Chapter 5
I feel like I should have stayed behind in the store to talk to that man-it felt wrong almost, to walk away from him. I swear I know him from somewhere, but I just can't seem to remember his name. Maybe I worked with him once, or maybe he works with Raoul. No, I've only met a few people Raoul works with and I wouldn't care to remember them. Perhaps I went to school with him. Arrgggghh, this is frustrating! And I didn't even ask his name! I just stared at him like a git. Although, he was staring quite intently at me too. Maybe he knows me as well? But what are the odds that we both know each other and cannot remember? This makes no sense. He sounded French going by his accent, which makes this situation even more confusing. I don't know anyone from France. Not in this lifetime, at least.
"So are you going to tell me about this mysterious emergency stop, or will you leave me in the dark wondering?" Dad asked as we neared his house. What do I tell him? Should I tell him about my newfound knowledge in the arts that happened over night and that I ran into someone that I'm pretty sure I know, but can't remember in the slightest who he is and how I know him? No, not right now, my mind says. Lie through your teeth, Christine.
"I dunno. I just feel like trying a new genre of music I suppose." Not a total lie if you think about it.
"I see." He went silent for a moment and spoke again. "Well, if you are quite keen on classical music now, I could let you have some CD's if you like."
I smiled a little. "Thanks Dad. That would be nice."
"I could even get you one of those nifty little music players. What do they call them-iPlayers?"
"IPod, Dad?"
"Yes, one of those. I swear companies come up with the silliest names for these gadgets. Anyway, I could get you one of those if you like."
I was moved by his sincerity, but I would never have a need such a thing. "That won't be necessary Dad. I can just play them in my car or in a stereo." We pulled up the drive to Dad's house, where I did my time growing up. There wasn't much to the front yard-a few feet of well-kept grass and then pavement. The back yard was much larger in comparison, and that's where Dad kept his garden. The house was an average sized one and looked identical to the rest on the street. Two floors with the sitting room facing the street-it's a very humble house, I suppose, if I were to classify it.
We walked inside and I was greeted, once again, by the wall of photographs that can be summed up as the Daae family history. Pictures of Mum and Dad as children, professional photographs taken before and during their marriage, my christening, birthdays, and my wedding. I noticed that towards the end of the wall, Dad put up more pictures of Mum by herself, mostly candid shots. One of her in the garden, one of her holding me as a child, and one of her laughing. I let a single tear roll down my cheek before taking a deep breath and moving into the kitchen.
"Would you like a cup of tea, Christine?" Dad asked, coming into the kitchen and setting his keys on the hook on the wall.
"No thank you." I suddenly found myself wishing to be alone. "I think I'll just go upstairs and take a nap. I'm a little tired." I stood up and made my way to the hallway.
"Alright. Shall I wake you for dinner?"
"No, that's alright." He nodded in acquiescence and I climbed the stairs and walked down the hall to where my bedroom was as a child. It hadn't changed in the years that I'd been gone-Dad threatened to rent it out or use it as storage, but I knew he was joking. The same pale pink paint adorned the walls with my bed in the center of the room. A small wooden dollhouse that Dad made when I was about five-years old stood in a corner of the room gathering dust. My bureau stood opposite my bed with pictures of Raoul and I during adolescence, some of me and Mum and some with Dad. A stuffed giraffe that Raoul had won for me at a fair was placed by one of the pictures.
Other than that, most of my belongings and furniture had been moved when I married Raoul. I wonder when he'll be home? I haven't the slightest idea how he will take the news. But I know for certain that our marriage, or lack thereof, must be addressed. No point in going around the bush about it-it must be done. I don't want to spend a lifetime wondering if I could be happier. And being with someone who makes me genuinely happy.
I get under the sheets of my bed, which smell as though Dad had just washed them, and fall asleep before my head hits the pillow.
It is dark out and I am walking-that much I know. Building lights illuminate my steps and I am aware that the streets are cobbled. I look up around me and very clearly see the Eiffel Tower in lights. Paris. I begin to climb a series of steps that seem to go up to the heavens. I keep climbing on though, sometimes two steps at a time. Surprisingly, I am not winded. I reach the top after about five minutes and I am face to face with the Sacré Cœur Basilica. The grand Romanesque-Byzantine building towers over me, and for once, I feel inferior to a higher power. I run a hand deftly over the travertine stone before moving on and walking over to the edge of Montmartre.
There are only a few people out at this hour. Lot's of them are romantic couples kissing in the moonlight and take no notice of me. I move to the edge of the fence and look at the city around me. Breathtaking is the only word for it. The entire city of Paris in lights before my eyes. A light breeze rustles my hair slightly. But wait-where is my hair? It's supposed to be long and curly. Now it is short, not even reaching my shoulders, and sleeked back. I look down and realize I am wearing black men's suit, tie and all. But why? Perhaps the pain medication is warranting these strange dreams. Before I knew it, I was walking away from the fence and everything faded away from my view.
I woke slowly and a little lost but remembered I was in my old bed at Dad's house. I turned over in bed and read the digital clock next to my bed: 4:24 am. I knew I wasn't going to be able to sleep the rest of the night, so I got up, dressed, and decided a walk would do me some good. I walked passed Dad's room to be sure he was asleep and heard his deep, consistent breathing before heading downstairs and softly closing the front door behind me. It's still quite chilly out, even though it is the middle of summer and the faintest rays of the sun could be seen on the horizon, but for the most part, it is still considerably dark out.
I set out at a slow walk, not really paying attention to where I was going. There is no traffic and no one or nothing around-only silence. I peer into the houses as I go along and they are all dark inside. Wives sleeping contentedly with their husbands. They have nothing to worry about-they have that feeling of security every night when they lay down to go to sleep. And when the alarm goes off, they greet the day with a cheerful 'good morning', and get ready to go about their day. Perhaps that involves getting their children up, making them breakfast and sending them off to school. They kiss their spouse goodbye and leave for work. It isn't a long kiss, but it is full of love and a promise to be there "until death do you part". She comes home from work and has dinner ready and on the table by the time he gets home and they share a meal together. They settle on the couch after and spend time in each other's embrace until it is time for bed.
And I don't have that.
I don't want to go all my life wondering if I will ever have someone who truly loves me. Don't get me wrong-Raoul loves me, and I love him. But he doesn't love me the way I crave to be loved, nor do I love him that way. We both deserve better.
I stopped walking and found myself in front of my house. Subconsciously, I knew I would end up here. I know it doesn't feel like home anymore, but part of me needed to come here. To grieve? To move on? I don't really know, but I know it's part of the "process". I picked up the spare key from under the loose brick in the stairs that lead up to the front door and walked in.
Everything looked the same as when I was last here. It still smelled like home, but I wouldn't let myself be deceived. The sitting room still looked clean-I remember rearranging the pillows and dusting all the furniture. But there was something different that couldn't be missed. An ominous red stain covered the rug at the bottom of the stairs. It looked slightly brown, as if someone had tried to clean it. It looks almost like spilled wine, various spots darker than others. But I know better. I know what once covered the rug. My blood. Tears began to sting my eyes and I quickly ran up the stairs to get away from it. Blinded by tears, I ran into the nearest room and closed the door.
The nursery. Blast it! I wiped my tears and looked around. An empty crib and stuffed animals stared back at me. My heart began to pound against my chest. Thump-thump, thump-thump. I pick up the stuffed teddy bear and hold it close. A pair of pink and blue booties lay on the bureau. Thump-thump. A toy box sits in the corner decorated with ducks and bears and letters of the alphabet. Thump-thump. I run my hand over the rocking chair by the crib and readjust the blanket on it.
I put my hand to my stomach. "I'm sorry, baby." I could feel my breath catch in my throat and my heart beating wildly against my ribs. "I'm so, so sorry." I can't breathe anymore and my tears flow freely. I bend over and scream at the top of my lungs. As loud and as long as I can go. It is deep, from the pit of my stomach, and full of anguish and sorrow. I scream again, and this time, it feels like my heart will leap from its confines in my chest.
I sink to the floor and hold the teddy bear to me as if it were a lifeline. He looks at me, oblivious to my pain. I pull my legs close to me and sob uncontrollably. "I'm sorry, my baby," I choke on my tears. My cries became louder and I began heaving for air. I am wailing so loudly, I don't hear the door open.
"Christine?" a voice calls out. I am gathered up in a pair of strong arms and they encircle me. "Oh, Christine. It's alright, darling. It's ok, love. My Little Lotte, I am so sorry." The last thing I remember was feeling tears that were not my own on my face before falling asleep in the arms of my husband.
A knock on the door interrupted Erik at his piano. He had made considerable progress on his opera, but found that he had much trouble concentrating. He simply could not get the woman he met at the music store out of his head. With a dejected sigh, he rose from the piano, knowing that he would not be able to compose anything substantial.
Opening the door to his flat, Erik was greeted with the cheery faces of Nadir and Antoinette. Raising an eyebrow, Erik said, "What are you both doing here? I only just left London a couple of days ago."
"Some gentleman you are," Antoinette scoffed, mockingly. "Aren't you going to let us in? Then we shall explain why we have shown up uninvited at your doorstep." Erik moved to the side and she brushed passed him. Nadir followed and patted his back.
"The remodeling looks great Erik," he said, looking around.
Erik nodded in agreement. "Thank you." He paused, unsure of what to say. He'd never had guests before. "Shall I start some tea? Here, I'll take you to the sitting room." He led them and they took seats on the settee in front of the fireplace.
"Good Lord, Erik, this is exquisite!" Antoinette exclaimed, her eyes wide as saucers as she looked about the room. "Curious choice of work," she pointed to the painting sitting above the fireplace. "Care to explain?"
"Not particularly," he said, albeit a bit coldly. He walked out of the room swiftly and began preparing the tea in the kitchen. He returned five minutes later with a tray and placed it on the table in front of the settee.
"So, you come here for a reason, you were saying?"
"Yes, well, I suppose in afterthought, the reason will probably seem quite trivial to you," Nadir started. "We simply wanted to see how you were doing here and what it looked like, and to take you out to a celebratory dinner of sorts. We've even booked a hotel for the night so we don't impose ourselves upon you."
"That doesn't seem insensible. I would quite like to go out to dinner." Ask them about the woman! Perhaps you met her through Antoinette?
"So," Nadir began leisurely, "how is Sophia. I take it she is not here with you."
Erik felt a pang of guilt. He had completely forgotten about her since arriving in Paris. "We have terminated our relationship," he said simply.
"You broke up with her didn't you?" Antoinette asked.
Damn. "Yes," he said quietly and received a nasty stare. "Don't think I don't feel guilty for hurting her, because I do! She is a beautiful, wonderful woman, but I could not breathe with her around! She attached herself to me and I did not feel the same. I would be even more of a monster if I led her on to believe so."
They nodded silently as if to say, Perhaps it was for the best. "So, who's the new woman?" Nadir joked and laughed when he saw Erik's eyes grow wide. "Relax Erik, it was only a joke!"
"Well, actually, you see," he began and completely unsure of how to word himself. But he was cut off by Antoinette.
"Erik, please don't tell us you had an affair and that is the reason why you left Sophia."
"No! Of course not! I just told you why I left her! Were you not listening?!"
"I apologize. Please continue."
"Before I left London, I stopped at a music shop to pick a CD for the ride on the train. But as I reached out to get it, so did someone else. A young woman was reaching for it. But it was odd. I felt as if I knew her, but I didn't. Does this make sense?"
"Perhaps you know her from somewhere in your past," Nadir said. "Do you know her name?"
"No, you don't understand. I don't know her. She just looks familiar."
"Maybe she looks like someone you know," Antoinette brooded.
No, I definitely don't know anyone as beautiful as she. "I don't think so somehow."
"I know! She was from a past life!" Nadir exclaimed. Antoinette and Erik gave him a curious look.
"It's entirely plausible. I saw it on some talk show a while back…"
"I bet it was Oprah," Antoinette mumbled.
"No! But, anyway, maybe you had a revelation and remembered her-"
Erik cut Nadir off, unable to listen to any further theories. "No. Look, I only meant she looked familiar. That's all. Let's just go to dinner and move on." Just move on. You'll never see her again anyway.
"Christine, you never eat Italian," Raoul said, sounding exasperated and confused as the hostess brought them to their table. "Are you sure you feel alright? We can go home if you want to."
I know he is only looking out for my best interests, but it's getting on my nerves. Everyone has their hands on me to make sure I don't break, and quite frankly, it's like being slowly suffocated to death.
"I'm fine Raoul," I stress calmly. "I just had a craving for Italian tonight, that's all. Or maybe I've gone crazy," I said and winked at him. I began glancing at the menu and was rather surprised at myself. I could translate every Italian word on the menu. Maybe I really have gone mad. Shall I just tell myself that the loss of my baby has caused me to go insane? But that still wouldn't explain how I know another language and dream about a man's house that I've never been to.
"Can I get both of you some drinks?" A waiter stood by our table, pen and paper at the ready.
"Errr, yeah, we'll have the-" Raoul started
"Boroli Barolo 1999, please," I said, pointing to the menu.
"A very good choice," the waiter said. Raoul raised his brow at me and his mouth was parted slightly.
"Did you close your eyes and pick one?" he laughed.
I blushed slightly, but smile to make him think that he his still the cause of my blush. Honestly, I don't know why I chose that wine. It is too expensive and I usually drink a dry, white wine. But I knew I needed to act sane tonight to not worry Raoul any further so I could tell him what I have to say.
"Care to tell why you chose this particular wine?"
Erik swirled the dark, red wine under his nose, and took a sip, savoring its sweetness. A smile came to his lips as he recalled first discovering the bottle of luscious wine.
"I found this bottle on a trip to Milan. The Scala was playing one of my operas and the company director invited me to dinner that evening at the Gallia. The food was exquisite-everything was cooked in the Lombard style. Even the atmosphere took my breath away-modern, yet elegant. Anyway, he suggested that I try a bottle of Barolo. I still have not found anything like it to this day. I could taste every flavor that was mixed in-strawberries, chocolate, and a hint of vanilla. I did some reading on it, and the grapes that go into this particular wine are only Nebbiolo grapes from Piedmont. It's a rather hard grape to grow-they only cultivated in the region's clay, limestone, and sandy soil and prefer south-facing hills. It goes perfectly with meats and creamy pastas, which is why I am going to order…"
"The stuffed chicken marsala." Raoul is looking at me, completely mortified. The color has even drained from his face.
"Christine, how do you know the company director of the Scala? You've never been to Italy. And since when are you a wine aficionado?"
Recover Christine. Think of something quickly! So I began to laugh. "Oh, don't you remember? It's from that movie we saw not too long ago. Oh, what's the name of it?"
"Ehh…umm…I don't remember what movie you are talking about Christine," he said slowly.
"Besides, I've been doing a little reading about wine. What else am I supposed to do while you're gone? That's why I sounded like I knew what I was talking about." I smiled big and did that hand wave thing where you look like you are swatting a fly, but people interpret it as 'of course I know what I'm talking about'. This seemed to ease the situation a bit-Raoul looked like he was able to breath properly again.
"Oy, Raoul, mate!" A man around Raoul's age with sandy hair patted his back from behind. I recognize him as one of his sales coworkers, but I have never said more than two words to him. "Congratulations!" he gestured to in my direction. "Say goodbye to sleep and money for the next twenty years! Those little monsters suck you for everything you're worth, but they're a blessing. Truly a blessing." He patted Raoul's back again and motioned for the woman with him to follow him to their table.
Raoul took my hand from across the table. "Are you alright? I'm sorry, I-I couldn't tell anyone," he said quietly.
"It's fine. There was nothing you could have done," I said, sniffing back the tears. I look up at him and he knows instantly what I am going to say. I know he sensed this conversation was eminent as well. "Raoul, we need to-"
"No Christine. Not here. We can't discuss this here." I give him a look, telling him that I won't back down. I don't want to wait any longer. "You have been through so much this week. We both have." He waves his hands in frustration and begins to get up.
"No, Raoul, sit down. We will discuss this now. I don't want to be distracted anymore. I don't want to wait ten years wondering if we could be happier than we are now."
"Christine, I am-"
"No Raoul, don't lie to me. I know you aren't. All we ever do is fight anymore when you're home. I want us to be happy, in every sense of the word. I don't want to lead a life of 'what if?' every day." I look down at the table and wait for him to argue. I wait for him to lecture me that our marriage can still be saved-we just have to work hard at it. See a counselor. We announced before God to be together until death do us part, and we will honor that vow. But he is still silent. I look up and see tears streaming down his cheeks, and he is nodding his head.
I stand and we both know that we have to leave. We walk to the car and Raoul drives me home in silence. My marriage is over, I keep telling myself, but I have the chance to begin all over again. I have a new beginning lying before me. But a beginning of what, I have no idea.
Raoul takes me to my Dad's house and walks me to the door. There are no words between us-there is no need for them. He takes me in his embrace and we both cry, long and hard. I can feel our tears entwining together and cascading down on my blouse.
I'll always love you, Little Lotte," he said in between sobs. I come to realize that, in my own way, I will always love him too.
"You will always hold a special place in my heart Raoul," I said, pulling apart from him and cupping his cheek in my hand. "The darling boy who saved my scarf from the sea." He kissed my lips fondly and tenderly, but it wasn't one of passion. It was a way of saying goodbye, adieu, to everything we've ever known. Goodbye my lover, goodbye my friend.
He turned to leave, and only after when I saw his car disappear did I run inside straight to my room. I kicked off my shoes and coat and let myself fall on my bed ungracefully. And I sobbed. I cried for all of the memories we shared. For all of our sweet, tender moments. For what could have been. I sobbed until I there was nothing left in me. I let the numbness take over and fell into a deep sleep.
A/N: Yay! It didn't take a month for an update this time! Free Erik cookies for anyone who can find the James Blunt lyrics I put in there. And a Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate!