Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or any of the characters.
Chapter Two
"Oh Angel, what have I done to you? Can you ever find it in your lonely heart to forgive me?" she stood up, trying hopelessly to fluff up the remnants of the battered blood red petals. "No, his heart is not lonely, because he has me to fill that deep void that time and the cruelty of others have dug, if he'll allow me to. Though I'm really not worthy of such a deed." A soft knock sounded at her door.
"Lotte? Are you living in there?" the Vicomte said, sounding worried. She rolled her eyes.
"I'm a child no longer, Monsieur, there's no need to call me Lotte," she murmured. Examining herself once more, she strode to the door and entered the small hall. Back in her flower filled room, a soft whisper echoed off the walls.
"You are worth the earth and the stars, Christine, more than you'll ever care to imagine."
"You took ages in there Lotte. What on earth were you doing? Talking to yourself again?" Raoul smiled, leaning in to kiss her, but she moved aside, lightly pushing him back.
"Are you feeling well, Lotte?" asked, visibly disappointed, despite his efforts to hide it.
"I'm sorry Raoul, I-I'm just still a little shaken from earlier, please understand." She kept her head down, her eyes still red and puffy. He sighed, smiling warmly.
"Of course Lotte, anything you say," he took her arm in his and pulled her along to his carriage. When he wasn't looking, she turned back, looking for something. She could have sworn she felt His eyes boring a hole into the back of her head. Then again, he was everywhere, which was precisely the reason she hadn't kissed Raoul: because she refused to let him see her heartrending tears, not wanting him to fuss the night away, and mainly because she just couldn't bring herself to kiss him when she felt she belonged to someone else. She felt as if she was betraying her Angel with every movement and action she made with the Vicomte. His anger towards her would surely increase due to her little outing with the childhood sweet. She began to worry that it would rise to the point where he would no longer want her anymore.
'No,' she thought, 'he loves me, and definitely wouldn't stop because of a man like the Vicomte.'
Dinner went well, until Raoul began his cooing once more. He took her hand from across the round table, placing a small kiss on it. She blushed and turned away, desperate for any distraction. Finding nothing capable of distracting either one of them, she inwardly cursed.
"Christine, I love you. There is no doubt in mind, and there never has been, I am so sure of myself, and it simply delights me in knowing you feel what I feel." She choked on a sob. Every little word came out of him as if he'd planned on what he was going to say. It was as if he was torturing her with his honey laced words, forcing her to feel guilty that she didn't care for him that way. She didn't love him, yet he was still her dear friend, and she didn't have the heart to wound another the way she'd wounded her Angel.
"Christine, are you all right? Why are you crying?" he leaned in closer, squeezing her hand. She waved him off, shaking her head. Thinking fast, she found a way to change the course of the situation.
"Don't worry yourself Raoul. I'm just so touched by your feelings for me, and how happy we are to be in the future," she said, dabbing her eyes. His features softened, and he smiled.
"Oh Lotte, always the caring girl. That's why I love you." He leaned over, kissing her tenderly on her lips. She faked a smile, trying not to cry on having felt that she'd once again betrayed the Phantom by kissing Raoul, and started a meaningless conversation about his business. As he chattered endlessly, she was finally able to think about everything she'd faced so far. It was a mistake continuing to kindle the dying embers of what Raoul wanted and thought they had. It merely gave him hope for no reason. But she wouldn't quit the charade until her Angel confessed to what she'd been longing to hear.
How splendid it would be if she and her Angel could run off into the sunset, and never look back. The sights they would see, the things they would do. She smiled, closing her eyes. She remembered how it felt in his firm arms in the dim cavern of his home, how he held her and touched her, sparking feelings she'd never felt before. She blushed, trying to relive and imagine his touch again, caressing her curves and every inch of her upper body. She opened her eyes, still hypnotized by the lasting impressions of her Angel, only to find Raoul staring intently at her, a look of worry plastered on his face.
"Tired love?"
"Oh yes, very tired. I wish to return back to my bed, if you don't mind," she said through a faked yawn.
They walked arm in arm back to the carriage, and she wanted nothing more than to tear free from him, find her want, and throw herself the arms of her desired. Once inside the lavish compartment, he began kissing her gently, sticking his vile tongue into her tentative mouth. She could do nothing but allow him to continue, for she didn't want him fussing again.
'What's become of me? I let these two men do what they want, I feel like some sort of harlot,' she thought. Having had enough of his wet kisses, she pushed him back, breathing hard.
"Goodness," she said, shocked at his uncontrolled behavior. Mistaking her expression for something along the lines of amazed, he smiled at her, stroking her cheek.
"Enjoyed it that much, did you?" he said, smirking innocently. She turned away briefly, disgusted with herself and the slobbering Vicomte. Though knowing better, she turned to face him, smiling.
"Immensely," she lied. In truth, she wanted to heave.
Minutes later, the carriage arrived and a thankful Christine came stumbling out, grateful to escape the much too eager boy. He held out his hand to her.
"Allow me to escort you to your room, love." Though she detested the thought of it, she allowed him to. However, in a small way, she thanked it for she was already nauseated by his dripping kisses, and needed some support to walk. She made to dart into her room once there, but he caught her hand, and pulled her into a ghastly kiss. She smiled, and then slipped into her room. Running and half staggering to the small wash room towards the back, she threw up all over the marble floor. She was fully disgusted with her actions and sickened by what her Angel must have thought of her. 'He must think I'm some sort of whore by the way I let Raoul kiss me,' she thought, tears forming in her mahogany eyes.
"You would think you took pleasure from that boy's lips. It looked to me as if you did earlier, so I don't know why you gag if you love him so, and look forward to his touch. If you'd allowed him to continue, I'm sure you would have willingly opened those legs also-"
"Angel, please," she whispered feebly. "Not now, and I didn't mean to-" she spit up more unidentifiable liquid. His juices still settled on her palate, and the thought alone made her sick.
"Angel, help me, please, I don't feel so well."
She needn't say more; in moments, he was by her side helping her up, though he was still upset. He lifted her up, carrying her to her bed.
"I didn't mean to kiss him, he placed his lips on mine, I didn't want it Angel, I swear," she pleaded. He looked away, trying to keep strong. Her words alone were enough to bring the towering man to his knees.
"Erik." he whispered in his deep, husky voice.
"What?" she asked confused.
"My name is Erik; you shall refer to me as Erik." She allowed herself to grin, caressing his cheek weakly with her hand. 'He loves me so to reveal his name. How honored I should feel.' she thought. Kneeling down, he placed her delicately on her bed. She took his form in, seeing him in casual clothing for the first time. He wore a simple white shirt, with black pants, fitting close to his lean body. He rose leisurely, gliding to the wash room to clean up the filth she'd released. He was back within minutes and kneeling by her once more, tugging at her stockings.
"What are you doing, Erik?" she asked in a daze, a tad bit frightened.
"You're not planning to sleep in these garments are you girl? Relax, I'll be out of your way in a bit." Removing only small articles of her intricate clothing, he finished quickly, then left the room quietly. He returned in moments, Madame Giry in his wake.
"See to it that she sleeps in proper night attire, Madame. I'm off to my own rest. See you soon." He focused on Christine, nodded, then disappeared into the glass.
"Erik I-"
"Hush child, there is no changing his mind when he's like this. Now what ails you girl?"
"Bad food from the restaurant Raoul took me to, I suppose." She shrugged, her focus still on the mirror. She knew he was still there. Madame Giry was wrong. She and she alone could prevent Erik from leaving, and she knew the power she held over him now. He loved her too much, and wouldn't leave until he was sure she was comfortable and at ease. Wanting nothing more than to please him, she continued talking to her foster mother.
"And, well…when Raoul kissed me, I felt disgusted. He slopped on me like I was some sort of wash basin, I didn't like it, Madame. His kisses are of a small, over eager boy, and it sickens me." The older woman nodded, hoping she was speaking of her own accord and that Erik hadn't hypnotized her into saying these things, and helping her up to relieve her of her corset. Christine blushed immediately as the dreadful contraption fell off, exposing her pale flesh. She loved the masked man, but was still innocent when it came to the desires of men. She covered herself with her arms, grateful when Madame Giry gave her the filmy white nightgown. She momentarily left, and returned with a damp towel, cleaning her face, and presented a glass of water mixed with a strong smelling liquid. Christine gargled, then spit back into the cup.
"That will clean your mouth. Rest now Christine. A fresh soprano like you should not be up so late wandering around with men, no matter what the social status." She glanced at the mirror pointedly, as if trying to get a message across. "I will come to you in the morning to see that you're better. Good night, my sweet."
"Good night, Madame." As soon as the door was shut, Christine fell into a deep slumber, and Erik crept in.
"Let you heal, my angel, I cannot bear to see you suffer like this," he whispered. Most nights, he sat by her bed, whispering small, sweet words into her ear, taking in the small movements she made during the seemingly endless night.
"I love you Christine. I wish for you to be my wife, keeping you forever, if you'll allow me to have you this way." He ran his fingertips lightly through her thick chestnut curls, angered more at himself at the moment than at her. Why could he bring himself to admit his love for her when she lay sleeping, her soul in another world, but not directly to her living form?
"You're a coward you foul beast," he hissed to himself. Admitting the truth to himself and any other living creature capable of capturing sound in the room, he continued contemplating his flaw. The high and mighty Phantom, now dubbed murderer, was frightened by this stunning girl, who couldn't even bring herself to harm a small insect. He loathed himself for his weakness of the goddess breathing deeply before him. He could talk all he wanted about how he'd capture her, and keep her with him for eternity, but when faced with the actual reality of his desires, he found it too wonderful to be true and backed down like an injured animal. He sighed, staring in awe at the latent figure before him, unaware of her Angel's intense adoring eyes. Eyes that saw not only her beauty and passion for the arts, but the radiant soul dying to escape from the restricted body of a girl whose actions were controlled by those around her.
Toying with her soft hair, he slowly leaned in, soaking up the scent of the rose water embedded in her curls, immersing himself into an ocean of her unique smell. Mindlessly, and hesitantly, he leaned in closer to her face, stopping just a short distance from the lips the Vicomte had sullied. Did he dare take advantage of a vulnerable teenager while she lay entranced with untouchable dreams? He pulled back. No, he wouldn't dare to stoop that low. He would leave that to the Vicomte.
"Insolent boy," he spat. "dribbling on her like some sort of rag, as if she really enjoyed the feel of his slobber trickling down her throat. Or did she," he asked, now looking at the singer as some sort of repugnant harlot. Did she really enjoy it, or had she been telling the truth of her hatred towards his vulgar kiss? He allowed himself to hope that she hadn't been lying and displayed an unseen smug grin. Continuing down the line of events that had just occurred in the room, he recounted the undressing of his beloved. He was a gentleman, and had simply watched to ensure that Madame Giry undressed the girl with care. The moment her small breasts were exposed to the observant eye, though, he found himself far from a gentleman, but quickly composed himself.
"You wretched, taunting girl. How many more nights will I think of you, until I can have you at last, and plow the untouched earth of your virgin fields?" he stood up, ashamed of his beastly thoughts. Though he had to admit, he was a man, and no man went through life without a flickering thought of a gorgeous woman lying exposed to his wanting eye. How many more nights, honestly, would he cry out her name in both agony and pleasure, imaging a soft touch instead of his own rough one, in a lonely attempt at self relief.
"Not for long, I hope. Though I'll wait for an eternity if you wish, Christine. Only for you, and no one else. You have my heart in your palm. You are the puppeteer, and I'm on fragile string, dancing before you." He placed her flopping hand on his heaving chest, small tears forming in his eyes.
"Don't mar the withering organ within me anymore, cherish this, please," he whispered. With that being said, he leaned over and laid a delicate kiss on her forehead. A second later, he vanished from the room. Christine stirred.
"Erik?" Christine whispered, languidly, looking hopefully around the room. She sighed, disappointed. "Must have been another dream," she whispered sadly, and fell back onto the pillow, instantly falling asleep.
A/N: I really hope you guys are enjoying this story. I have to be honest though, I really don't know where I'm going with this, so bear with me. I'm just writing for my enjoyment, and most of these chapters will be written on impulse, which is why they come out so…nice, I guess you could say. Well continue R&R, and I love you!