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When I open my eyes the next morning, I expect to feel different.
I feel heavier, as if my arms and legs have gained a great deal of weight in a short time, and I feel cold, as if somebody who was lying next to me recently disappeared.
It happened.
I push back the covers and sit up, alone, in my bed. The lights are turned up, and it feels like morning. When I move, I'm sore; but it didn't seem as bad as all the horror stories I'd heard up at the Opera.
It still happened.
I pull the sheets up to my face and cry.
It's not that I am upset about the outcome of things—quite the contrary, actually: I am glad about what happened. Yet, I feel so much older, so much more mature than what I think I ought to. Maybe I have just been babied for too long. It's simply an emotional step that I dared to take, and now I needed a moment to think about my actions.
I wasn't sorry about it one bit. And in the end, I never shed a single tear, so I suppose it wasn't really crying. I was just gathering myself. I had given in, and I was ecstatic about it. But also shaky.
Where is Erik?
He is obviously not in here. I thought he would want to be in here, to watch me sleep, to see me when I woke up. Did I displease him? Was he angry about what I did?
How could he possibly be angry? He wanted me, and I allowed it. He had nothing to be ashamed of.
I stand up, moving gingerly over to the closet to dress. I ought to look good for Erik, shouldn't I? I pull on a pale, pink gown that he has complimented me on many times; I once remarked that he couldn't keep his hands off me when I wore it. I had blushed after I said that, and I remember him staring at me with confusion, while I stood there awkwardly.
I feel another uncomfortable sense when I think about going out to face him. What did I say to him? Did I act like I always had, or was I supposed to go over and give him an extra kiss? Would he ignore me? Would he cry? Would he act oblivious and make me sing?
I go to my door and try to listen to see if he is composing. I put my ear against the wood and become very still.
I hear voices.
I pull back, frowning. I didn't think Erik would talk to himself that loudly. There is a brief silence, and another voice picks up, and I know for sure that it does not belong to Erik.
It belongs to Raoul.
I back away from the door, leaning against my bed, my bed with the stained sheet, my bed where my living, breathing husband had laid beside me, and I panic.
Somehow, somebody has found their way to the house on the lake.
Finding Erik's house bodes ill for anyone and everyone who has the misfortune to stumble across it. The person will not find themselves alive for much longer.
Raoul, you fool!
Must I continue to save him? I realize now, that each time he has come for a rescue, I am the one who protects him, bargains with Erik. He is doing harm to us all.
Why did he come? I had done the ultimate act last night to complete my marriage—and Raoul could destroy it all!
Why would Erik let Raoul in? He wouldn't. He would never let Raoul in.
I lean against the door, for proof that is really Raoul's voice, and not just my deluded senses, but all the voices have stopped.
Well. I will hardly get anywhere standing in my room, staring at the door handle, so I fearlessly open the door and head straight toward the drawing room.
The door here is closed as well, which explains why I had such difficulty hearing the voices. I linger for a moment, wondering how angry Erik will be if I intrude. Surely not very angry if I can get him to recall last night…
I knock on the door.
There is still silence, and for a moment, I wonder if the whole thing was perhaps a dream.
Until the door swings open and Raoul stands there, quivering with suppressed excitement.
"Christine!" he cries, and he pulls me into the room, his arms around me, his lips on my ear. "Thank God, thank God," he keeps murmuring. He feels so warm, and it's unnerving to me. And I don't like it.
"Christine, you're safe!" he whispers, stepping back, his hands on my shoulders as he looks into my eyes. "I have come for you, like I promised…"
He looks bothered by my lack of reaction, but I am looking over his shoulder, where I have realized that there are two more people in the room.
One is Erik, who will not look at me. I stare at him for a full five seconds, and he looks pointedly at the floor. The other is him, the Persian whom Erik calls Daroga, the one who suffered through the torture chamber with Raoul.
Unlike my husband, the Daroga is staring at me full in the face. His expression is rather blank. He turns and gives Erik a look I cannot read.
"I suppose you wouldn't mind if I asked the girl herself, would you, Erik?" he asks, and his tone is polite. Erik gives a little shrug, and faces the wall.
I want to watch Erik forever, but the Daroga is approaching me very slowly, his hands held out. I give him a quizzical stare, and Raoul tightens his hold on me.
"Mam'selle Daae." he says deeply. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you alive and healthy."
I struggle against Raoul's grip so I can face the man properly, but Raoul is reluctant to let me go, so I compromise by holding his hand. It is still too warm. And I still don't like it.
"Of course I am alive and healthy." I answer, frowning a little. "Why would I be otherwise?"
I see Erik give a visible twitch when I speak, and I can tell he's closed his eyes.
"Christine, I worried about you every second." Raoul muttered. "You made me promise to take you away, and I will live for my one promise."
"Raoul," I begin, but the Daroga interrupts me.
"Christine, we are here to bring you back to your world, if you wish." he says. "Erik has agreed; you are free to go if it is what you want."
I give Erik's back a little glare.
"I am quite happy here." I say. "I don't want to leave."
Both men give me exasperated looks that are both scolding and pitying at the same time.
"Come here, Christine." the Daroga offers suddenly, and he takes my hand and pulls me towards the door. "Let go of her." he orders Raoul, and he closes the drawing room door in his face.
"You really shouldn't leave them alone together…" I start. The Daroga fixes me with a kind and honest stare.
"I am sorry for everything that has happened concerning you and Erik." He makes a little grimace. "I cannot change what has transpired, and I cannot forget it. You recall I was here when Erik forced you to make a decision, forced you to marry him. I heard your pain, I heard your tears, and I know how he frightens you. Raoul is here to keep you safe. He is remarkably brave, and he has given up an expedition to the North Pole for you. I want you to go away with him, somewhere far away, and I will deal with Erik alone here."
I blink a few times. "Monsieur, I am not lying when I say I want to stay with Erik. I am his wife."
"No," he murmurs. "Whatever he has told you, it is not marriage. You were not married by the church, or the clergy."
"God heard." I say, smiling a little at my irony.
The Daroga looks at me with a worried expression, as if he is concerned about what I could possibly be smiling about.
"I had to learn to love him." I say slowly. "I thought I would be trapped down here forever. So I did. And now I cannot leave him."
"My poor, child," he moans. "This is so wrong! He had no right!"
I take his hand. It is warm too, but gentle. "I was frightened of him. I still am. But Erik owns my soul."
The Daroga has lost his look of alarm and has settled on looking completely hopeless.
"I love him. I do. How can I go back to Raoul, after four months down here? You say you want to bring me up to my world? This is my world now. I need Erik. He needs me. You don't understand."
I push past him, back into the drawing room. He grabs my arm and pulls me back to look at him with careful force. "Tell me the truth once, and I will never ask again: Do you really love Erik?"
I nod. "Yes."
"You know what he's done? You know he is unstable?"
I nod again. "That is why he needs me, you see."
"But you have needs too," he protests. "Light, and air, and love."
"Erik gives me all of that." I reply calmly. "We go for walks quite often."
His hand drapes off my arm in a gesture of defeat. "He may have stolen you soul, but that does not mean you have to give him your heart." he whispers unhappily.
"But I have." I say. "I have given him everything. Because I love him. And it is not easy, sometimes. He has quite the temper! But that makes it all the more fulfilling, don't you understand? I have taught him to love, just as he has taught me to sing. He is my angel of music. I cannot let go of him. I need him. I want him. I love him. I will not give up on him now, because he would never give up on me."
The Daroga has a new look in his eyes, almost like respect. But then it disappears as he leads me back into the drawing room.
Raoul's welcome is overly jubilant, and he pulls me in for a kiss.
His lips are warm again.
How I hate it! Is there something wrong with me?
I wish Erik would turn around, so I can give him a reassuring glance; I wish he would turn around so he can give me some sort of look that last night really did happen and he felt our connection as much as I did; I wish he would turn around so I could see his golden eyes and be reminded of how much I am loved.
Instead, Raoul steps in front of me, and whispers, "There are many things I need to say to you, and they are not for others' ears. Come, my Lotte."
He takes me out of the room, just like the Daroga did. Erik remains staring at the wall.
But at the very last moment, before the door swings closed, he turns and gives me a look that says he remembers last night, and he remembers all my promises; he remembers how many times I've told him I loved him, how many times I've kissed his scarred face; he remembers every second we've spent together and every step we've achieved in our relationship.
As the door slams shut, and he watches me depart with Raoul to the other room, his eyes tell me that he remembers it all—and he still expects to never see me again.
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