Just An Obsession

by bwayphantomrose

He could never love her. He had never been taught to love. How was that he could so intensely crave something he had never felt before the arrival of Christine Daae? She was a terrifying obsession. Leroux-BASED. E/C.

3. Chapter 3

A/N: Don't hate me for this chapter. It had to happen, you know.

.

I do not like how avidly he sought Christine after rehearsals. Everyone in the company knows better than to socialize with Christine. They have all come to realize that she is a personal creature and keeps to herself, and they leave her pretty well much alone.

But this one would not leave her alone.

I notice him first when he is pacing outside of her dressing room, but once he has departed, I assume he has given up and will not come back. However, her returns the next day, this time in the front row. My attention is diverted—the director does not like people in the audience. Why is he being allowed?

My curiosity leads me to eavesdropping and exploring, and I discover that he is Raoul de Chagny, son of very famous patron to the opera. I hear that he is trying to fill his father's position and take over financial affairs himself. Although all of the women seem to giggle that he is cute, they also seem to think he is very clumsy and awkward. No one seems to pay much attention to him after his initial arrival.

But of course, it is really when he approaches Christine that I know we have a problem.

"Christine Daae?" he says in genuine wonder as he sidles up to her side while she is at the make-up station, preparing to wash. She turns and looks at him blankly, and they stare at each other for one long, comical second, until she says, "Raoul?"

I sharply dart closer to them both. I hate the recognition in her voice. I hate the look on her face.

"Raoul?" she says again, in half-laughter, raising her hand to her mouth. "Is it really you?"

And he laughs, too. "Christine Daae! Look at you!" And then without warning, she throws herself into his arms and he hugs her tightly.

My skin explodes in daggers, my blood racing with adrenaline and shock at her betrayal. I cannot believe what I am seeing-and neither can anyone else standing around them, by the look of it. They all glance at each other and nosily watch this unusual interaction between the reclusive star and the awkward new patron.

I just cannot describe the jealousy I feel. I have felt jealousy at Christine's other social interactions, like when people smile at her or touch her, or when I see her doing things with them and just generally being happy with someone other than me, but this is different. It makes me angry the way I see his arm curl around her, the way his coat comes up when he lifts his arms, the way she leans in a little bit, the way her hair drapes over her shoulders, the way his face is close to her when he smiles at her, and she smiles back.

Christine was unhappy. I made her happy. I don't want anyone else making her happy!

"I cannot believe-" she stutters, drawing arm's length back to look at him. "You look just the same as ever!"

"I could hardly say the same to you!" he exclaims back. "Your hair is so much longer and you look so different! You look absolutely stunning!"

I cringe at that. By telling her she is so different, and stunning, is implying that she wasn't stunning before. Now I want to kill him.

But she looks flattered and embarrassed, but she laughs and says, "Tell me why you are here!"

"Why, my father's donated money towards the Opera House, and now that I am on my own, I would like to follow in his footsteps and become another patron of the Opera!" His chest puffs out proudly as he says this.

She looked thrilled. "How wonderful!" At that moment, the cleaners call for her to move. She and him are the only two left onstage now. She seems to notice this, and she drifts away ever so subtly. "I'm terribly sorry, Raoul, but I must be going. But I hope to see you at future rehearsals?"

"Oh yes," he says, nodding vigorously. "Every one of them!"

His enthusiasm is tiring. I am fuming with a more controlled rage now, and I am waiting patiently for Christine to come home.

"Well, I look forward to it," she says, smiling gently, and then disappears backstage.

Raoul remains there for a few seconds, staring at her in a sort of wistful disbelief. I watch him, until I can take no more, and I sharply swoop away.

.

I pounce on her as soon as she is in the doorway. "Who was that?" I demand. "And why was he bothering you? Why were you so pleasant to him? What does he know of you?"

"Calmly, Erik, calmly!" she says as if she has not a care in the world, looking at me with patient eyes. "It is Raoul! The only friend I have ever had in my childhood. We met when my father gave him violin lessons, but he was so dreadful they stopped nearly at once. But we became friends straight away, but I haven't seen him in many years!"

"And what does he want from you now?" I say angrily. "What reason did he have to accost you like that?"

She raises her eyebrows at me. "Accost me? He was only saying hello to an old friend. He looked quite as surprised to see me as I was to see him."

"Lies," I hiss vehemently. "He has been watching you for days now."

"Has he?" she asks, and seems momentarily off-guard. "I wonder why he didn't approach me earlier, then..."

I fume some more, but I cannot say anything else. She drifts away, and I can hardly think.

.

He ruins everything, instantly. It is all I can think about during rehearsals, looking down at his little blonde head and wondering what he is thinking. I have never seen anyone besides show interest in Christine before, and I do not like it. He has no right to be interested in her, in any capacity. She is mine, as in belonging to me. She is my object of obsession, and I do not share he. He cannot be obsessed with her, because I simply could not allow that.

.

He is obsessed with her.

It is like he must always be coming up to her and chatting with her, whether she wants to or not. And he is always coming to her dressing room during breaks and pestering her with his relentless energy.

But the worst part is Christine doesn't seem bothered by this at all! And I hate it. I want her to be disgusted by him as much as I am.

"He was a very, very dear friend to me when I was little," she says patiently.

"I am your friend now," I say sourly.

"You are my lover," she points out. "As well as my friend. I can have other friends, Erik. I have never had friends before! Please let me have a friend."

I do not want her to have any other friend but myself, but I cannot say this, because then she will grow upset. And I do not want her upset.

.

There is a two-day break from rehearsals, and I am anxiously awaiting her back home for a full forty-eight hours, when young Raoul decides that since she will be free, this is a good time to ask her out to lunch.

And she considers it!

And then she comes home and has the gall to ask me, "Do you mind if I go out for a little while tomorrow with Raoul?"

Do I mind?

I cannot even believe she would be stupid enough to ask such a question. "Of course I mind," I snap. "Why do you want to leave me, and spend time with another man?"

She laughs lightly, like I am joking. "Oh, Raoul is not another man- well, he is, but not like that- I mean, he's just a friend."

I gape at her some more.

"No!" I say frantically. "You cannot go out with someone else, you cannot socialize with another man, I will not permit it! No, no, no!"

And I finally expect her to frown at me, but she still speaking soothingly, like handling a child. "Erik, you do not have to be jealous. I understand that you do not want to let me go, but it will be fine. I just want to catch up with a dear friend of mine. He was with my when my father was very sick, he understands that part of me."

"I understand you," I growl.

"There is no competition," she assures me. "I love you."

"And he loves you."

"Of course. Friends can love each other."

I freeze. "Do you love him?"

"Well yes, of course, but not-"

"I hate you!" I scream savagely, sweeping away from her and into my room, locking the door.

.

I know I should not upset her, but I am too upset to care.

.

She paws on the outside of the door. "Erik, please..." she begs. "I will not go. For you. I will stay here with you all day, because I love you, and you are more important that Raoul. Please come out. I do not want to waste a single second with you."

I do not answer. I am furious. I feel betrayed.

She sits out there all night, I can hear her. In the morning, when she has fallen asleep on the floor, and go out and lift her up into the bed, resting beside her. I put my arms around her to keep her held down. Now she will not leave me at all.

.

My lovely little obsession. She has taken completely over my life, as she always has. I must keep her safe and I must keep her here.

.

She wakes me up by touching her tongue to my ear. I move my lips over hers, travelling down to her chest and casually undoing her lacy gown. She twists her fingers into my shirt.

"I am all yours," she whispers, and I want to say, I know, you do not have to tell me, but I keep quiet.

She pushes her little fingers into my skin as I finish disrobing her and continue by placing my lips back on her. I do not like to look at her at these times, because then I am reminded that she is beautiful and I am not. So instead, I let my eyes roam over her body as I taste her again and again.

We are very good learners. Making love is just another art, and Christine and I are artists.

She arches a little and extends her arms so I can climb more easily on top of her. With a slight shake of my head, I indicate that I do not need any more tantalizing right now, and I enter her slowly. I am dying in want of her, but for some reason I am paced and relaxed. I can tell her eyes are looking at me, but I hide my face in her hair against her shoulder so I do not have to see her and think about how ugly I am. I do not want that now-I do not want that ever.

I love her, and I prove my love for her when I lose everything inside of her and I cry out hoarsely in defeat. But I cannot tell her I love her, not now, maybe not ever. So I hold onto her tightly and hope I can make up for it with other things.

.

She is almost late for rehearsal, and it is my fault. I am a gallant gentleman-somewhat- and I help her dress even as she is running out the door.

"I look terrible!" she whines as she hurries up, with me following closely behind. "My dress is wrinkly and I have nothing on my face!"

I cannot see how on earth it will matter, when she will be putting on different clothes onstage and applying her overdone stage make-up, but then suddenly I stutter to a stop.

"Why does it matter what you look like?" I attack, grabbing her arm. She is still in full speed and the harsh stop makes her snap back against me, and she looks up at me with wide eyes. "You will be looking different onstage anyway, right? And it does not matter, because I know you are beautiful, and I am the only one who matters, right?"

"Oh Erik, all women want to look beautiful," she says blankly.

"I want to look beautiful! But more importantly, I want you to look beautiful!"

She looks downcast. "I am sorry I did not put up my hair this morning-"

I shake her impatiently. "No, no... You know I think you look beautiful how you are. So who is it you are trying to dress up for?"

She stares at me with the same blank expression. "I don't... understand? Just when I am in public, I don't want to look all tousled like this!"

I squint at her. "And Raoul de Chagny? Does he care what you look like?"

She blinks. "But... Does it matter?"

It appears I am not going to get a straight answer out of my girl. I release her and she ambles away, looking confusedly back at me. "Aren't you coming?" she asks.

I am unbelievably torn. I want to go to rehearsal to hear her sing and to see her perform, yes, but I also want to go to rehearsal to watch Raoul closely and make sure he makes no more advances towards what is mine. Yet at the same time, I do not want to go to rehearsals because I will have to see him, and then I will want to kill him.

"I... I am not sure that would be a wise idea, my sweetest," I say, backing away from her as if in a daze. "No, I am just going to go back home. I am tired, and I have some work I wanted to do. I will write a lovely new song for you when you come home."

She bites her lip, looking worried, and I want to eat her with adoration from the way she looks. Sometimes I intentionally confuse her, just so I can see that precious face, when her brows come together and she frowns ever so slightly. It is impossible to look away from, and it is addicting. To make it even worse (or better, depending how I looked at it) she tilts her head to one side and sighs.

"Well, alright then," she agrees. "I will miss you. I will not do half as well today if I am not inspired by you watching me."

Oh, goody-so Raoul will not hear your best today, will he? No, because only I have heard your best... I give her a smile. "I will be waiting."

She blows me a kiss and departs.

.

I sit at home, musing about the first time I was sexually in awe of Christine, in her one little performance where she danced around in the lavender silk with the other girls, and how she stuck out because of her beauty. I think about how only weeks later, I laid with her.

I always get what I want.

Always.

.

Christine comes home sheepish.

She tries to hide it, oh yes, but I am not stupid.

"How was rehearsal?" I ask swiftly.

"Oh-fine," she says, laying her things down. "Nothing interesting. I do not have to go in tomorrow until a little later, they are working with the chorus all morning."

"Ah," I say, moving closer. "You look bothered about something."

"Bothered? No."

"Uncomfortable?"

Well," she says, looking down at the floor and shifting her weight. "I did want to talk to you about something."

Breathlessly, I wait to hear Raoul de Chagny's name- he has asked her out to accompany him again, he has demanded to pick her up tomorrow, he has give her a token of his affection- but then she says, "Have you done something to my mirror?"

My heart stops it fluttered and I look at her in confusion. "Perhaps," I say evasively.

"The one in my dressing room."

I stare at her innocently.

"Only because it doesn't look the same anymore, I I could swear the lining around it is different. But before I came down here, it was a pattern of gold leaves or something similar, and now it is some sort of intricate design."

"Much prettier, I think," I murmur.

She wrinkles her nose. "But... why did you replace the rim around my mirror?"

I hesitate. "Because... I want to see you."

She looks at me, baffled.

"I can see through your mirror," I say, and it instantly sounds absolutely horrendous, but I cannot bring myself to regret it.

"You can see through my mirror?"

"Yes, I replaced the glass. It is like a window to me."

She puts her hands on her hips. "Show me."

.

I show her.

She is initially aghast, and I think she is going to scold me for being so scandalous, but instead she says, "Coming up this way was much quicker! If only I could step through my mirror and come this way each day, it would only be a three minute walk, instead of ten!"

I am always puzzled by the things she comes up with to say. This was not the reaction I was expecting at all. I decide to stay silent.

"Is there a way I could get through the mirror?" she asks, examining it.

"You cannot walk through glass," I scoff.

"Yes, I know... Can we make it open somehow?"

"I can make it open," I say. "But it would be more difficult for you, on that side, and very heavy."

"Would it be easier on this side to open?"

"Oh yes."

"Well, then you can come up here every day after rehearsals and open it for me," she says in a designed voice.

.

When I go to retrieve her in her dressing room, I am surprised to find her already there waiting, even though I am a little worried. She never uses her dressing room. But she is in there now, wearing about half of her costume. Fixing her hair in her vanity mirror, she gently slips it off her shoulder so she is just in her underthings. I can see the outline of her body beneath it. Like a dancer, she slips over to her hook and takes her dressing gown, very gently wrapping it around her. I swing open the mirror to let her know I am there, watching.

But she doesn't seem surprised at all. She hops on over, smiling at me like a little child.

"Were you watching?" she asks sweetly.

"Yes," I admit.

She giggles.

.

Raoul comes up to her after rehearsal again.

"Do you ever leave the Opera House?" he teases, resting his arm on the back of the shelf behind them, attempting to look suave and casual. "I swear, I have only seen you here at rehearsal. Why will you not come out with me?"

She laughs a little, and I am glad to see she is still in control, not anxious by his questioning. "I am dedicated to my art, Raoul."

"But you must go home, you must eat and sleep... But I never see you leave."

She hesitates, but jumps quickly back in with, "And I have never seen you doing your patronly doings! Are you not supposed to be intermingling with the managers and getting to know them?"

He shrugs, still grinning. "I would not know. My father and I are very different people, so I am not to be compared to him. Besides, you are my favorite singer, so it is only natural that I should be mingling with you the most!"

I hear his words in my head, you are my favorite singer! you are my favorite singer! you are my favorite singer! again and again and again. I clench my fists and I take a deep breath that feel like it is rattling around in my chest. I am just so furious at the fact that the first person who Christine decides to let into her life after me, is a handsome young man who is clearly interested in her!

"If it is not too bold," he begins, which of course means he is about to be too bold, "but where do you live?"

She pauses for a millisecond. "Very close to the Opera."

"I am very close as well. I would so love to pick you up one day for an afternoon stroll of lunch. I would be so honored."

She smiles and says, "It is a possibility."

And one thing I have to give to Christine, is that she is never perturbed. While I am here, frazzled and fretting over his answers, she is as calm as ice in the way she handles him. Never once does she panic or improvise to the point of insanity. One could say she has mastered the art of stealth very well, and this is only her first test.

.

I do not stay as calm.

"A possibility?" I say as soon as she comes in. "What do you mean, a possibility?"

She frowns at me; she is beginning to get tired of being interrogated at the door every time she arrives home from rehearsal. "Oh, I had to say something, did I not? What was I supposed to say, no? And then he would have asked why!"

"And if you had said no, and he had asked why... What would you say?"

She looks at me.

"I do not know," she says finally. "I suppose we should be glad that did not happen."

I feel my anger rise, but I let her go.

.

My anger continues to stew and burn for the rest of the night. I do not know if Christine is intentionally avoiding me, or if she is just busy doing other things, but I turn irritable and suspicious at her distance. I head off to find her.

Unexpectedly, I find her in bed, reading a book. For some strange reason, it really was just not what I was expecting, and seeing her so vulnerable in her nightgown, with her hair down over her shoulder, in my bed, only makes me more determined to prove that she is mine.

"I will not have you associating with Raoul anymore," I say, stepping into the room.

I startle her; she did not know I was there. She drops her book and looks up at me with wide eyes. "Why?" she says, her mouth turning down.

I grit my teeth at her, at how pretty she looks. She is tricking me, trying to throw me off with her appearance, but I will not be swayed. "He is getting too close to you. You cannot allow anyone to get too close."

"Why?"

"BECAUSE, DAMNIT!" I roar, and she jumps again, pulling the covers up on instinct.

I do not like that she pulls the covers up like that, and I advance towards her until I am right over her. "What is the matter?" she says fearfully. "It is alright... You can tell me."

I rip the covers away from her, intending an angry resort, but my throat dies a little when I see the curve of her legs, the indentations of her waist. Instantly, I want her badly.

I swallow and take one wavering step back. "You-you and him-are not good," I say thickly.

She sits up, further stirring the position of her legs, all curled up like that. "What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

I reach out, just to touch her leg, and her skin is warmer than I expected, and I cannot help myself, and I come closer and put both of my hands on her body. She gasps a little at the abruptness of it, but adjusts her legs so I have more access and scoots over a little for me.

It is an invitation absolutely impossible to resist. My resolve saps, and I climb in on top of her. And although she is beautiful and I think I love her, all I can see is her with Raoul is my eye, and when I look at her, I see her smiling at him, and I keep growing angry. I push my anger out on her-I take her lips in a rough kiss, pulling and teasing. She moves and arches a little beneath me, whether seductively or simply to get comfortable, I do not know.

"Erik-" she says, but I cut her off by coming back to her mouth again and again. I take my fingers and cut them into her side. She winces a little but keeps moving in that tantalizing manner, and I peel her nightgown from her shoulders. I am throbbing for her and I move against her without thinking, and I am so overwhelmed by that feeling, so frightened that I will not last, that I forget about precursors and simply pull up her skirt to find home.

She lets out a little whimper at the entrance, but otherwise makes no word of complaint. I do not know if she is saying anything, or trying to stop me, but I cannot think about those things right now. The only thing that is important is to keep moving and why must she keep speaking with Raoul...?

I finish startlingly quickly and pull away at once, disgusted with her, disgusted with myself, and mostly disgusted with Raoul.

Christine reaches up, trying to touch me, but I jerk away from her. Part of me wants to just leave her in here, but I feel a little weak and my heart is pounding, so I bury my face in the pillow and neither of us say anything.

She says eventually, "I will not speak to Raoul if it displeases you. But know, there is nothing about our relationship that should unsettle you."

Just hearing her say the words our relationship makes my stomach coil with anger, and I squeeze the pillow venomously.

"You may not have any relationships with anyone up there, Christine. It distracts from your true purpose. And what is your true purpose?"

"To sing for you." Her voice is weak.

"Right." To allow me to obsess over you... I will not have some blonde, handsome man obsess over you.

I will not.

.

When I arrive to pick her up outside of her mirror, she is busy writing something. I click open the mirror and hold it for her, and she leaps to her feet, leaving her writing there.

"Did you hear me today?" she asks.

"I did," I reply gravely.

She gives me a little smile and says in a soft voice, "It was a special present for you. I sang with all my heart."

"It was a fine present- a fine gift."

She giggles delightedly and hold out her arms to me. I lift her up the stone step and I am surprised when she suddenly wraps her arms around me and holds me very tight. I open my mouth to say something, but I find with dismay that there is a well of tears in my throat. I am ashamed that such a simple action creates such a reaction in me, but it is so nice to feel the tender touch of someone I adore. Waiting for a moment, I clear my throat and say, "Ah-it was-er, wrong for me to be so angry with you last night."

She kisses me chest through my heavy suit, and I can still feel it. "I sang so well so you would know it was alright. I love you."

"I... love you, too."

She laughs again. "Try to sound a little more convinced, mmm?"

She begins to sing a light, flowy melody and I pull the mirror shut.

.

While Christine sleeps, I head off for one of my nightly strolls. I go past all my dark hallways and emerge into the darkened backstage. I like this auditorium- it is of a beautiful design, and I am very proud of it, along with the rest of it's architecture. With all of its mindless people crowding it during the day, I do not have the time to enjoy it. But I like it better in the darkness, anyhow. The shadows creep along the walls and make elegant patterns.

And of course, I always go by Christine's dressing room. Once or twice, I have seen thieves paw their way in other rooms, and I will not tolerate such happenings in Christine's room.

To my intense surprise, for the first time, I actually do see a moving figure that happens to be right outside her dressing room. I can tell it is male from the broadness of the shoulders and the pants legs, and I creep closer, intend on dissuading him then and there.

For the first time in my life, my stomach drops and I recoil instantly from this figure. It is none other than Raoul de Chagny!

Such a violent energy fills me that I do not know what to do with myself.

My minds works through the pros and cons of killing Raoul right then and there. Christine would be very unhappy with me... She would not want to sing with me... She would not want to sleep with me. There would be a heavy inquiry, which is always annoying... It would be a bit of effort, and I am tired...

.

When I arrive home, Christine is still sleeping. Seeing Raoul makes me angry at her again, but I let her sleep. She has a busy day tomorrow of rehearsals.

.

Busy day indeed!

Halfway through the rehearsal, I go and find that the cast has been doing choral blocking all morning- and Christine has been chatting with Raoul!

It took all my self-control to not just burst in front of everyone right there and snatch her away. She is mine, she belongs to me, like a little doll, and he is not allowed!

There is nothing I can do except for rage at nothing in my quiet little spot. I want to get closer, to hear what they are talking about, but I do not trust myself in such close capacity to them. I shove my hands against the wall in acute frustration and feel like ripping my skin off in agony.

But then I have no even seen the worst of it.

They rise, together, still chatting. I see Christine give one, long look around the auditorium, her brows slightly pulled together, and then she follows him out.

Out.

Out.

Gone again?

.

I scream, I kick things. I destroy the entire scene room in my anger, in my pain. In my head, I see her walk out with him again and again, until my mind forces them closer and closer together, until he is practically carrying her out! But no! She went with him willingly! She went willingly, and that hurts the most. It hurts that she left, it hurts that she left a rehearsal without telling me, that she left with him!

.

Time elapses.

My sanity wobbles precariously.

I should have just locked her up from the very beginning. I always knew I was obsessed with her, and allowing her freedom only made her feel that she was not my possession. Well, she is my possession, and most certainly not anybody else's.

.

She comes home, and I grab her.

"What were you thinking, you stupid girl?" I yell, shaking her again and again. "What is wrong with you? Why are you so cruel, so foolish? Why must I keep you on a leash?"

She screams hoarsely as I continue shaking her. "Erik!"

"Why are you so insensibly dumb? How could you be so thoughtless?"

"I had no choice! He was prying, Erik, I could not let him pry, I had to appease him-"

I could care less for her silly excuses! My anger reaches a peak at her arguments, and I throw her down, and she crashes against the floor and the wall.

"YOU WILL NOT DO THAT AGAIN!"

She cries and covers her face.

"YOU ARE NOT WORTHY OF ANYTHING I HAVE TAUGHT YOU!"

"No-no, please-" she begs.

"YOU ARE MINE! YOU ARE HERE FOR ONE REASON- TO BE MINE! NOT HIS! MINE!"

She cries pitifully, hiding her face in the ground. I hate her, I hate her for hiding her lovely face, when she should have nothing to hide!

"IS HE HANDSOME, CHRISTINE? DO YOU NOT JUST ADORE HOW HANDSOME HE IS?"

"No, no!" she pleads, waving her hands.

"YOU ARE A DISGRACE."

"No, no," she repeats, like a spell of protection. "You love me!"

I grab her hair and hoist her up. "Do I?" I snarl. "It is hard to tell!"

Big, wet tears well up and fall at the same time over her cheeks. I hate how I still think of how beautiful she is, even when she is betraying me.

"Why are you here, Christine? Why are you here!"

"Because I love you," she gasps, trying to pull my hand away from her hair. "To learn! To learn from you! To learn how to be-to be the best m-musician in the world!"

In my head, I am thinking about how I felt when I first began teaching Christine: the wild, explosive feeling of joy and security I felt around her. It made me want to be a different man for her. It made me enamored with her. I grew to want to know everything about, absolutely everything. She changed me, because she loved me. And I changed her, because I was the only one who cared for her.

I do not want anyone else to care for her, because what if she falls in love with them?

Fear is overcoming my fury, but I still keep shaking her to mask my terror. "If he shows you attention, will you run to him? Will you flirt with him and try to draw him to your bed? Does he make you feel wanted?"

"Only you," she whispers, her eyes rolling a little. "Only you."

And then she faints.

.

I carry her to bed, sobbing uncontrollably. I know she wakes, I know she can hear me, but she keeps her eyes closed and her head turned into the pillow. I cry because I have worked so hard for her and I do not want to lose her to something better looking that me. It is not fair.

.

I deliberately stay out of the main room and she departs for the rehearsal quickly and quietly, without coming to me. It is not unexpected, so I simply wait a few minutes and follow her up.

And once there, Christine is nowhere to be seen.

I wait a few minutes or so, hoping she has gone to the washroom. When I continue to grow impatient, I check on her dressing room. That too is empty.

More choral blocking today- they will not be needing Christine. Her absence goes unnoticed.

But not to me.

.

I prowl, and I will find them.

I am very good at that.

.

I find them.

And where of all places?

The roof.

For some reason, I am not particularly incensed yet, probably because I am much too curious to what is going on here, and why she is on the roof.

Raoul is apparently thinking the same thing. "Why are we up here?" he asks, wrinkling his nose.

"Because I need to explain some things to you, and I do not want to risk him overhearing and being hurt. He does not like us speaking."

"Who is 'he'?"

"Raoul," she says sternly, looking at him in the eye. "I am not a free woman."

He stares at her for a moment, and then throws back his head and laughs. "Ah, Christine! How you have been using me!"

"Raoul-" she protests at once.

"Could you not have told me, when I was begging for your courtship? When I was falling over myself to ask you to lunch?"

"I would love to do those things with you, Raoul, but only on friendly terms."

He stops laughing and sighs. "What a fool I have been!"

I cannot help but agree.

"Did you not get my letter? I wrote you a letter several days ago, and left it for you. Did you not get it?"

"No."

She looks concerned for a moment, and I cannot believe she would go behind my back to write him a silly letter. She is writing him love letters now. Oh, the irony!

"I just wanted you to know... I do not wish to hurt you."

He shakes his head. "So... Who is it? May I meet him?"

She blinks, looking shocked. "Why would you want to do that?"

He shrugs. "You are a dear friend. I would simply like to meet your husband, tell him hello. Perhaps share a few embarrassing childhood stories with him."

She pauses. "That is not possible."

He gives her a look. After a pause, he says slowly, "Are you making this up, only because you are not interested in me? I do not see a ring on your finger..."

"No, no, he is real!" she cries. "His name is Erik."

"Erik," Raoul repeats, and I do not want to hear my name on his lips ever again. "So if you are not married, are you living in sin?"

She looks confused, shaking her head. "No..." she says, but she drifts off uncertainly, and I hate him even more for putting such doubts in her head.

"Then let us be honest friends, Christine," he says. "Be honest with me. Do not make a fool of me. Do not make up such stories to simply be rid of me."

She looks even more confused. "I am not making him up," she says, but her voice has a lack of conviction, and even I can see how he may not believe her now. Her eyes are foggy and far away, and I am desperate to know what she is thinking about.

"Christine, I know you. We grew up together. Sometimes you grow confused about what is real and what is not. I remember your stories." He has a gentle, patronizing hum to his voice now. "But I love you regardless. I thought about you all the time, wondered where you got off too. And all this time, you have been just a few blocks away from me, without me realizing it. What a fool I have been!"

She is shaking her head again and again. "I- I am not lying, I am not- I am not crazy, Raoul, you must believe me! Erik is real, he is a man, you see, he is very special. He teaches me how to sing. He lives at the Opera, and I stay there and it is like being in another world, and I sing and I sing, and - I can sing with him like no other!"

Raoul is still staring at her. "A childhood dream," he murmurs. "To have an angel of music come and teach you how to sing." He rubs a curl off her face, I am nearly spasm with seeing him touch her so intimately.

"Yes," she says, looking out into the distance. "Yes, it was..."

She is beginning to cry now, looking confused and hurt, and I am transfixed with those tears, those beautiful tears, and think of how I heard her for the very first time, while she was crying out. And I never questioned why she let me in so quickly, why she jumped at the chance of lessons with someone she had barely met, someone who wore a mask... But she had never asked, never wondered... Only obeyed without question.

"He is not my imagination, I promise," she whispers. "I know I have made up stories before, Raoul, but I swear this is the truth this time!"

"You never lied to me, never. You only said what you thought was real. You used to tell me stories like these when we were children. I think you believe it is real, but think about it... Is it really? Or has it all been like a dream, in your imagination?"

She clutches at her face. "No... No.. I am different from how I was then!"

He comes closer to her, touching first her shoulders, and then pulling her into his arms. "Oh, Christine," he sighs, pulling her close, and I see with horror that she grabs him just as desperately back, holding onto him and continuing to cry into his shoulder.

"Sometimes he scares me," she whispers, biting her lip. "Sometimes I cannot control him... But when we sing, it is almost unreal... Almost unreal...?"

He rocks her, like a baby, and he bends down and kisses her lips.

It is a frozen moment, where I see how closely they are together, how intimately she is wound against him, how her head lifts up and they make a perfectly beautiful couple. I can see the shock on her face, but it does not lessen the emotion I feel.

And then a second later, a cry of rage escapes me, and they both jump with terror in their eyes, and they race far away.

.