Disclaimer; I am neither Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Gaston Leroux.
Author Note; I apologise for the lack of updates- I have just been doing my exams and I'm sure as you will know, exams take over everything. But they're done now, and I'm free to write again (at last!)
Therefore, today I am uploading not one, not two, but three *gasp* chapters (to say sorry for the waiting) Fingers crossed you are still reading this story even though my failed attempts at time management have left you with ridiculously long waits :-)
This chapter is fluffy. I know that whilst we're waiting for action, fluff might be a bit out of place, but when I originally wrote this fic I needed E/C fluff...actually, I always need E/C fluff. Who doesn't?! :)
I feel like I put E/C through a lot of anguish and torment in my stories, but I hope that this makes the fluffy moments even sweeter. That's the intention, anyway... or maybe I'm just a cruel writer, who knows :)
I need to stop ranting. Onto the chapter!
Twenty Three- The Angel's Embrace
The caravan was small, compact and cosy- the wood painted carefully in the traditional Romany colours and designs, the distinctive textures of the individual brushes which had created this mass of colour still a surface which felt odd beneath the fingertips. The colours and exterior of the caravan was dull and vague in the shadows, but once inside there was no escaping the vibrancy and warmth so typical of the Romany people. There were patchwork blankets and bundles of cloth, bright copper pans- which were probably 'borrowed'- and all sorts of herbal remedies and potions in their little glass vials stacked in the corner, clearly ready for one of the many exhibitions displayed to the paying public. The small lantern on the side flickered and illuminated the oddly homely scene, the burning releasing a strange, bitter smell into the air which mingled with the incense of the herbs.
Christine shut the door of this caravan with trembling hands, barely able to slide the latch over and conceal herself and Erik from the potential stumbling drunkards who may meander their way home through this stretch of the camp in the early hours. As soon as the door was finally closed, Christine felt a shaking sigh ease it's way from her lips, her shoulders sagging in relief. It felt as if, now it was just the two of them enclosed in this warm little space, they were safe and happy and hidden.
Alone with Erik. Christine could not help but blush- her infatuated heart fluttered, like the wings of a caged bird brushing against her ribcage, anxious to be free from the confines of the dark in order to soar on the warm breeze and unleash the happiest love song for all the world to hear, with no shame or fear to taint those notes. Christine gently pressed her fingertips to her heart, feeling the distant but firm thudding through the material of the dress and her own warm skin, knowing that it was becoming perilously close to the point of no going back- she would have to admit it, to herself, to him, for how else would this maddening feeling of falling and flailing ever end?
As she looked around her at the caravan again, her eyes moving over the small bed and making her cheeks flame, her mind filled with accusing memories- the other girls in the camp, never sleeping in their own beds, always trailing off with a man into some distant tent, not emerging again until the morning with a look in their eyes that Christine could never quite understand. The connotations and tales she had heard of men and women spending the night together brought a deeper blush to her cheeks; that animalistic, messy business that seemed so scarily adult was still very much unchartered waters for her. She only just managed now to stumble blindly through the moments of desire and longing and desperation, knowing nothing of what it was she wanted when her heart lurched and her breathing became erratic. She knew that if anyone respectable had heard her proposition to Erik, they would have been horrified- and yet Christine knew she did not ask him here, on this night, for anything indecent. She just wanted to be held; to find comfort and peace in one night's worth of calm and safety. Was it wrong to want that?
Christine was unsure of many things, dumb and senseless even to her own past, but there was one thing she did know, and she clung to it with all her heart- Erik. She felt as if he was the one thing she could place full trust and certainty in; he was the one true thing in this hectic, frenzied life and she could not help but accept that her heart and soul were bound utterly to him. She felt such desperate longing just to lay eyes upon him, and his gaze or his voice would send her spiralling into utter mayhem- she knew, as if it were an undisputable fact, that the world around her could crumble and cease to exist but as long as Erik was still stood there beside her, she would not even notice.
And now, against all the odds and all the reasons why it was so utterly stupid, she was here with him. Alone.
It was clear from the expression on his face that he felt uneasy and confused by her request; he understood that she was scared, that she was certain of, but he seemed unable to comprehend that his presence could truly bring the solace and comfort she was so clearly craving. It made her want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all as she slowly sat down on the cushion strewn floor, watching him with silent eyes. She managed to hold back the breathless laugh, fiddling with her skirts to distract herself from the look in his eyes, or the fact that he was looking at her. She had been so nervous to come out into the clearing dressed up this way- she had adored the dress the minute she unwrapped it, crying with joy to see the rich colour and the beautiful texture of the fabric, but once it was on she wept for fear that she- the ragged tramp- would not suit the beauty of the gown.
Erik's expression when she had entered the clearing had swept those worries away- she was not a vain sort of girl, or obsessed by appearances, but Christine now knew why she might want to dress up and look beautiful. She had never minded the baggy shirts or the loose and patched skirts she wore in the clan, never seeing any need to wear anything with shape or design or delicacy. But the look on Erik's face, when she had walked into the clearing, wearing a dress which transformed her in that one second from gypsy tramp to young lady...she would do anything in the world to see it light up his eyes in that way again. His eyes had widened, widened further than she thought they could go, shining with pride and joy and awe and- dare she think it- adoration, before becoming heated and tempted and devouring. Erik had a talent for making her feel special, but those eyes had done more than just that- now, she felt seductive, alluring, desirable.
A hot blush crept slowly up her neck to her cheeks and she bit her lip, peeking at him through the waterfall of thick, wild curls, wondering what he was thinking this very moment. He was still watching her with fond confusion, and she felt a stab of irritation to have already descended back to this childlike state. She wanted to feel that frightened surge of warmth again- the heady rush, the frantic heartbeat, the pooled heat deep inside her.
"I'm sorry to have caused you yet more trouble." She murmured, hating the silence, and Erik was snapped out of his trance. He stopped staring at her with pathetic adoration, and instead met her gaze with an apologetic smile. "I...I don't expect you to understand me or any of this. I don't even understand myself for the most part... all I can say is that you bring me comfort, Erik, and I need that comfort."
"It's hardly a trouble for me." He corrected her mildly. His strangely formal and reserved tone was painfully obvious, heightening his awareness that he was alone with her, and that every instinct in his body was screaming at him to abandon propriety and kiss her. "I am always glad to bring you comfort, if I can. I would not be content knowing that you were sleepless and worrying in the dark."
"Thank you, truly." She managed a small smile, feeling her shoulders sag in relief, her trembling decreasing in violence. She clasped her shaking hands together and lay them discreetly in her lap, concealing them in the folds of the red skirts. "The truth is...there are still things I'm worried about. We're to sing our duet before a full audience, with an orchestra, and yet we haven't practised once! I know the performance is a diversion, but surely we must make that diversion good?"
Erik let the words sink in. Then, slowly, he looked around him at the interior of this compact caravan, infinitely glad of such homely and cheerful surroundings in that moment. He knew, as a veteran of such things who crafted music specifically for the effect, that if he and Christine were to sing Don Juan, the intensity of the atmosphere would increase. He hoped, in vain and naive desperation, that the cosy feel of the caravan might smother this dark, bubbling attraction that he knew they were both acutely aware of.
"I can assure you that there is no need to worry." He smiled a little, but her facial expression told him that mere words weren't going to make any difference to her, not now. "But...if you're really that worried, we could sing a verse now. Just to prove to yourself that you have no reason to be scared."
She nodded, looking relieved, and she closed her eyes and tried to calm herself as Erik began to sing the soft, alluring notes of his opening lines. The words were quiet, barely uttered so as to avoid being overheard by any possible passersby, but it was as if the rest of the world had faded away and left only Erik- the soft, emotional notes filled Christine's senses utterly, and when she began to sing her own lines, she found that the music seemed to lead her through the performance. When the duet truly began, their voices mingling and entwining, Christine found that she could barely breathe and it was a struggle to force the words from her lips.
The plan to sing one verse was long forgotten- they had, in their music-induced trance, sung the entire song, creating what seemed to be unearthly beauty amidst the raggedy furnishings of the battered, old gypsy caravan. But instead of hovering poignantly on the last note, Christine broke off with a tearful gasp, clutching at her temples, even doubling over in pain. It felt as if someone were hammering upon her skull, trying to break in, or even out, and the shooting pain was so horrific and sudden that it made her lurch with nausea and she had to press both hands to her mouth and try desperately to maintain her dignity, and the contents of her stomach.
"Christine?" Erik asked in a low, urgent voice. He knew he ought to reach out to her, pull her close, stroke her hair and soothe her with the kind words that she was just nervous, and she would feel far better after sleeping. But it was as if his guilt and regret had formed a choking guard in his throat- he knew full well that it was the song, triggering a memory that was fighting to break through to her consciousness, and not nerves that had caused this reaction. He bit hard on his lip and winced at the sharp metallic taste, not wanting to see her looking so pained and scared, but also being unable to turn away. It is the masochist in me taking my punishment for all I have caused, he mused darkly- for if a simple song could cause such as reaction, what would the far greater untruths do to her, to them both?
Christine felt the falling sensation come to an end- the pounding in her head stopped and she wiped her streaming eyes with trembling fingers, glancing at Erik and not knowing what his odd expression meant.
"I am clearly more nervous than I had first thought." She managed to say, before suddenly breaking down into sobs. "Oh God. I am so afraid. I feel so afraid."
With that, she flung herself across the small distance between herself and Erik, not caring in that moment for anything resembling decorum. She arrived, thankfully, in Erik's open arms, and with another choking sob she buried her face into his chest and howled like a child, clutching his shirt in her fingers and remembering how she had done just that as she bent over her dying father, clinging to his clothes, begging him not to leave her. Now she could not stop crying to beg those very same words to Erik, but by some miracle he seemed to understand- she felt his arms slip around her, pulling her in closer. A gentle hand began to softly stroke her curls, and he rocked her gently, never letting go, even when his shirt became so saturated with tears that it must have been uncomfortably wet. What she could not tell- and how would she have known?- was that Erik was also crying as he held her, his Christine, the woman he loved and the woman who was now slowly starting to break apart because of him.
He wished in that moment that she had not told him that she loved him that night- he wished she had fled with the Vicomte, as she was supposed to. Because anything, anything at all, would be more bearable than this, this knowledge, that he was slowly destroying the one thing he could not live without.
Eventually, the tears stopped. He felt her shudder and pull back slowly, her poor face stained and swollen red, her eyes bloodshot and streaming.
"Your embrace brings me comfort that I can find nowhere else." She told him with a small smile, moving a little shyly to return to his arms, but this time more so that his arm was encircling her waist, their free hands clasped. "It will seem mad to you, but it is the truth of why I needed you to be here Erik- for not just your words, but your presence. I feel...protected. Safe. So even though it is silly, and even though it is completely scandalous, I would ask you to stay with me tonight and simply hold me. I want to brave this onslaught by your side, always."
"Anything that brings you comfort I am happy to do." Erik said softly, his voice warm and distinctly happier, the immediate reaction to hearing such beautiful words coming from her. The thought of holding her all night made him tremble- the fact that it was both heaven and hell heightening that uncertainty. For one night I will forget everything, he told himself harshly, I will savour this one last moment of perfection and then at least I can face whatever comes knowing that I did everything in my power to ensure her happiness- right to the end.
There was an awkwardness lingering in the air as he removed his jacket and then averted his eyes so that she could change out of the beautiful red dress into her nightgown. The mere sound of the soft material unfastening and slipping away from her body made his heart stutter and his face flush red, knowing that if he were to turn his head he would see Christine more intimately than he had ever even dared to consider. The thought of looking at her and touching her with that intent still mildly repulsed him- how he could ever bring himself to taint her beauty with his abhorrent ugliness was unbeknownst to him, even though he knew he wanted to love her in all the ways possible.
Nadir, stoic and resilient as he was, had only ever brought up that particular aspect of Erik's love for Christine once; Erik had smacked him about the head so hard, he doubted that the Persian would ever dare to speak of such things again.
Christine carefully blew out the flickering lamp hung in the corner, and fumbled her way through the darkness to the rudimentary bed- a scattering of cushions and thick blankets. Erik, eyes suited to darkness more so than light and therefore perfectly able to see around him without the lamp, joined her in the mess of material. He pulled a blanket over her, before reaching for his own, but her hand darted out and snatched his wrist away, instead pulling him closer and shifting the blanket so it covered the both of them. Cocooned together, Erik felt he could feel every movement Christine made- he could even hear the fluttering of eyelashes. He felt her smile when his skin accidentally brushed against her own.
He waited for a minute or so in the warm darkness, savouring the sensation of lying next to someone- which he doubted he would ever experience again, the way things were likely to go- before taking a deep breath and daring to turn towards her. He could feel her relief as he extended his arms around her, feel her sigh against his skin like the murmur of a breeze just rustling the tips of leaves, and he shuddered to know that he- the beast, the villain, the infernal liar- was inducing this reaction. It was as if, in that moment, she were some delicate instrument and he the devoted musician, but Erik knew that his actions were not from experience or knowledge. He was merely doing what she had asked- something that he would be happy to do for the rest of his life.
"What would happen if someone found you here?" Christine asked in a whisper, closing her eyes and smiling contentedly as she felt his breath tickle her neck. "Would it ruin everything? Or would there be a chance of explaining things, of crafting some beautifully brilliant tale of why and how?"
"We are hardly the stuff of fairy stories, Christine." Erik laughed, but fondly, and she laughed too.
"Am I allowed to disagree with you?" she challenged. "I know that being a gypsy slave or a wandering musician is unconventional, but there is beauty in that. New beauty. I think I would feel stifled in a world like Raoul's- he is a Vicomte, you know, and I am sure that these days he lives in elegant houses, wears fine clothes and dines with beautiful ladies who radiate perfection. Where is the true beauty of being unique and brilliant in yourself amongst all of that glittering fakery?"
Erik was silent- once upon a time, she had been one of those women she now openly scorned. Once upon a time, she had been the perfect heroine for a fairy story- brought up from the scum of the gutter into the glittering light, adored by all, famed for beauty.
"Shall I tell you a true fairy story, Christine?" Erik blurted the words before he could stop them, and she gave a delighted laugh and nodded. "It is conventional, I'm afraid, but I think you will like it. There once was a young girl, a singer. This young girl had suffered many hardships in her young life, and any other might have simply given up- but she did not. She had the most beautiful singing voice, naturally seraphic, and it was this talent which carried her all the way to the glittering city of Paris."
"Paris!" Christine exclaimed with enthusiasm. "I can't wait to see it. Ah, I'm sorry, I interrupted- do go on."
"The young girl was accepted into the Chorus of the opera, where she soon flourished. Her singing was second to none and all the other girls new that she was talented enough to excel beyond the chorus- to become a leading lady, a Prima Donna, the star of the opera." Erik felt her quiver with excitement- she would remember all her father's lessons, his wishes for her to go to Paris and train to become such a woman. He felt suddenly dreadful for starting this story when he knew he could not finish it, at least not without breaking several hearts. He sighed- this truly would be a conventional story...he would remove all traces of the ugly beast. He would tell it as it was supposed to have happened. "However, she was restricted- there was no way for a shy young chorus girl, one of many, to demonstrate her superior talent, especially when the current Prima Donna was a vain and jealous woman who would rather kill herself than share her fame.
However, by some miracle, one day at rehearsal, before the opening night of the new season's production, this vain Prima Donna fell sick. There was no understudy- her jealous paranoia did not allow for that. The opera house went into panic, fearing that they would have to cancel this brilliant premier, lose money and reputation. The girls friends in the Chorus saw the chance- they thrust their young friend into the spotlight, clamouring that she be allowed to sing just one verse, to prove to the entire company and managers that she was more than capable of stepping in. How they scorned her, how they laughed- she was terrified of course, and tried to say no, but they pushed her into the centre of the stage and told her to prove herself. She was trembling like a leaf as the music began, but as soon as she opened her mouth and the words she had learned and loved began to pour out, it took hold of her and she became lost in the thrill of the music. They did not stop her at one verse- she sang the whole song, and they begged it from her again and again, enraptured by her talent. She took the whole of Paris by storm that night, the applause thunderous around the opera house, and her beauty and magnificence won her the attention and love of a young gentleman in the audience. Night after night, he would send to her bouquets of flowers, until her dressing room became an overflowing trove. As her career took off, so did their love. They married and lived happily in Paris together, for the rest of their days."
Erik found that he had been rushing the end of his story- he was breathing heavily, and could feel the flush on his face beneath the mask, which was now starting to irritate him dreadfully. He wanted to remove it, as he always did before laying down to sleep, but the thought of what could happen if he did just that was far worse than his face being rubbed raw.
Christine frowned in the darkness.
"That story...it started well, but what a ridiculous ending." She scorned lightly, not able to explain why her heart now felt so heavy, or why she had ached to hear of a young gentleman bringing flowers to the young star of the opera. "He fell in love with her for her fame upon the stage? Surely that would mean he would have fallen for whichever young girl had managed to reach that position. And there is something lacking from the story- how could anyone possibly be so talented and so perfect at singing with no teacher? The young girl needs someone to share her joy with- someone who is pleased for her, rather than the fame. Someone who cares."
"Christine, it is just a fairy story." He laughed, feeling chilled by her blunt statements. "Of course it has flaws. Nothing is perfect."
"No." She agreed, sounding pleased by the fact. "You never told me what would happen if the gypsies found you here."
"If they find me here with you, propriety and your virtue will not be what concerns them." Erik was surprised he said the words so easily, considering that their very position was improper and questionable in so many ways. He felt her shift slightly at the words, knowing that his use of them had reminded them both of how easily this innocent night of comfort could be distorted and made into something else altogether. "But there is no need to consider what will happen, as they will not come here. And, impropriety is the least of our concerns."
"Well...what about Paris?" Christine blurted. She knew that he could easily feel her erratic heartbeat- if he so wanted, he could easily decipher her worrying, just through touch.
"Paris?" he repeated softly, his tone suggesting he understood nothing of the issue which bothered her, even though he could easily make an intelligent guess.
"Impropriety. It was something Raoul said, he was not quite himself...Raoul chided me, for wanting to go with you to Paris. To stay with you. He said it was improper for a young woman to stay with a man to whom she holds no relation. He said it would bring scandal and embarrassment and misery." Christine replied, in an equally soft voice. She knew it would not happen, but her romantic mind dreamt that Erik would hear those words, clutch her to his heart and declare that she would have good reason to stay with him, if she consented to it.
You fool, she thought sadly in the vast silence that followed her words, thinking of proposals before feelings have even been declared or confirmed or...or maybe even felt at all.
"Yes."Erik said finally, his voice even, conveying nothing of the sudden rage which had bubbled up inside and seared his veins with fire. The profanities were dancing on the tip of his tongue- of course, the Fop would still plant the seeds of doubt in Christine's head, ignorantly forgetting that if she refused to come to Paris then she might as well stay in the clan, for where else were they supposed to go? "I can understand why he might try to dissuade you Christine. There are...associations, with the plan I suggest, which are as unpleasant as they are false, but still uncomfortable to live with."
"But...but what you suggest doesn't seem wrong to me. It doesn't feel disgusting or scandalous." She whispered, as if the words were obvious, the truest facts of life itself, engraved in the natural laws of the universe itself. "It feels...right."
"Raoul intends only to protect you- as he was clearly a dear friend of yours, and has known you for some time, it is only right that he would feel some responsibility for your wellbeing." Erik could afford to be gracious and speak kindly towards Raoul, given her beautiful words. He would have liked to gloat, in as childish a manner as possible, but the Fop was miles away sleeping in a cold inn bed, not wrapped up in an embrace with Christine Daae. He buried his face against her warm curls, breathing their heavenly scent, wishing he could somehow capture that sweet perfume that naturally radiated from her. "But what really matters is how you feel. And so long as you know that I would never take advantage of any situation, that I would never treat you in any manner that would require Raoul to worry, then I think your judgement is the most important out of anyone's. I only ever want what is best for you, you do know that?"
"Of course I know that." She smiled in the dark, as if any other response would be utterly ridiculous, which she supposed was the truth. She decided it would be best to keep quiet about the fact she did rather wish he would take full advantage of certain situations, such as this one, as no doubt it would confirm her as completely mad in Erik's eyes. "You truly are...the...the greatest man...I've ever...met..."
Her voice faded into the soft nothingness of sleep, and her eyelids fluttered closed as her head came to rest fully on Erik's chest. He could feel her limbs were now limp and fluid against him, but still warm and soft and perfect, and he was all too happy to draw her closer to him and close his own eyes, listening to the lullaby of her heartbeat and their breathing.
That night, Erik slept in perfect bliss. Christine, too, was safe from nightmares and she did not tremble or scream out or even mutter names from her forgotten past in a pained voice, as she had the night she had danced and drunk like a true gypsy amongst the flickering lights. The gypsies stumbling through the dark back to the camp did not give the caravan a second glance, their blind tripping and ugly cursing not enough to break the precious sleep of those safe inside. In one another's arms, it seemed as if Erik and Christine were immortal.
The hours of darkness crept by peacefully, gradually surrendering their grip on the quiet woodland and the nearby sleepy town. As the first echoing trills of birdsong began to erupt into the morning air, Christine stirred and groggily opened one eye, her mind clouded and hazy and unable to quite understand where she was or what she was doing. She felt oddly warm...and refreshed. Something didn't seem quite right- it was as if her mind was putting the pieces of the jigsaw together, and the few missing pieces had the power to make the rest of the nonsense into something to be comprehended-
And then she realised why she was so warm. That sensation, of tingles running along her skin and making her whole body feel warm and alive and ignited, was due to the presence of arms. Male arms. Wrapped around her, holding her, cradling her. With a stifled gasp and a stupid sob of joy, she wriggled free of Erik's hold and flung back the blanket, watching in pure, unadulterated joy as he stirred and opened his eyes. He looked astonished to see her sat there, staring down at him where he lay, but her joy seemed to be mirrored in his own gaze, which made her face flood red.
Perhaps it was that adoring, awed look in his eyes, or maybe just her own insanity, but for some reason Christine found her trembling hand was reaching out and resting against the unmasked side of his face, feeling soft warm skin. She leant down towards him, her hair falling forwards, and the sensation of those curls tickling his face seemed to bring Erik out of a trance. Slowly, he raised his hand and placed it firmly over hers, keeping it there against his cheek, as if trying to commit that angels touch to memory. Christine's heart spluttered- the world was spinning and glowing and all she could see- all she cared to see- where those deep, intense, adoring yellow eyes that gazed into her own as if to break the gaze would be a crime.
Before she could really comprehend what she was doing, Christine was kissing him.
It was half mad, this strange version of reality, halfway between a dream and pure fantasy. It didn't seem to make sense that her lips were really moving with his, hands feeling flushed skin and tears leaking down faces as two worlds seemed to collide and present them both with a reality which could no longer be ignored. Erik's mind rebelled against it, the wonder of feeling her perfect rose lips, of tasting her cool breath and knowing that it was him- him- who was making her breathing so ragged and wild. He didn't want this- he didn't want to do this to her before explaining the truth, to have to turn these heavenly moments into regrets which would haunt them both. Because how could he expect her to fall in love with this lie and then accept the truth without a worry or complaint? How could he have ever imagined this was the best way to go about this horrific nightmare that seemed never ending?
The trance was broken. Reality bit back with a vengeance, icy cold pain washing over fire, and Erik broke harshly away from her. Christine tumbled away from him, a dazed expression filling her face, and as she pushed her hair back from her face, Erik could see that she was trembling again.
"Whatever happens now, please promise me that you will be honest and not pretend for the sake of decency or- or to protect virtue, or to maintain some moral high ground." She said in a low, fast voice, her eyes pleading with him. "This needs to stop. We need to- to- for goodness sakes, Erik, will you please just stop torturing me."
"I..." Erik did not honestly know what it was she wanted him to say. He was stunned, by his own self loathing for letting this reach the ultimate endgame, and because of her words and her actions. So bold, so fearless, so...unlike Christine.
"Erik." She said, in a very soft voice, her eyes never once leaving his. "Do you love me?"
Her question doomed him. He could lie about anything, anything at all, trick and con and cheat and create illusions that would make even the sharpest of people believe things that were not real- he was the Phantom, the Opera Ghost, a master of shadows and tricks. But it would be physically impossible for him to deny his love for Christine Daae, for that would be like denying the existence of the sun.
"Christine..." she watched him with wide eyes, already filled with tears for fear of his answer. "I didn't want for it to happen like this. I wanted you to be free, to be away from all this mess, to have some idea of who you are and where you are going, before I..." he trailed off again, wondering what Raoul would be doing right now, if in this situation. No doubt a better job than me, Erik thought bitterly.
"Erik, since I met you, I have always been free." She said softly.
The dam holding back the torrent of truth and emotion burst.
"Oh God." He seemed to crumple, reaching for her and pulling her tightly towards him, crushing her to his heart and feeling her whole body sag with relief. "Of course. Of course I love you, you foolish girl, how could I not love you? I have always loved you-"
Christine began to laugh hysterically, so overcome with joy and ridiculous happiness that she untangled herself from Erik's tight embrace only to throw her arms around him again and to press her lips once more against his. Her heart was fluttering in her ribcage, as if it might burst free any moment, and she could feel he head spinning with the madness of it all- the ridiculous fact that this man, this amazing man, was in love with her. She could not comprehend it- it was as if it were too good to be true.
Erik reluctantly pushed her back again, sensing that this situation between them could easily escalate and become something he truly would regret later, once the ugly truth came out. She looked miserable to be pushed away, but her eyes told him that she understood precisely why the action was necessary, why they needed to stop and see reason.
"We must be sensible, Christine." He murmured, his heart feeling very peculiar, his head beginning to pound. The realisation of what had just happened was starting to dawn on him, and he was feeling slightly nauseous. He needed to get out of this little caravan, away from her, before he succumbed to the emotional mess that was starting to build inside of him.
"I don't feel very sensible. Not like this." She said raggedly, her voice enough to make her blush at how desperate she sounded.
"And yet we must be." Erik said, his voice firm, and she wished she had his self control because she was sure that she looked ridiculous and sounded it too. "I promise...after tonight's performance, once you are free and we are far from this infernal clan...we will be honest."
"I love you, Erik." She told him with no doubt at all, feeling that it still needed to be said. "You must know that."
"I do know." He replied, with a smile, but a smile that was sad and spoke far more of pain and regret than joy.
How sad he sounded to say those words did not truly register with Christine, for she was already panicking again at the mention of the performance tonight and the grand escape plan which still felt slightly too risky to her terrified innocence. She squeezed Erik's hand and flopped back down onto the blankets and cushions, hearing the birds singing outside as Erik pulled on his jacket and shoes and readied himself to sneak out into the early morning. She felt him kiss her on the top of her head, and heard him murmur something which sounded faintly like 'goodbye', but she was too caught up in her own head to respond.
"He loves me." She eventually said aloud, a huge smile breaking out on her face as she fell backwards into the pile of cushions, arms flung out, laughter breaking free and filling the caravan which now had a fond place in her memories, despite belonging to the beastly Emilian. "Erik loves me!"
Erik stumbled through the woodland in the dewy morning air, stopping to heave up the contents of his swirling stomach and to bash his head against the damp trunk of the nearest tree, ripping his mask away from his inflamed skin and letting his tears of fury trickle over the warped mess.
The hellish combination of joy and pain was like torture. Not knowing whether he ought to laugh or cry, Erik succumbed to both- his euphoric hysteria echoing off the trees and scaring away the birds with its volume and energy, until he dissolved into hopeless tears which blurred his vision and coursed, unchallenged, down his ugly face the whole stumbling journey home.