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.

4. Chapter 4

She was wrong. I do not love her. I do not love Christine Daae.

That does not mean I hate her. Hating someone and just generally not caring about them are two very different emotions. I have seen enough dramatic productions to know what real hate is. I hate Raoul de Chagny. I do not hate Christine.

She was wrong all along, and I was right. I am obsessed with her, but I do not love her. I tried so hard, so unbelievably hard, to love her.

I failed her. And she failed me.

.

So convinced am I that she will never return to me, I lock the door to my little house and retreat far into my music room. I play loudly, for hours on end. I cannot hear a single thing, other than the music that I am playing.

I am such a good, musician, you see. But I am sick of writing things for Christine, sick of writing pointless little melodies that have no significance. I want to write something truly startling, something beyond all imagination. I want to make a masterpiece that would challenge even the greatest of singers. The more I dwell on it, the more convinced I am that I could do it. I can do it. I can do it!

My adventure begins now.

.

An obsession is hard to get rid of. I am not going to be so silly to try to convince myself that Christine never existed. Of course she existed- I was obsessed with her. I was obsessed with every little detail on her perfect body, on her perfect face, in her perfect mind.

I do a lot of intense thinking when I am not working on my newest project. I think about how lonely and sheltered she was her whole life, and the long-term effects involved. I think about how she wanted to take her own life simply because she was not wanted, and how a simple interference by me broke up her entire world. I wonder if Christine needs help, real help. But oh well. I can obsess over all of her psychological implications, or I can leave that to Raoul. I did not want to take care of her like a baby, but Raoul seemed perfectly content to do that.

Maybe weeks pass, I do not know. I sleep, I eat, I continue living. But mostly, I work on my opera.

It is thrilling to compose such a piece of genius that I know no one will ever hear. Sometimes I just think about the whole irony of that situation, and I laugh and laugh and laugh.

.

I have the treasured picture of her. Oh, it is beautiful. I stare at it for hours. And I create a shrine for her. With the picture in the middle, I take all her jewelry and underthings and drape it around prettily. I litter the area with the scores of some of her favorite songs. I spray her perfume just a little.

I did not need a shrine when I had her, but now I am almost happier with my shrine.

.

I genuinely miss her at night. When you become used to sleeping with someone, it is very lonely to suddenly be all by yourself in the darkness. The bed feels so uncomfortably large. When it grows really bad, I go and take her black nightgown and lay it next to me. Not the same, but... I must make do.

.

This is time passing.

Time.

.

I had her for only a short six months: three months of lessons, and then three months of something more. What did we have? Even I cannot explain it.

.

It is a period of time where I do not surface. I am aware that I am growing dangerously thin and fatigued, but I continue working myself mindlessly over this work. When my mind is too sluggish to write the complex melodic lines it requires, I work on lyrics. There is no real story, only a collection of obsessions that Don Juan has captured over the years. When one obsession leaves him, or he tires of her, he goes and finds a new one. I think it is good for me to see that it is possible for me to move on. Women are silly things. I am glad I was obsessed with Christine, for it made a large impact on my life. But... like Don Juan, there is always something else to be conquered.

And I am sad sometimes, because I think of the connection Christine and I had, and how long it took to achieve that. I do not want to work that hard again- there is no one else in this world that I could ever imagine holding one/tenth of the possessiveness I held over Christine.

But... I brush her from my mind. My mind has become a very unstable place, and when I do not think of her, I do not have to think about how my life is over.

.

Sometimes when I dream, I wake up and I am not sure if it really happened or not? Did Christine really come down here and sing to me and hold me while I slept? I think not, but... perhaps. The scary ones are when I dream that she comes down and I do not see her, and then when she confronts me, I push her aside and tell her angrily I have to work. She changes, tranforms into an old woman, older and older, until she collapses on the floor in death. I scramble to her, clutching her in my arms, and my tears make her young again. Did that really happen? I think not, but... perhaps.

The less sleep I get, the more I seem to dream when I finally rest.

Sometimes I stare up at the ceiling for what seems like eternity. Aside from the emotional complexities, I miss the physical aspect of her. I miss feeling that explosive longing and fierce release, like something has been building for years and years and suddenly- suddenly- it it hard to explain when she is not here. I miss that. I miss her.

.

At some point, I leave my home.

I go upstairs.

I think of her role that we worked so hard on. That show is over of course- I have missed it. I feel bitterly angrily about that, the first anger I have felt in a long time. Looking at the show schedule, I see that Christine has not been in any shows since then. That makes me even angrier. I feel as though I have not felt anger in a long time.

Three months. That is how long I have been down in my abode. It did not seem like three months. It did not feel like ninety-two days. Such a long time when you put it in days. That long? Why did time fly, even when I was so miserable? If you had asked me how long I had been down there, working on my opera, fantasizing about her, I would have said two weeks, tops.

But three months is long enough for some people. Long enough to get engaged.

.

My second flicker of emotion, after anger, is more anger.

The girls are gossiping about it backstage, about the engagement between the opera diva and the patron.

"Perhaps she is pregnant," one says. "Perhaps that is why they are rushing."

An explosion of fury like I have never known hits me when I think of the implications of that. Just picturing Christine intimately in another's embrace sends ice down my veins and stabs my heart. I want to fall to my knees in anguish, but no. I crushed all emotion in me that night. I will not let it return now.

"They are childhood friends," another says. "That must be why."

"It is still such a rush."

"I wish they would just get married already so she can leave."

"Yes, I am ready for a new star. She is good, but stars do not last very long."

"I shall be the next star!" she proudly proclaims, and they run away laughing.

Without following them to kill them like I want to, for being such annoying brats, I pace around the rehearsal searching for more clues. I find nothing at all to lead me to where Christine might be now. But what I do find is plans for a Costume Ball, plastered all over the architecture I worked so hard on.

It is the stupidest sounding thing I have ever heard, but I know my Christine- ah, she is not mine anymore. Actually- yes, she will be, for the rest of her life. She is still mine. And I know her, and I know Christine could never resist going to a Costume Ball. Christine loves costumes. Christine loves pretend. Christine will be there.

.

My initial plan is to just lurk around and look for her, but I decide I am tired of lurking, so I make a costume of my own from stolen costumes around the opera. It is bright red and for once in my life, I know everyone will be looking at me.

.

Everyone looks at me.

I arrive at the party like any other man, only I stand out. People gape at me as I walk by. It must be the intensity of my costume. Red always does affect the eyesight more than any other color.

But I put aside the stares and work on finding Christine.

My months of loneliness could not have prepared me for what happens when I finally see her.

All of my breath leaves my body, like I have been kicked in the chest. My heart caves in, like half of it has suddenly disappeared, and I am overcome with such a powerful urge to open my arms and just have her fit against me, that I let out a breath of air and stagger against the nearest wall. She is in a pretty black dress with beads and she is holding a feathered mask, which is on the table before her.

My mouth is dry with the sheer anticipation of being so close to her. Who am I to shut out my emotions? I cannot shut them off around her. Everything about her is just so soft and calling so to me- I just want to step forward and shake her after all she has put me through. Why me? Why her?

I come to life in a flash. Three months of deadness- months that felt like only days- wither away in me and I feel anger, hatred, compassion, pity, confusion, lust, hurt, bewilderment, and heartbreak all at once.

It has been three months without her, and I did not even realize. Three months! And she left without so much as a goodbye!

I have no room in my heart to be angry at her when all I want to do is hold her. Damn! What spell has she cast, that makes me so ridiculously obsessed? What is it about her?

Just as my body helplessly moves towards her, another figure moves towards her. He is wearing a white suit and a white mask, so that it is hard to recognize him, but simply from his body movement and the way he comes up to her, I know it is Raoul.

And when he touches her shoulder, she puts her hand on top of his hand, and I can see the little diamond ring on her finger. It is not the gaudy, overdone, rich-boy ring I was imagining, but a very simple band with one lone diamond on it.

I seethe, because I wanted to hate it, but it is beautiful and simple, and I know Christine probably adores it.

"Time to leave?" Raoul asks quietly.

"Oh Raoul, we just got here."

Her voice shocks me. It is tired and weak, and it does not sound like her. Peering more intently as she looks up at him, she does not even look like herself. Her hair is perfect, she moves gracefully, but her eyes are tired. She looks very tired and almost sick. I wonder if she has a headache, and it drives me crazy that I cannot know for sure.

"But you look so tired."

"I want to stay for another hour. Then we can leave."

He bends down and kisses her softly on the lips, and I cannot contain a small exclamation of sorrow.

They hear, and they both turn their heads towards me, but I know they cannot see beyond the wall that separates up.

"Did you hear that, too?" she asks Raoul, fearfully confirming that it was not just in her mind.

"Probably just someone sneaking away from the party. Like you are." He muses her hair, and says, "Should I go and get you a drink?"

"Yes, please," she murmurs thankfully, and he disappears.

As soon as he is gone, I can no longer restrain myself, and I leap out from the crevice in the wall in front of her.

She jumps so hard she almost falls off of her chair and opens her mouth in a scream. I make another leap and put my hands over her mouth just as she releases a muffled, high-pitched squeal. I had not prepared myself for the act of touching her again, and I am momentarily overcome by just the sensation of her, with my one arm around her, and the other one touching her perfect face, her painted lips.

"Christine..." I whisper, and she knows my voice above all else, and she freezes, her eyes darting to look at me with terror. She shakes her head, her eyes still desperately afraid, and I am confused at her fear.

I let her go, assuming she would not scream any longer, but I am very wrong, and she screams absolutely bloody murder as soon as my hand falls from her. Swearing, I know I cannot stay now, and rather than hide behind walls, I wrench open the door to another room and go through it impatiently.

People stare at the intensity of my costume, looking at me with a bubble of raised voices. I brush them all aside angrily, and someone reaches out to touch me.

I grab his wrist, flames in my eyes. "How dare you!" I hiss, and his eyes contract in fear, and suddenly, it is Christine I am holding. "Do you not know that I am Red Death?"

He struggles to free himself and I drop him, and suddenly it is Christine I am throwing to the floor in my anger.

I laugh like a maniac and sweep far away.

.

My musings take me in a frenzy in the catacombs of my home, until I find myself outside of her mirror. I look painfully into her dressing room, ignoring the blow after blow to my chest. I do not know how much more I can take of this. I need her back here, I need my obsession. I am obsessed with it! I am obsessing with obsessing over her!

To my intense surprise, I am only there for a few minutes when the door flies open and Christine comes in, sobbing something terrible. She slams the door shut behind and her and comes right up to the mirror, sitting on the floor and pressing her head against it as she sobs.

I am only feet away from her, but she cannot see me. She does not know I am there. I touch her head through the glass, but all I feel is the hard and cold surface.

It is impossible to resist. I pull open the mirror.

She leaps back on her knees, and I think she is going to faint again, the way she sways, so I reach out and grab her to keep her from falling backwards. As soon as I seize her hair, she screams and buries her face in her hands, sliding away from me.

I say hoarsely, "Christine?"

I am still in the ridiculous red and I am not wearing a mask, and I have never regretted it more. But I am too curious to hide my face from her. I let go of her and repeat, "Christine? Why are you-why are you like this?"

She peeks through her fingers and says, "Who are you?"

I crouch to my knees quizzically and look at her pretty eyes. A strange feeling rises up in my throat. "Christine, do you-do you not remember? I am Erik-"

"Yes, I know you are Erik!" she snaps, still sliding away from me. "I do not understand..."

I stare at her aghast, irritated and befuddled by the lack of sense she is making. "What the hell is going on with you? What do you mean, who am I?"

She finally removes her hands, but continues to cry a little. "I thought you were make-believe..." she whispers.

I look down at her, my heart softening but my asperity rising. Half of me keeps seeing how Raoul kissed her, and I want to cover my face and sob.

"What do you mean?" I ask very softly.

"Raoul," she says in the same quiet voice. "He said you were in my head. I used to have problems when I was little, with imaginary friends and deciphering what was real and what was not. My father... he thought it was just me being a silly girl, but Raoul was always worried for me. He used to tell his governess these things, and one time she took me away and brought me to a doctor..." her eyes filled with more tears. "Papa was enraged when he found out, and then I was not allowed to see Raoul anymore."

"And what did he tell you about us-about me?"

"I used to tell him that the Angel of Music came to me at night," she cried. "When I was a little girl. My Papa told me he would one day, and I got sick of waiting, so I just told Raoul that he had come. But it was made up... All made up! And now, so many years later, I am blessed to have him again. He is real, he is not made up... He said you were made up! I told him all about you, how you taught me how to sing, how I lived under the Opera with you, how beautiful you were... He did not believe me. He is keeping me away from the Opera now. He thinks it is bad for me."

A howl of rage escapes my throat. "You belong here!" I roar. "You belong here!"

She looks up at me. "I thought I belonged with you."

"You belong with me, to sing here."

"You were obsessed with me."

"I still am."

"Then why did you leave me?" she cries.

"You left me!" I accuse harshly. "You ran up to the roof with Raoul, you believed him when he said I was not real, and you never returned!"

"Never returned?" she echoed in horror. "I came back every night for weeks! The door was locked, Erik, I could not get in! I pounded on it for hours and hours, and you never came. And then I could not prove you were real! You were not there! I told Raoul how you waited behind the mirror, and I tried to open it to show him, but I could not, and he did not believe me! You broke my heart! I thought you no longer existed! I thought you were gone, because you were only in my mind! Oh my, you are real!"

"I will kill him," I vow. "I will."

"No!" She grabs my arm painfully. "He has only helped me."

"Help you?" I explode. "Help you? He has imprisoned you! He has made you doubt yourself!"

"He took care of me," she says. "When you did not."

"I-"

"I called for you. For weeks and weeks. Three months. You abandoned me. I could have been dead for all you cared!"

And her words turn angry instead of hysterical.

I have no excuse. Only that it made sense at the time.

"I am real," I say, rising to my feet. "I am real, and I will prove it to your Raoul. Let us go see him! And then I will take you down with me, where you belong!"

"Three months," she repeats. "And you act as thought we can continue from the day we left off!"

"Well, why not?" I demand.

"Things... have changed."

"How so?"

She innocently twists the ring on her finger.

"NO!" I scream. "I am real, and you belong to me, not him! He tricked you, but now that I am back, you will come back with me!"

"But what happens when you leave me again?" she says in a panic. "I thought I could depend on you. I was wrong. You left me!" she says again, as if I have not yet grasped. I went nowhere. I was simply at home, and so convinced I was that she left me, that I never bothered to consider that she was trying to return to me.

"But you can depend on Raoul, can you?" I spit.

"Yes," she says honestly.

I let out a sound of frustration, but I turn away so she cannot see the tears building up in my eyes. If only I could explain to her that I thought she had left me... That was why I shut her out. But three months... I did not mean to abandon her for three months. I thought it was only a few days...

"Raoul loves me," she says with a pause. "Do you?"

I do not look at her.

How am I to say anything? She knows that I do not know if I love her. I am sick of saying the words to her if they do not mean anything.

"See?" she cries dramatically. "You do not love me! And you will leave me again! You tricked me, Raoul was right! Is this all in my mind? Am I going crazy?"

She runs away, and I just stand there, and think about how I just want to go home and put on my mask.

.

I walk through the catacombs again and call for her every few seconds.

"Christine! Christine!"

There is never an answer.

.

I afraid to go back home for too long. I am afraid time will pass too quickly, and what I think is only a day will be a few months.

So I change and don my mask, and go right back up and wait.

She has left the party. But that is fine. I will simply stay up here.

And wait for her to come back.

I will wait.

I can wait.

.

I know she will come back.

.

She comes back looking terrible. Her eyes are swollen with lack of sleep. I watch her come in, trying to retrain myself from tackling her on the spot, and simply follow her through the walls until she goes into her dressing room and sits right on the floor, as if just waiting for me.

Triumphant, I instantly pull open the mirror. She looks up at me. "Have you just been... waiting there? For how long?"

"I do not know. When did I last see you?"

"Last night," she says.

I blink in shock. I do not understand how three months can feel like a few days, but one day can feel like weeks.

Regardless, I extend my hand to her. She eyes it warily.

"I feel like... it has all been a dream," she mutters. "When I am with Raoul, I forget all about you and your world. But when I am with you, I forget all about Raoul and the world here."

"Then come with me," I coax. I am eager for her to forget about Raoul.

She hesitates.

But then she take my hand and a bubble of excitement bursts in my chest at her contact.

.

As soon as we walk inside the house, she bursts into tears.

"I went three months thinking this was only a dream," she says, shaking her head and sniffing. "Thinking it was not real. And now, I remember everything perfectly, and I wonder how I could have ever imagined life without this."

"Yes, yes," I say persuasively. "This is where you belong. With me."

She goes to each of the rooms, and I realize a split second too late that I did not disassemble her shrine.

I watch her stare at it, reach out and caress the picture of herself, running her hands over her jewelry, hesitantly touching her undergarments. When she turns to look at me, her face is only quizzical.

I shrug. "I missed you."

She smiles.

.

And then when we sing, she is overcome again.

I partly think it is funny, and I am partly annoyed. "What now?" I ask.

"Raoul is wrong," she sobs. "You are an angel."

"No, I am not," I say patiently.

She comes closer and wraps her arms around my neck and buries her face against my shoulder. I let her stand like that for a few minutes, before I say, "Alright, we should keep-"

But she cuts me off almost violently by pressing her lips against mine again and again. An electric charge that seems vaguely foreign to me shoots from my lips to all around my body, finally circling down to my groin. She turns me around a little with her hands while still meeting her lips to mine over and over, and she takes my face for further leverage and pulls me closer to her. I mumble a little into her mouth, but I cannot even tell you what I was trying to say.

.

I half-carry her into the bedroom while she is simultaneously pulling me in after her. Have I forgotten this feeling, or simply repressed it? Let me tell you, it is extremely dangerous to go so long without this feeling and then suddenly be brought back into it. I am starving for it, I am desperate, and I have no patience.

Luckily, Christine seems to feel the same way. She opens her dress for me and sprawls out in invitation, and it is too much for me to refuse.

And... it is like home again. It is like not even knowing how much I missed this feeling, not just sexually, but in the way that I felt much better, much more myself. I felt... I cannot find the word for it.

She moans and scratches at me, her hair all a mess against the bed, and my vision grows impaired with love for her.

She whispers, "I like this world better."

.

Afterward, I lay against her and I stroke her face very gently.

"You want to stay down here," I say. It is a question.

She nods.

"But you feel like you have to go back up to Raoul."

She nods again, slower this time.

"When I am up there," she admits, "I feel guilty for wanting this world. I feel like I should make an attempt to be a more normal person."

"You never have been a normal person," I say in protest.

She looks at me, her hand tightening around me. "When Raoul says that, he makes me sound sick. But it sounds so lovely when you say it..."

I gently brushed my lips across her forehead, and her eyes flutter closed.

"I have to go back up," she whispers. "I... told Raoul I would marry him."

I stiffen around her, and she feels this. "Why?"

"Because... I did not want to be alone," she explains. "Raoul will take care of me my whole life. He knows me. He can lead me into good."

"As can I!" I say angrily.

"But... what if you disappear again?" she asks in a small voice. "What if you grow angry? What if you find you can never love me? You are too unpredictable."

"But you love me more than Raoul, right?" I ask, and I cannot disguise the desperate sense of hope in my voice.

"Yes," she says simply.

It seems to absurdly simple to me, that I can hardly imagine the difficulty she is having! "Then stay with me," I say in a luring voice, and she looks at me as if she wants to, but cannot. I can hardly bear it.

"It is a decision," she admits. "But one thing is for sure- I must go back up soon, or Raoul will be looking for me."

"Let him look," I scoff.

She looks at me with sad eyes. "We were only friends," she whispers. "We were only friends until you forced him to be something more for me. Please, never do that again. Please, do not leave me like that."

I stare at her wordlessly.

I forced them together?

Impossible.

.

I physically cannot bear to let her go. I wrestle with her behind the mirror.

"I will come back," she promises.

"Is there a sure way to keep you down here with me instead of with the Vicomte?"

"I... do not know..."

"Christine," I say suddenly, overtaken by a powerful idea. "Christine, marry me instead."

"I used to think we were married before," she says in surprise. "Or was that pretend, too?"

"Not pretend, but official. I will get you a pretty ring, and you can take this thing-" I curl my hand around her fourth finger, "-off."

"I-I-"

"You said yourself you had a decision to make. But let me tell you this, Christine- no matter what you choose, I will never let you go. If you marry Raoul, I will still be obsessed with you. You will still be the center of my universe. Nothing will change. I will follow you to the end of the world, because I am part of you and you are part of me."

She stares deep into my eyes, as if trying to read beyond what I am saying. "How can I marry you if you do not love me?"

I kiss her very gently. "When I was unsure, you always told me I loved you. You told me again and again, every night. You would remind me all the ways I love you. I do not know how to love. I forget what are signs of love. Remind me again, Christine. Be my wife and convince me of my love."

Her fingers reach out as I am speaking and gently brush my masked face. I close my eyes at the contact. She does not know, but inside, I am wrestling with the urge to throw myself down at her feet and hold onto her legs, refusing to let her go.

"Please do not make me wait long," I say. "Please come back to me."

She gives me another look, and kisses me, and then turns into her dressing room.

I cannot resist, and I call out, "Christine!"

She turns.

"You need to come back to the Opera. You need to be onstage."

Her eyes flutter to the ground, defeated. "I know," she admits. "I want to... I just was not sure if I could... do it without you."

"You have me," I say bracingly. "Faust is in four weeks. You have four weeks up here to think, to tell Raoul that you belong in my world. Sing the opening night, and then we will disappear. You and me together."

She is so tempted, but she is also reserved. "I... shall have to see," she whispers. Before she turns away, she says, "You promised me the world, and then made me think it was all make-believe. I do not want to do that to Raoul." She touches her ring. "I do not want him to think it was all a game. I know what it is like to be abandoned by the one who you love. How can I do that to him, when he loves me, and I love you, and you love no one?"

I close the mirror quickly, but continue to stand there, hoping to watch her for a few more minutes, but she instantly walks right out.

.