?" Suddenly the piano lid is very interesting to him, his chest rising and falling quickly.
"Erik." When he finally looks at me, I could cry myself. There is that weeping, broken man from my dream...memory...what have you. All the sadness of the world in those beautiful eyes. I lean up on my tiptoes and press a kiss to his lips. I glance at the wall clock and see that it's much earlier than I'd thought. "Come on, you must have barely slept." I take his hand and head back to his bedroom.
He sits at the foot of the bed, still so sad looking, just staring at the floor beneath him. I move in front of him and run my fingers through his hair, forcing his head up.
"Up, come on, stand up." I pull on his hands and untie his robe. I peel it off of him and lay it across the bed. "In." I point to what I consider his side of the bed. I see his shoulders heave with a sigh as he climbs in to lay down.
"You're pretty bossy sometimes." He lays on his side gazing at me. "And a thief." His eyes move over his shirt. "You're not perfect, either." I feel his arm go around me as soon as I lie next to him.
"How charming you are." I tug on his ear and he is fighting a smile.
"Oh, Christine." I think I hear a soft whimper as he buries his face in my neck. I pull the comforter over us and run my hand up and down his back. Poor man, I can't imagine what has him so worked up. After a few minutes his breathing evens out and I hear his soft snoring. I smile down at him and lean my head against his. I think I will speak to Margaurite later, she knows him much better than I do. Maybe she will have some insight on what is going on with him.
Erik was still sleeping when I woke. Such long eyelashes. Try as I might I cannot resist touching him. My fingers graze against his beard finding that slight cleft on his chin. I hear a little moan and his hand reaches out for me. I smile and lead his hand to the small of my back. I indulge a little bit and press my lips to his adam's apple. My nose against his pulse.
His eyes open slowly, one at a time and I feel his hand slide down over my behind. An instant later his lips cover mine and his tongue pushes inside. I wrap my arms around his neck and he slides on top of me. He breaks the kiss, roughly pulling his shirt off of me. His fingers find my nipples, pulling slightly. I feel a flush come over me as my hips lift to meet his and I can think of nothing but having him inside me. He groans, biting down on a nipple, a soft moan escapes me as I reach to push his boxers down.
I cry out as his fingers find my center. There is a sound of frustration as he tugs my panties off. With a gentle movement he pushes me on to my side then pulls my hips up so I am on my knees. He cups my breasts and I feel his length sliding between my thighs. Fingertips slide to my back, tracing the tattoo, then both hands cover my cheeks and I feel him push inside me. That glorious stretch as he fills me. A guttural moan escapes me as he moves within me. HIs fingers caress my core and my hips push back against his. I am pulled back against his chest, his lips and teeth moving over the side of my neck.
His fingers know exactly how to touch me. I am just another instrument that he has mastered. My breath catches as he brings me to the brink of orgasm. My hips buck, aching for that sweet release. One last swipe of his finger has me moaning, shuddering against him. His movements become rougher, faster, seeking his own release. I swivel my hips then meets his thrusts. His fingers bite into my hips pulling them flush against him, pushing further into me, finally reaching his climax.
I feel his lips at the nape of my neck and his fingers caressing my hips as he pulls from me. Gently smoothing over the spot where his fingers had just pressed into my skin. I feel him crawl backwards and press his lips to the marked skin.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so rough with you."
"No complaints here," I say, turning on my back.
"I should be worshipping you, not giving you bruises." His lips slide against my collarbone as they start heading down to my breasts.
"Oh no, I need food." I laugh.
"I suppose so." With a great sigh he pulls me into his arms, carrying me to the bathroom.
"You do know I am capable of walking right?" I say wrapping my arms around his neck.
"Pity. I haven't done my job then." He sets me on the counter next to the sink. "Bath or shower?"
"What do you think? You claim to know me so well." I joke, but his smile falters. I grab his wrist before he turns away. "Hey. I was only kidding."
"I know. I was only going to turn the bath on." He turns then to do just that. "I know that you like rose petals in your bath and you would like to take a book in with you but you are afraid of dropping it and ruining the binding. And while you like silly stories like Tom Sawyer and A Midsummer Night's Dream my guess is you'd read something like Pride and Prejudice in the bath." He steps between my thighs leaning in to kiss me. I smile against his lips because he is right. Taking a few steps back he turns the taps off. "Now since clearly my phenomenal love making has left you weak in the knees and unable to lift yourself into the bath, I will carry you." I snort, laughing as he picks me back up. "What is so funny, Ms. Daae?" He places me on the edge of the tub and climbs in himself.
The warm jets elicit a low moan from me. "If this was my bath I honestly don't think I'd ever leave it." I feel my foot being lifted into his lap. With that a second moan. I lean back, enjoying everything about this moment. After both of my feet had been massaged he pulls me toward him.
"Turn around, sit between my legs," he orders, gently. I comply, resting my hands on his knees. His hands rub at any knots, massaging them away. I sigh, resting back against his chest. I feel his arm tighten around me before reaching for a washcloth. He washes me, paying special attention to my nipples. Once he finished he hands the cloth to me. I return the favor. Slowly the water turns cool. "Ok, you wanted food. Better start thinking about getting out of here, my dear."
"I know," I say, not making a move, but smiling up at him. I feel his fingers twirling in my hair, moving it aside to kiss my neck. With a sign of resignation I push myself out of the water. and sit on the opposite edge of the tub. Erik is out a moment later, toweling his hair dry and handing me a towel. He leaves the room and I dry myself and wrap the towel around my hair. I step back into the bedroom where he is pulling on a fresh undershirt and boxers. Navy trousers and pale yellow dress shirt. "The fop strikes again," I grin, pulling my dress from the previous evening off the hook where he had hung it.
"Very funny." He buttons up his dress shirt and tucks it into his pants. Then sits down to tie his shoes while I search for my undergarments.
When I question him about the whereabouts of my panties, he merely shrugs. "Did you check the bed, my dear?" I nod, but check again. "Well that's strange." He exits the room, lip curling into a smirk.
"Erik!" I laugh, pulling the dress over my head. When I appear in the living room he's no where to be found. After a moment, he appears pushing open a door that I hadn't really noticed before. He smiles, eyes laughing and there is a couple sheets of paper in his hands. He folds them in half twice and hands them to me.
"When you talk to Margaurite show her that. No, just wait until then." He stops my hands unfolding them. I slip them into my handbag. "Ready my dear?" His arm is already out waiting for me to take it. I do and we walk to the elevator.
"What did you do with them?" I gently elbow his side.
"Haven't I told you I'm a bit of a magician?" With a laugh he presses the ground floor button and turns pulling a quarter from behind my ear. "I can make anything disappear." And the coin disappears with a snap of his fingers. I narrow my eyes at him as we walk out into the warm air of the mid afternoon. "Where to?"
"I'd like to change." I say as his hand rests on my hip.
"Oh dear, I don't think we have time for that." His lips are still turned up. "Would you like to go back to your Bistro? I enjoyed it there."
"Yes and my place is right on the way." I feel his fingers sliding along my hip and back up to my waist. I'm pulled tight against him.
I smile and hook my arm around his waist. He seems much more relaxed now. As we near the club he slows near the door.
"Oh forget it, let's just go." He smiles, pressing a kiss to my forehead and resumes with his hand back on my hip. The bistro is much more crowded this week.
"Would you like to sit outside again?" he asks as we wait to put our name in.
"Unless you would rather not?"
"No. I'd like to." The hostess tells us it will be about fifteen minutes.
"We could try somewhere else." He shakes his head and we sit on one of the benches outside the building.
"So you'll come tomorrow so we can work on that song I found for you?" He sits with his ankle crossed over his knee, arm tight around my shoulder.
"Yes, of course. I'm curious about it. Can I learn it in such a short time and be ready for an audition?"
"Christine," he sighs, " you really ought to have more confidence."
"I know, I should."
"Your pitch is damn near perfect and your tone beautiful. You just need some minor coaching and you'd be unstoppable. Just a bit more discipline. I can teach you that." His fingers rub my bare shoulder.
"You will?"
"Of course. I told you I want to make you a star."
"You'll make me egotistical and vain." He stares at me, almost smiling.
"Good. A proper prima donna then."
"Erik!" Our table was ready. He pulls me behind him through the restaurant to the patio. We are seated in the corner, he pulls my chair out and runs his fingers across my back as he takes his seat.
"I might try the steak." I study him, studying the menu. His fingers drum lightly against the back of the menu. I stare openly at them. They slide over to support the spine while he flips the page. His thumb flicks the laminated page along with whatever beat is always flowing through his mind.
Without thinking I say, "They make their own wine here. I hear the Cabernet Sauvignon is excellent."
He smiles at me. I blink quickly a few times.
"Oh, that's your favorite isn't it?"
"That is my favorite red and I did once give you a lesson on wine types and pairings. Do you remember?" I shrug, smiling. "Yes, I believe that's what I'll get." He sets his menu down and takes my hand. His thumb skimming over my knuckles. "Would you like a glass? Your show isn't for hours."
"Hmmm, should I get the Cabernet too?"
"Oh no, my dear. You won't care for that. Something sweet. Moscato perhaps?" He looks thoughtful. "If you are sticking with your old standby meal that is." I laugh, nodding. "I'd go with the Moscato then."
"Well you know best," I smile and so does he.
When the waitress returns he places our order. He offers me a drink of his wine when it's placed in front of him. I pull a face at the taste and I hear him chuckle.
"It's an acquired taste." He makes a similar face when I offer mine. "Thank you, no. Far too sweet for me." The meal is pleasant, with him giving me another lesson on wine. I'm always happy to listen to him, his voice soothes me. I have so many thoughts in the back of my mind but his voice pulls me out of them. He cuts me a piece of steak and I open my mouth to accept. "Now try the wine." I wrinkle my nose at him but do as he says.
"Ok, it's a little bit better, but I still don't think it's for me."
"Ah well, there are many other choices for steak," he goes on to list them. I smile as I finish my own glass. His fingers rub the delicate stem of the wine glass before lifting it to his lips. "Have you finished, my dear?" I tear my eyes from his lips.
"I have, yes." I shift in my chair and take a sip of water. The instant we are outside the restaurant I feel his hand reach for mine. The walk back is quick. He follows me up the stairs and my heart rate increases. The feel of his hand at the small of my back, his thumb stroking back and forth, it gives me goosebumps. Is this what addiction feels like? I already miss him and he hasn't even said goodbye yet. I push open my door, waiting for him to follow.
"Thank you." I raise an eyebrow at him. "For not suggesting I should be institutionalized. For hearing me out. For everything else." He steps forward, closing the distance between us. "So we've reached the end of the week. Not sick of me, are you?" His fingers trail down my neck and across my collarbone sending a shiver through me.
"Not yet." I joke, smiling. "You?"
"I don't believe that is in the realm of possibilities." He lowers his head, capturing my lips, but just for a moment. When he pulls away I hear a small sound of disappointment escape me. I see his eyes light up as I pull his head forward. I feel his soft gasp as I nip his bottom lip. Arms slide around me, pulling me close, crushing me to him. He stands unmoving, cheek against the top of my head. "Don't forget to speak to Margaurite and those documents I gave you." He heaves a great sigh, drops another kiss on my forehead then turns out the door.