Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera or any of the characters.
Chapter Four
"Christine! I feel like I haven't seen you in ages. Where have you been?" the Vicomte asked, kissing her cheek.
It had been two weeks since her last encounter with her masked lover, and ever since that day, Christine wasn't acting herself. She ate less, rarely talked to anyone, and was often seen wandering the halls of the cavernous opera house at night, searching for someone no one else but she could see. She was literally dying without Erik. He was a sort of beacon of life for her, and the supply of warmth and vital necessities had been cut short, depriving her of a healthy life. She spent the two weeks, crying into her pillow, cursing herself for being so foolish and frightening him off. The little contact, or if you could call it that, she had with him was that of a few scattered roses here and there and nothing more. No notes, no songs, nothing but silence with the lovely scent of a lonely rose.
'He doesn't love me anymore,' she thought endlessly as she sat awake most midnights. 'Maybe he wants I should move on. No, don't be stupid. Wait for him, his heart will speak once again. I just hope it shall be for me, and not someone else.'
"Oh I've been around, you know. Shopping, mostly practicing my singing and dancing. Listen Raoul, I'm not feeling very well, I haven't been for the last few weeks, and I'd really like to get back to my room, if you don't mind." He smiled, his eyes laced with disappointment.
"Yes, but, I was hoping you'd allow me to take you out to dine somewhere nice. You look like you haven't been eating properly; I can see your cheekbones, slightly. Please, I shan't take no for an answer." 'He simply doesn't know when to claim defeat or rejection.' she thought. She looked into his eyes, feeling nothing but friendly warmth. 'No where near what I felt with Erik,' she thought.
In that one thought and instant, she allowed herself to burst with a diminutive feeling of hope. She could've kissed Raoul right there, but experience told her better. 'Perhaps if I were to get Erik jealous, he'd come back!' she thought, beaming on the inside.
"Where to, Monsieur?" she said grinning. He laughed, hugging her tight, and leading her off to some unknown destination.
"So I said to him, 'You wouldn't know a hand cut diamond if you'd carved it yourself,' and Monsieur Sharvei burst out cackling in that cheery way. Oh, it was quite a day, I can tell you. And can you believe that was only the morning? I haven't told you what happened during our little tea time. Well you see, we were all gathered around Monsieur De Lansoir's fire place and Jacques Favre was jabbering on about some woman he'd picked up at some filthy brothel, and it's the funniest thing…"
Christine drowned him out at last, her head pulsing with thoughts of useless rich men, who wouldn't know a hard day's work when they saw it. The one hour she'd spent so far with Raoul had driven her far beyond the edge, and she wanted to jab him with her bread knife. Throughout the carriage ride, the first course, and his maddening conversations he was having more with himself than with her, she'd thought and thought, and realized that she couldn't do what she'd planned to do to Erik, especially not with the Vicomte. She wanted to murder him more than Erik probably did. She wouldn't hurt him like that anymore. The feeling of another's hand on hers awoke her from her thoughts.
"Christine, I know it's five months away, but I wanted to get to the most gorgeous girl before anyone else. Will you attend the Masquerade Ball with me?" His eyes looked like those of a puppy she'd seen before, and she simply couldn't say no. Sighing, she figured she'd might as well give in, seeing as Erik wasn't going to step up, and because she didn't want to go alone.
"Of course I will. I couldn't imagine going with anyone else." she said, smiling halfheartedly. Just then, a plate crashed, and she turned, startled, to see who had done it. All she managed to capture was a broken dish, and the flutter of a black cloak leaving the posh restaurant. Her heart faltered, and her eyes widened.
"Erik," she breathed.
"What dear?" Raoul asked, wiping his mouth.
"Oh God, what have I done? Please excuse me Raoul, I just realized I had to meet with, uh, Madame Giry about something. I will see you later on." She left, rushing to catch up with the figure in black. She struggled to reach the quick paced man, her heart beating much too fast by the time she managed to stop him.
"Erik! Please stop, I know it's you! Stop!" Slowly, the man came to a halt, his shoulders shaking and breathing ragged.
"You couldn't imagine anyone else, Christine? How thoughtful of you to say." He said sadly. There was no intonation of anger anywhere in his voice. He was simply tired, and broken. Anger never once got him anywhere or anything, so he'd slowly given up on the feeling, letting sorrow and remorse run and ruin his life. She stalked up to him, forcing him to face her. He kept his head down, not wanting to draw a crowd, or worse, the police.
"Well what did you expect of me, Erik? I haven't heard from you in weeks. Do you expect me to just sit there wailing for your presence? Your voice? Your touch? Begging for a single note to know if you're alright?" Fearing for their exposure, he pulled her into a secluded alley.
"It seems that's all you've been doing. Showing your undying devotion and love for me until that bastard showed up and swept you off your pretty little feet again. You were doing so well until you agreed to go with him. You're like his whore, you can't say no, doing whatever he wants you to do to please his desires. It won't be long until you're lying on your back, screaming for him to possess you." he spat out, disgusted with his thoughts and her actions. Anger swelled within her, lighting a fire fueled by pure fury. How could he say such vile things when he knew she loved him more than her own life? Letting her rage speak instead of her heart, she snapped back at him viciously.
"Well, at least he can possess me! He doesn't run off on me, like you did. Besides, if you don't have it in you to make me moan and beg then he might. You're right Monsieur, it won't be long." She turned away from him, her heart pounding. Her words were driven by wrath, and she didn't mean them. But he was simply asking for it. Confident she'd won, she smiled, but was suddenly startled as he spun her around to face him, his eyes burning into hers with pure rejection.
"So you admit that you do want him over me? You want to feel him inside you, branding you like some wild horse? And I'm the monster…I knew it; you could never want a man like me. You want someone handsome, someone who can make you feel filthy," he said, unexpectedly groping one of her breasts. Utterly shocked, she shoved him off, yet something inside her was begging for her to pull him back. Why did she feel so many mixed feelings whenever she was with him? She never knew what she wanted when he was around, and yet she did. She knew, somewhere in her heart, that he wanted her, but the look he always gave her these days sent her in another direction.
She couldn't take the confusion any longer. Did he want her or not? Why did she want him so much, when he made her feel bad? And why did she like feeling that way with him? And of all questions, there was one bothering her the most.
"Erik, why are you in such denial? Why do you refuse to accept that I do love you? I don't fancy Raoul at all! Erik, it's you that I want to die next to, you that I want to have children with, you that I want to grow old next to, you that I want to spend eternity with! No one else but you, Erik, no one!" He stared at her, dumbfounded. Eternity...His silence could not be contained any longer. What she had just confessed was bliss in the form of words, and he was swelling with fulfilled joy that he couldn't hold back anymore.
"Christine I lo-"
"Lotte? Is that you I hear?" interrupted the bothersome Vicomte. Erik closed his eyes in exasperation, gritting his teeth. He opened them, some unknown emotion flashing through his golden eyes.
"I must leave." He snarled, and ran in the opposite direction of the Vicomte. Christine fell to her knees, unbelievably disappointed. He'd almost said it; he was on the verge of spilling the contents of his bubbling heart. But alas, fate was playing a cruel sick game. Why could she not get him to say it just once? Just once?
"Christine? What are you doing in here? Come on, Madame Giry will murder you if you are late."
"Do not tell me to calm down Madame! I love him, why won't you let me go and see him? I need to hear him, please take me to him!" Christine pleaded to Madame Giry, breaking not only her own heart, but her friend's and the older woman's as well.
"I'm sorry, but he ordered me not to let you go down there, and he is very busy child. Now calm down!" she said through gritted teeth as she forced her to sit.
"Child, I do not know what is going on between you two, but listen to me, and listen well. A man like Erik will be hard to contain, and right now, he's fit to kill the Vicomte and you. If he is this uncontrollable now, imagine if you were to call him yours? You'd be his own personal rag. Listen, you are better off with the Vicomte. I speak from my knowledge and experience, Christine."
"Yes, but not from your heart. And you are wrong, are you listening to yourself speak? You know Erik would never harm me. I can contain him; he listens to me more than anyone. I'm the only one that man loves, and I can control his emotions if you'd give me the chance to prove it."
"I'm sorry, my sweet. He just won't allow it." Fatigued, she rushed the two girls off to bed, giving her daughter strict instructions to stay with the troubled brunette until morning.
They did not sleep that night. Meg allowed Christine to cry into her shoulder all night, as she sung small melodies to soothe the broken thing.
"Time Christine. You can only give it time…"
How much time, though, was still the mystery…
Masquerade Ball, December 31st.
Six months had gone by, and no sign of Erik had shown, at all. He had either hidden away in his lair, or he'd fled the city, deeply torn by Christine's actions.
Christine had become very lonely, and within two months of her lover's disappearance, she'd fallen into the trap of the Vicomte and his sweet words. An enormous ring rested on a chain on her breasts, the symbol of betrayal to the masked man if he were there. It wasn't that she loved Raoul, but she needed someone to hold her, please her, love her, and he was there, a shadow trailing behind her everyday up to the date.
She sighed, a sense of half-satisfaction coating her form. Though, as she'd mechanically trained herself to do, she faked a pretty smile for her fiancé as he twirled her about the golden ballroom. People pointed, and whispered. Everyone knew of her engagement to the rich man. Many were ecstatic, plenty shocked. But the reaction that confused her most was that of Madame Giry's. Every time she glanced at the older woman, her expression was that of disgust, betrayal, and disapproval. She tried to avoid the harsh glare as often as possible.
All went well, the music played on, people drank and danced on, and Christine continued to display her faux smile. Raoul beamed, foolishly believing her counterfeit grin for real love. His boyish looks sagged immediately as the lights dimmed, and all attention focused on a man, strikingly dressed in crimson robes.
She froze. Her eyes tried to visualize something else, but her heart knew it's calling.
Erik had returned.