His lips were still against hers and once they realized fully what had just happened they both sprang apart.
Erik looked just as furious as before—if not more. His hand clutched the right side of his face and his thin chest heaved as he raised a shaking hand to steady himself on the organ. The light now made his eyes look rabid and his person more ferocious. He looked murderous.
And for the first time in four years, Christine was reasonably scared of him. Recollections of the murders of Bouquet and Piangi filled her mind. With one fluid motion he could whip out his Punjab lasso and that would be the end of it. He did not need much to convince him to murder and she had never seen him so furious. She regretted coming back here, how could she have been so foolish? And what had come over her to kiss him?
He advanced toward her as she took a step backward, tripping on the hem of her skirt. His hand was raised and ready to strike her. She was trapped, Erik on one side and the wall on the other. She held her breath and stared down determinedly at the ground, afraid to meet his blazing yes, and waited for her punishment to come.
After a few moments of anxious silence she looked back at him. Both arms hung harmlessly limply at his side, leaving his face exposed and the threat of him beating her was gone.
"Go," he hissed vehemently, raising an accusatory finger to point towards the door. She winced at the amount of fury and ire that filled his voice. Rage twisted his face. The disfigurements looked even more gruesome due to the resentment so plainly displayed on his visage. He did not have to tell her twice. She dare not tempt his temper farther than she already had. She knew he was quick to pull out his Punjab lasso and his fingers were undoubtedly itching to do so. If she stayed a minute longer she might not ever leave.
So without a backward glance she fled as fast as her heavy boots and full skirts would allow her.
Once outside the door she exited through the Rue Scribe, not trusting herself with the boat. She did not allow herself to think about what had just happened and only focused on getting out as fast as she could, lest Erik should decide to come after her.
Sometime during her escape she had started crying and the hot tears obscured her vision, causing her to trip and stumble along the way. Her dress had accumulated multiple rips and tears in the fabric. Some of her hair had tumbled out of her plait. She continued to stumble through the opera house, feeling more frantic as she heard the sound people started to return from their excursions. No one could see her like this—especially not either of the Giry's or Jammes. They would ask questions that she could not answer. She finally toppled into her dressing room and pulled off her tattered cloak and boots. She sat down on her vanity stool and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror atop her vanity.
Her reflection was unfamiliar. She saw a very confused, upset, and lost girl without any idea of what to do.
She had permanently ruined things with Erik. That was certain. There was no way she could face him after what she had done and she feared his temper too much to dare try to seek his forgiveness for her foolish and reckless impulse.
She sighed and rested her head in her palms; suddenly it felt too heavy to hold up. She closed her eyes and one very perplexing question drifted into her mind.
Why had she done it?
She was engaged to another man, for God's sake! She loved Raoul! It was inexplicable. She hadn't been thinking at all when she removed his mask and kissed him otherwise she wouldn't have done it. Perhaps it was the music, Erik's compositions were so powerful and moving that it could have led her to kiss him…or maybe her sanity was wearing thin after all the stress of working so much and the wedding preparations…or…
Or what if she really had feelings for him? That was why one kissed someone, wasn't it?
But that was impossible. Erik was…Erik. He was more or less insane, had a horrible temper, and was a murderer. No, she was in love with Raoul. He was everything she had dreamed of as a young girl, the ideal husband; caring, charming, and charismatic. He had been loyal to her and she had kissed another man. She felt very ashamed and did not want to face him—did not want to face either of them. Raoul she could not avoid, but Erik she knew she would not see again. After her wedding she would ask him if they could start over, relocate, and leave all of this behind. It was all for the best.
She looked at the mirror, her portal between her world and Erik's, and saw that it had broken. She walked closer to see what could have caused it to fracture. Her image was distorted by the many cracks spanning the mirror's reflective surface. She searched the floor and area around the mirror and found nothing. She reasoned that it must have been broken from the other side and tried to open it the way that Erik had taught her, but it did not budge. It had shattered, just as their relationship had.
She felt hot tears sting at the back of her eyes again. She pulled on her wrap and slipped into her boots. She wanted to leave early to avoid seeing anyone. She longed to be in her flat away from all the nosy occupants of the Palais Garnier. They would undoubtedly inquire about her red eyes and disheveled appearance.
She walked through the crowded streets briskly, daring not to lift her face for fear that anyone should see the distress plainly written on her features. Once she arrived at her small flat she had a cup of tea and clambered into her bed even though it was only five in the afternoon. She lay there for a while as she waited for sleep to come and relieve her from the thoughts that filled her mind. The little sleep that she did get was very restless and she found herself awake more than asleep that night.
The next morning came far too soon for her liking. Rehearsals started again today. Reyer had slowly been decreasing the amount of practices, as they were already performing Carmen and their performances had been almost flawless. This week would be the last one of rehearsals, and then the next few that would follow would only hold performances. Christine was grateful for this because that would mean that she could spend less time at the Garnier and more with Raoul. She looked forward to the busy wedding preparations to keep her mind off of things…specifically Erik.
She found it particularly hard to concentrate that day. During the past few days she had been rather distracted and Reyer had noticed. After rehearsal he cornered her on her way out. "I have observed that you have been distant these past two or three weeks. You are the Prima Donna; you have an important role to fulfill that requires work and concentration. Many other talented and assiduous girls would be glad to take your place," he warned her with a stern look.
"I am sorry, M. Reyer. I should not allow myself to be so distracted," she admonished herself.
"Mm," he said noncommittally. "Just remember that your position is not permanent."
"Yes, Monsieur. My apologies."
He nodded his head and brushed past her to go speak with Bianchi about costume fittings. She felt her heart plummet. Her understudy was talented and had improved very much in the past few months. She did not want to be demoted to a lesser role and let her understudy take her place during her last few performances. Reyer was not afraid of her nor of her admirers, bribery did not sway him, and he would replace her if he saw fit. She feared that he would replace her if she did not regain her focus. With all that was going on, she was afraid that she would not be able to put on such an impeccable façade.
That evening she dined with Raoul. He looked grave when he met her at the bistro.
"I am afraid that I must bring you bad news," he said grimly.
She sighed inwardly. She had had enough dire events in the past few hours. Nonetheless, she urged him to continue.
"Philippe gambled away all of his inheritance and the better half of mine as well. He had told me that he needed to borrow some money to invest in the business of a well-trusted friend who was on the verge of a great increase in sales. The name of the man was familiar to me and I remembered that our father had conducted business with him many years ago and that he was a respectable gentleman with a large establishment. He had seemed sober and serious when he asked me and promised to pay me back in full in a few months. The interest rate he offered me was high. It seemed like a good idea so I relented and gave him the money. That night he drank too much and gambled it all away. Now we have very little means. The wedding might have to be postponed, seeing as we have hardly enough to pay for the necessities...I am such a fool."
He looked at her with such sorrow, such regret that she couldn't find it in her her to admonish him for his foolishness to lend money to a drunkard. "We will get by," she promised him, although she was not so sure herself. "We have each other."
He snorted. "Love does not pay the bills," he snarled cynically. His face softened. "I am so sorry, mon cherie."
"I could continue to sing…it is not much, but it will help," she offered hopefully.
"No, no," he dismissed. "Our reputation is already close to being completely ruined." He sighed. "My mother has agreed to give us some assistance for a time but I do not want to exploit her offer too much. I have accepted a small sum to keep us going for a while. But we must act like there is nothing wrong and hope that the whole incident is not disclosed to many other people."
"What will we do?" Christine murmured, more to herself than to Raoul.
He smiled grimly and reached forward to grasp her hand. "I do not know," he admitted. The conversation was over, leaving the pair worried and distraught.
Merely a few weeks ago Christine's future seemed bright. She was at the height of her career and her era as Prima Donna seemed to be far from an end. She was happily engaged to a man who was very much in love with her. The Phantom was absent from her life, only a memory, and she was free from his bondage.
Now her prospects were obscure. Soon-far too soon for her liking-she would retire to a life of monotony without the music that she treasured. The threat of relegation that would taint her last days as an actress loomed over her head. Her wedding date was uncertain and her fiancée had lost a large portion of his capital. Erik had entered her days again, and this time she had relished his acquaintance. He had been so helpful to her, so kind, and he was the one who truly sympathized with her love for music. But she had ruined their relationship and he was gone for good.
Christine was miserable. During the days she was on the verge of tears and at night she let them fall freely down her cheeks. She tried to mask her wretchedness. Meg had seen through her façade and was constantly asking about her wellbeing. Christine was grateful to have such a friend but it only saddened her more when she realized she was being less than fair in return by not telling her what misfortunes had fallen upon her. She had noticed that Reyer had been talking to the managers more often and she frequently heard her understudy rehearsing the main role. She then felt compelled to put on impeccable performances but she could not always deliver them without the instruction from Erik that had helped her immensely earlier. Raoul was in a bitter mood all the time and hinted at having her retire even sooner. He had mentioned severing all ties with Philippe. This had astonished Christine; family was family. She had always thought him to be loyal to his family and had it been her own brother she would have helped him through his struggles, not leave him to his own destructive devices. Whenever she voiced these opinions to Raoul he would remind her unnecessarily about how important he believed status was. This was one thing she had to disagree with him on; she valued perpetual family more than wavering prestige.
She was lost, confused, and disheartened. The last time she remembered being this depressed after the death of her father she had the guidance of the Angel of Music. But now, she had not even him, and she was to blame of her loss.