Disclaimer: Thanks to Gaston, Erik exists. Thanks to Susan, he has become a full-fledged human being. Thanks to Andrew, we now have the music of the night...And, thanks to all of us phan writers, we have...Erik and Christine, as they were meant to be: together!
Chapter 8: And Love Remains
They were lost in each other for long moments. From her mouth, Erik moved his lips down her neck, blissfully savoring her soft skin. Christine took a deep breath, letting it out on a sigh as she felt his lips fluttering along the length of her neck. She tilted her head back in reckless abandon.
"Oh, my love..." he murmured, with barely restrained passion. She could not speak, but simply allowed him to worship her with his mouth. At length, she stirred, and, bringing her head down, grasped the back of his neck with one hand, looking directly into his eyes.
"Erik, you must have some breakfast. You have not eaten anything for the last two days..."
"Yes," he assented, lowering his eyes as he continued to allow his mouth to wander all over her neck. "Right now, I am not hungry for food, my sweet."
She tried to untangle herself from his embrace. "No, Erik, you mustn't," she protested. "You should return to bed. You are still much too weak. Please, darling, let me assist you."
His breathing was already coming in short gasps, and he restrained her with one hand when she attempted to rise. In his weakened state, however, he could not exert enough strength to prevent her from getting up, and so had to allow her to do so, to his chagrin.
Christine, smiling, picked up his good hand and kissed it. "Let me help you up, my angel," she said as she bent down and put her arms around him.
Grunting with the effort, Erik pushed down on the chair arm with his good hand, while Christine did her best to pull him up. After one or two tries, he at last stood. They then walked over to the bed together, slowly, with Erik leaning heavily on her. She helped him to sit on the mattress, and then held his legs while he swung the rest of his large frame onto the bed. He lay his head on the pillow, slightly winded by the effort. Christine watched him anxiously, standing next to the bed.
"Do not fear, my sweet," he managed to say, his eyes on hers. "I will be regaining my strength very shortly, and then..." He chuckled softly, as his gaze began to turn intense. "I will not be responsible for my actions," he finished, with a very wolfish grin.
Christine smiled, blushing a bit. "You must not think of such things now, you charming rogue! Your health is all that matters now. I shall go and inquire about having breakfast brought up for you."
He stirred uneasily, and held out his good hand to her. "Will you return soon?" he asked, as earnestly as a child would.
Smilling again, she took his hand, squeezing it gently. "Indeed I will, my love." She then walked over to the door, turning when she reached it, to blow a kiss over to him.
"Christine, I love you!" he could not help exclaiming, half raising his head from the pillow. She answered in kind.
When she had closed the door gently behind her, he let his head drop back onto the pillow, sighing with exasperation. He was not accustomed to being abed, unable to move about freely. As he closed his eyes once more, his mind began to bring back to him images from the past several days.
He had followed her minutes after she left the Opera House with Raoul, pulled inexorably toward her in spite of her apparent rejection. Now he knew that she had never really rejected him at all. She had been terrified of him, and this had prompted her to run to Raoul. Blast that Vicomte! he thought, angrily. Why had he ever been in her life at all?
He now recalled that strange, other-worldly experience he and Christine had shared. Yes, it had been totally real. She truly belonged to him. She had confessed her love for him to Raoul, making it quite clear that her feelings for the young aristocrat could not possibly compare with the fierce love she felt for the former Phantom of the Opera. He could not quite believe it. She had wounded his heart so deeply that he found it hard to accept the fact that she was, indeed, his. Moving restlessly on the bed, he opened his eyes, letting them wander over the room. His mind was sharp and clear, but he had no idea where he was staying. He now wondered whether it was the wretched boy's money that was paying for their stay...
Just when he was beginning to think that she was taking much too long to return, the door swung open, and a young maid came through, bearing a tray of wonderfully-smelling food. Christine was right behind her. She took the tray from the maid at the door, after digging into one of her dress pockets and extracting money for a tip. The maid, smiling shyly, curtsied, and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Erik grunted in annoyance. "That was some of the boy's money you gave her, was it not?"
Christine sighed as she carried the tray over to the night table. "Yes," she grudgingly admitted, as she put the tray down, coming to stand next to the bed. "He has graciously paid for our stay here."
Erik groaned. He could not tolerate the thought of being beholden to any man, and least of all, this particular one.
"Why? And for how long?"
She looked down at her hands, which she folded together. "For as long as it takes you to recover, Erik. He...wanted to do this. For me. For my happiness...You see, he loves me. I did not want to take his money, but is there any other alternative?"
"Christine, I do not understand why you would accept this! It is an insult to our love!"
"Now, Erik, please...remember that you were unconscious, and in great danger! Someone had to pay for the inn! I ...do have some money of my own, but it isn't much, and Raoul would not let me use it anyway..."
Erik looked at her, noticing the distress displayed on her face. Not wishing to cause her more pain, he decided to let the matter drop.
"All right, then, my love. You must be aware by now that I had brought some money with me. You do have the pouch I was carrying with me, do you not?"
"Yes, it's stored away. I did find some money in it. Will it be enough, do you think?"
"Do not worry, my sweet. I have the means to acquire more when that runs out."
Her eyes widened in alarm. "Erik, you're not planning to do anything illegal, are you?"
He felt a surge of anger as she said this, but stifled it immediately. "No, I am most certainly not! I was thinking that I should perhaps return to my previous occupation of wandering magician..."
When she looked at him in anguished disbelief, he snorted in laughter. "I was merely joking, my sweet! No, I actually own some property, in a small town not far from Paris, and I have someone who collects rent for me, then discreetly deposits it in a bank in the city. You forget that I also had my monthly income from the owners of the Opera House. It's all there, quite safe, I assure you. When I am able to travel, we must return to the city and withdraw as much as necessary for our needs."
She expelled a breath of relief. "Well, then, my love, you must now eat! Are you able to sit up?" As she said this, she went over to the night table, and picked up the tray, which she brought to him. He managed to pull himself up, and she laid the tray on his lap.
Erik was surprised by how hungry he was when he put the first forkful of food in his mouth. He proceeded to bolt the rest of the breakfast down as if it were the last meal of his life. The scrambled eggs were done just right, and the cream of strawberries was not overly sweet. The cafe au lait was surely the best that he had ever drunk, and the croissant au beurre had just the right amount of flakiness to it. In all, he was suddenly quite glad to be French. Christine had pushed the heavy armchair over to his side, and now sat next to him, smilingly watching him as he consumed the meal in very short order.
He suddenly stopped to gaze at her, just before he put another bite into his mouth. "Are you not going to join me, my sweet?" he worriedly inquired.
She laughed lightly. "I have already had my breakfast, mon ange. Eat in peace, so that you may regain your considerable strength as quickly as possible. I really do miss being carried in your arms..." As she said these last words, she gave him a coy glance, then shyly ducked her head, feeling a slow burn begin on her cheeks.
"Ah, the maiden blushes! I think that I shall recover sooner than I had anticipated...so that you shall not remain a maiden for very much longer..." He gave her another of his wolfish grins, which had a definite effect on her -- she felt a sudden surge of heat. She rose at once, and walked over to the window. From there, she could see the surf pounding on the shore. It was a beautiful day in early fall, and, although perhaps a bit chilly, if they brought their cloaks with them, they might be able to take a stroll right by the water's edge. Then she remembered, with a jolt, that Erik had nothing to cover his face with! She whirled around.
"Erik," she now exclaimed, with a worried frown, "you have no mask for your face when you are ready to go out!"
"My dear, sweet Christine...do you not know that I always make sure to carry a spare mask? Go to my pouch, darling, and you will find it there. You did say it is safely stored, is that not so?"
She mutely assented, sighing in relief.
"Here, now, I have finished." He lay back with a contented sigh. "Would you read something to me? You will find a book in my pouch. It is Les Fleurs du Mal, by Charles Baudelaire. You must have heard of it, I'm sure."
"Yes, I have heard one of the ballet girls mention it. I will bring it at once."
She stood to take his tray, which she took with her as she once more exited the room. She soon returned, the book in one hand, and his mask in the other. She sat on the chair again as she began thumbing through the pages.
"Which one shall I start with, Erik?"
With a glint in his eyes, he mischievously answered, "Why, the most passionate one you can possibly find, my sweetly tempting morsel!"