A/N: Okay, hopefully it works this time, please tell me of any inconsistencies you find. Thanks.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters, they are the brainchilds and brillian of Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay and Andrew Lloyd Webber. Any song lyrics used are strictly the property of Andrew Lloyd Webber, Richard Stilgoe and Charles Hart.
France.
Christine de Chagny gazed hollowly out of the window of the moving carriage, refusing to meet the eye of her husband sitting opposite her. The sound of horses' hooves beat out her death march across the beaten track. The silence inside the carriage was stifling.
"Christine," Raoul murmured softly, reaching out to place a kind hand on his wife's arm.
Her eyes slowly moved down to look upon his hand touching her bare skin with revulsion. She quickly yanked her arm free from his grasp, as though she had been burned.
"Don't touch me," she seethed quietly through gritted teeth.
She had never felt so much animosity for any one person in her entire life. Raoul's actions in London had been inexcusable, cruel and heart-less. Whoever this man was before her, he resembled nothing of her husband.
She turned away from his look of shock, staring pointedly out the window of the carriage, as the familiar French country-side rolled slowly by. She felt hollow, silently praying that Erik was alright, and that they had not tortured, or worse, killed him.
Hot tears stung the back of her eyes, threatening to spill down her face and betray her weakness. She would not allow them to do so. She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat as she imagined Erik strung up like a rag-doll, filthy men goading and tormenting him, just one word resting upon his lips in a silent scream; Christine...
"Christine, look at me," Raoul pleaded. "I know you think what I did was irrational, but you'll see that it was for the bes... I did it for us..."
She shot him a filthy look, turning her steely eyes upon her husband. "There is no us, Raoul," she spat each word with as much vehement anger that she could muster. "I don't even know you anymore, monsieur."
He pulled his hand away from her, clenching it tightly as it rested on his knee. He felt his anger spring to life within him once more, like a beast that could not be contented. She would soon see...
"I do love you, Christine... and you'll soon see that your angel was nothing more... than a murderer..."
XxXxXxX
It was nearly nightfall when the carriage rumbled to a halt within the lush de Chagny estate. The weary driver descended the steps, as the household servants came to greet their master's return. Several stable-hands tended the horses, leading the tired animals away for some much-deserved rest and grooming.
Raoul slowly exited the carriage, and turned promptly to offer his hand to his wife. She stared coldly at his civil gesture and refused, pushing his arm out of the way as she descended onto the gravelly stones of the drive-way. Several whispers broke out amongst the servants at their Mistress' odd behaviour.
Christine noted the stiffness of Raoul's back, and the pink hue that crept up his neck and flourished across his face. She had embarrassed him. He nodded curtly to his steward, who promptly informed him of the business he had overlooked whilst on his travels. Christine eyed Lucian warily, fully aware of the man's sly nature and under-handed mannerism. Lucian sneered as he greeted his mistress after he long travels. She could not find the strength to muster a response. Soon afterwards, Raoul dismissed herself and the servants.
The servants showed her inside her room; she did not fight them, though thought this a rather dubious and unnecessary task for she knew perfectly well where her old room was. The layout of the de Chagny manor had not changed. It was still… perfect. She noted that the servants were careful not to leave her alone, undoubtedly by her husband's strict orders. Her anger and disappointment was piqued, when she realized Adele was no longer among the company, and her heart ached with sadness.
Christine quickly dismissed the new maid with a wave, declaring that she intended to bathe… in privacy. However, the moment the maid closed the door behind her, she heard the tell-tale click of a lock, and knew she was a prisoner. She quickly crossed the length of the room and pulled fervently on the handle of the balcony doors. They rattled feebly, but refused her admittance. The windows, too, were bolted shut. Frustrated she let out a cry and fell to the bed, hot angry tears spilling over her eyelashes, washing away the grime that accumulated with travel.
She tucked her knees beneath her chin, rocking herself soundly as sob after treacherous sob racked her body. She was alone, all alone and nobody knew. Madame Giry and Erik were in prison and it was all her fault. How had she gotten herself and the ones she loved into such a tangled mess? God deliver me… how could Raoul be so cruel?
The light from a single lamp flickered low on the table next to her, bathing the room in orange light and casting odd shapes and shadows on the walls around her. Christine drew some small comfort from that lone candle, whose scent reminded her of her beloved angel. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and was caught suddenly by the vast array of colours that sparkled around her. It was then that she noticed that although she no longer wore her wedding band, the princess-cut diamond of her gaudy engagement ring still adorned her left hand. Disgusted with herself, her fingers clawed desperately at the metal, wrenching the ring from her finger she flung it across the room with all her might. The wretched object bounced off the wall and landed on the plush rug, staring up at her mockingly.
An overwhelming sense of grief flooded through her being, as she prayed silently to God, hoping that he would hear her desperate pleas. Dear God in Heaven, deliver me from this hellish place. I no longer want to be here if it means losing him and hurting all of those I care for. I love him too greatly!
She turned her grief-stricken eyes upon that lone candle once more, focusing on the little flame as it danced for her, its movements hypnotic and calming.
XxXxXxX
Erik groaned and shifted his bruised body on the cold stone floor. His muscles screamed in protest to the movement and he attempted to focus his eyes. Several dark, blurred lines came into focus. How ironic, Erik thought grimly, pushing himself up into a sitting position. After all the things I have done in my life, I have ended up right where I started; in a cage.
The guards had certainly not been kind to him, but at least they had allowed him to keep his mask. He stared around at the three bare walls and bars, wondering how long he had been unconscious. Icy fear gripped his heart as his thoughts immediately turned to what had become of Christine and Antoinette. If that boy had done anything to harm Christine, he would kill him.
Oh Christine… even now, as he huddled inside the dank cell he thought he could smell her sweet lavender scent wafting through the bars of his cage. He closed his eyes, trying to recall the feel of her skin on his, her sweet kisses, the taste of her… he growled in frustration as he felt the thread of memory slowly slip from his fingers, the overpowering stench of the prison impeding upon his thoughts. A distant memory floated to the surface of Erik's tortured mind; a young man stood enveloping a girl in his warm embrace atop a snowy rooftop. Their faces shone with happiness as they sang to one another, words of promise and love. Erik's heart ached painfully within his chest, the dread and betrayal seeping through his veins like poison. He shuddered, causing spasms of pain to rake across his chest, rendering him breathless. He wrenched his thoughts to the present, pulling himself out of the shroud of darkness that was his own despair, and pushed that one bitter memory to the dark recesses of his mind. Christine belonged to him, loved him, he was sure of it. Honesty shone through her eyes every time she looked upon his face and reassured him of her love. But how could he reach her?
He must escape. He was a dead man, to be sure, if he remained here. They would most likely kill him in prison before he ever saw the inside of a court room – tried for his crimes as the Phantom. There was no question about it. His face had always made him a target for cruelty behind bars; people were afraid of things they did not know, did not understand. He had to prepare himself, both mentally and physically for the abuse he was to, undoubtedly, receive. They would try to break him and turn him into some kind of animal. To them he would never, could never, be human. Oh, but how he would resist them. For the first time in his miserable existence he felt he had a future worth fighting for.
Christine.
XxXxXxX
The sound of a gentle tapping on her door filtered through the air. Christine did not trouble herself to look up as Raoul quietly slipped into the room, leaving the door open behind him.
"Christine," he murmured, hoping she would acknowledge him. She did not, but continued to twirl a small ribbon of black satin between her fingers, watching transfixed as the smooth material flowed over her pale skin. Raoul did not move as he watched her movements cautiously, afraid to startle her out her reverie. After several minutes he felt he could bear the stifling silence no longer, and cleared his throat.
"Lunch is served."
He took a deliberate step towards her, attempting to narrow the physical and emotional distance between them. "Are you hungry?"
She refused to look at him, keeping her eyes fixed on the piece of material in her hands.
He glanced about the oddly cold room, his gaze coming to rest upon a shiny object the nestled innocently in the plush cream rug. He narrowed his eyes and stepped forward, retrieving the small object. It was his engagement ring.
"You have not eaten in days," he noted coldly.
Her brown eyes briefly flicked to his face, and then darted to the open door. He observed her actions with cold indifference and began to walk in evenly paced steps around the bed, coming to stand before the large windows which over-looked the immaculate lawns of the estate. Christine's body twitched as she watched his slow, deliberate actions, calculating the possibility of reaching the door before he did.
"You're not a prisoner here, you know," he noted at length with cool civility.
"No?"
"No. This is, after all, your home."
"Then why are there locks on the doors?"
"… Merely for you own protection…"
Christine felt she knew where this conversation was tending. Unwilling to hear her husband, she leapt from the bed to run to the open door.
"SIT DOWN!"
It wasn't a scream; more like a loud command. However, his authoritative voice, and anger involuntarily made Christine sit down upon the bed quicker, a scarlet hue creeping up her neck. Her body was still and trembling.
"Now," he spun on his heel to stare down at his wife. "Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not, you are my wife, Christine. You are the Comtess de Chagny, and as such, your actions hold consequences. Heavy consequences, as I have no doubt you're aware."
Christine narrowed her eyes. "What consequences?"
"Word has reached me of your… infidelity with that thing-"
Christine bet her lip, desperately trying to hold back the retort that threatened to escape her lips and anger him further.
"-as such, your actions have compromised our good family name. If word had gotten out-"
His words washed over her, meaningless sounds that only added to the raging cacophony of emotions that welled within her. A memory as clear as daylight burst forth from the dark recesses of her mind, dragging her back into the prison of her thoughts, her nightmares.
She felt as though she were suffocating, a large hand clapped down over her mouth as the smell of cheap whiskey filled her nostrils; the stench was unbearable.
"Ahh my pretty, why do you scream so? There's no-one here to save you…"
The shadowy figure leered over her, she couldn't see his face, but the smell... like death, and liquor... breathing heavily in her ear, as he pushed down on her, barely allowing her to breathe...
"...Christine...?"
"...Christine!"
She shook her head, hot tears prickling at the back of eyes as the feeling of helplessness overwhelmed her. He had not been there to save her.
She stared up at him, her brown eyes swimming with tears. A metallic taste filled her mouth as she bit her lip. He looked down at her with bewilderment. The confrontation she had longed for aching within her very being.
"… what of your infidelity, Raoul?"
She breathed shallowly, hot tears spilling over her eyelashes, tracking down her cheeks. "That night. I was all alone… and he… he nearly-" she choked on the word. "-he nearly raped me… and you, you weren't there to save me…"
Raoul could not bear to look at her.
"You left me to the mercy of that animal!"
He felt the shame of his actions sear through his veins, feeling the pain of her words sting him as well as any physical blow. Oh how he had regretted his actions that night… how he had failed her. It was no small wonder why she then sought the comforting arms of her former teacher; the one man who had been with her through all.
He turned his startling blue eyes to look at her. There on the bed sat his wife, the one woman he had ever truly loved. Everything about her appearance made clear the turmoil she was going through, even the small trickle of blood at the corner of her lower lip.
Christine trembled as her mind conjured images of all the horrors her angel could be enduring. She needed him, and he needed her.
He knelt at her side, taking his handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbing at the tender skin.
"I'm fine," Christine whispered hollowly.
"Christine…"
"I said I'm fine!" She pushed his arm away from her.
He fell back on his knees; his cool eyes assessing his wife as she cried softly into her chemise.
Though he felt no regret or guilt for his actions as far as the Phantom was concerned, believing his imprisonment to be rightly justified, he could not help but feel the sting of rejection and betrayal course through him. Could he truly be shocked that now, after fate brought these two together once more, that their desires and emotions would still linger? The very thought of that monster's hands roaming his wife's body, eliciting pleasures from her that he had been denied so long made his blood boil with anger, festering within his chest like poison.
His hand clinched tightly about the handkerchief, crushing the fabric in his fists. The sound of Christine's crying still echoed in his ears, but all he could see was the image of that murderer, wrapped in the arms of his beloved as he possessed her body in ways that Raoul was never permitted to.
"Tell me Christine, and I want the truth from you… did you intend on leaving me for that… that murderer?"
She refused to look at him, her sobs sounding louder and harsher than ever.
He grabbed her by the arms. "Well… did you?!"
Her tear-stricken face peered out from between her raised wrists. Raoul's grip on her arms was fierce.
"Do you love that monster?" He shook her roughly. "Tell me, do you?!"
Christine nodded her head weakly. Raoul felt the bottom of his stomach drop away, his pain of her betrayal turning into a festering hatred.
"How could you? How could love a man as vile, as he? He is a monster and a murderer! In case you have forgotten!!"
He flung her wrists from his grasp, as though he had been burned.
"What about Piangi?! What about Buquet?! You cannot tell me you're willing to accept their deaths?"
"You don't understand Raoul-"
"-oh I understand perfectly. He's manipulated you into believing that he is something other than the vile, dangerous monster that he is!"
Christine wiped the back of her hand across her eyes, her demeanor changing quickly to ice. "That monster is the man I love."
She stared up at him coldly, her cheeks still shining where the tears had left silvery tracks in their wake. Her dark eyes burned with a sudden passion and sadness for the man she claimed to love. Raoul stared back at her through incredulous eyes.
"You just don't get it. I loved him long before I ever loved you. And no matter what you say, I will always love him. Nothing you do can, or will, ever change that."
His brilliant blue eyes narrowed slightly at her words, a look of immeasurable hurt flicking across his face as he stood and regarded his wife with cool, calculating eyes.
She turned away from him, and whispered sadly; her words ringing out through the air as though she had shouted, "he would never have left me alone that night."
Raoul swallowed hard as he fought to suppress the rage bubbling beneath his skin, boiling within the pit of his stomach and spreading to every fibre of his being. Her words rang in his ears; mind-numbingly torturous.
Turning swiftly on his heel, he stormed out without another word, slamming the door shut and locking her within its confines. He paused on the opposite side of the door, the miserable sobbing of his wife striking him at the heart. His hand tightened around the door handle; oh, how he wished he could be there to see the phantom writhe beneath his grasp, to free Christine from his lecherous vice. But he knew he must be patient, for if his plan had any hope of success, he would have to tread very carefully.
He stared down at the engagement ring clenched tightly in his fist; oh, how he wanted to destroy it! To squeeze the pliant metal between his fingers until he had flattened it into a worthless, meaningless trinket, unfit to grace any finger - least of all, his undeserving wife. It took a vast deal of willpower to swallow back the retort the choked his throat and walk away from the door, leaving his wretched wife to cry for her demon lover in solitude.
He would get his revenge, rest assured.
XxXxXxX
"…why monsieur, you look as though you have seen a ghost."
Raoul paled as he looked upon the gruesome face of the Phantom. He had never seen the man in such a reduced state; his clothes were torn and bloodied, revealing several large gashes that tore into his skin. He smirked despite himself, feeling the sweet taste of vengeance flood through his being.
"Forgive me Monsieur Phantom," he whispered coldly, "I did not know you at first. Your face, you see – it really is quite monstrous."
Erik dismissed the Comte's pathetic attempt at intimidation, assuring the boy that he had had far more cutting words sent in his direction.
Raoul smiled broadly showing a row of perfect white teeth, "oh, I have no doubt of it."
Erik's wild yellow eyes suddenly stilled, becoming very grave. "What have you done with Christine?"
The Comte chose his words carefully, "She is safe… from you…"
Erik rose to his full height, towering over the Comte despite the bars separating them. "If you have hurt her-"
"-hurt her?!" Raoul's voice rose to counter Erik's deathly quiet tone. "I am not like you, phantom! I would rather die than hurt Christine. She is my wife!"
An evil smirk crept across Erik's lips as he fixed his yellow eyes on the young man, "your wife? But she does not love you, monsieur…"
Raoul had been expecting this turn of tactic, the phantom wished to hurt him, but he would not give that monster the satisfaction of seeing him a broken man.
He leant towards the bars, his voice barely above a whisper. "We shall see monsieur. When I am through with you, there will be nothing remaining for Christine to love."
Erik's eyes flamed a brighter yellow, the intensity of his gaze boring through Raoul's.
"Let's just say that you will finally make good on your name monsieur; 'The Living Corpse.' Though, dare I say we could reduce it to just 'corpse'?" He smirked and nodded to one of the guards who smiled darkly and brandished his club.
"Have a pleasant evening."
Erik clenched the bars tightly in his fist and grimaced. This is going to hurt.
XxXxXxX
The sound of scuffling footsteps on stone roused Erik from his semi-conscious state. A new prisoner was being dragged down the passageway, the sound of his cries and protests pilfering the air and echoing off the stone walls.
He groaned, unable to muster the strength the raise his head. Two guards watched his closely from their station across the passage. Erik was accustomed to bars and cages; people leering at him from beyond the bounds of his confines. Their disgusted stares mattered little to him.
As his hazy state of mind lifted, Erik felt an acute pain in his left hand, as though his bones had been replaced with white-hot needles. He pulled himself up into a sitting position against his straw pallet, feeling gingerly the bones in his left hand. He winced as he identified several broken ones, and a few dislocated fingers. He bit down hard on the ragged material of his clothing as he attempted to reposition and straighten his fingers. The pain was unbearable, but necessary if he wished to ever be able to use the hand against. He was no stranger to pain after all, but it was still pain.
He listened to the quiet voices of the guards as they patrolled the corridor, occasionally clanging their batons against the metal bars of the cells. Erik's cat eyes slowly and deliberately followed the movements of the guards as they changed posts. He traced their footsteps with his eyes as he assessed their every movement, sizing up their body sizes, weight, weaknesses, and analyzing their patrol patterns.
He was left to the turmoil of his own thoughts for several hours, before a gravelly voice intruded upon his thoughts. He raised his head.
"Is this 'im?"
Two guards stopped before him, speaking in rapid French, and twirling their clubs between their fingers as they cast a critical eye upon their prisoner. Like a caged animal, Erik watched them vehemently, anticipating any sudden movements that they might make towards him.
"Indeed it is. 'e's the Comte's special case…"
Is he now? Erik grimaced.
One of the guard's spoke with a gravelly voice, turning to his smaller companion, his interest piqued. "I wonder what's under 'is mask?"
Erik froze. The smaller of the two guards leered down at him, his features arranged in a mixture of disgust and loathing.
"Dunno. Probably somethin' 'orrible…"
"I'd reckon. Still… let's 'ave a looksy."
The guard with the gruff voice reached down with his fleshy fingers to grope for the mask, and sate his sadistic pleasure. Erik reacted with lightning reflexes, ignoring the pain in his hand. He seized his arm and twisting the guard's hand so quickly and with so much force, that a sickening crack was heard as the man's wrist snapped clean in two. The guard shrieked in agony and fell to his knees. His companion roared with fury, kicking Erik aside as his club came down squarely across his back and shoulders, sending Erik sprawling to the ground. He spluttered as all the wind was knocked clean from his body, leaving him gasping for shuddery breaths, as blow after blow shattered down upon his back and chest. As he waited silently for the sickening crack which would render him unconscious. He was not disappointed.
When Erik awoke, he found his legs chained to the wall. And his mask… they had taken his mask. He rolled over in agony, the straw of his pallet crunching mercilessly against his bruised ribs; he had no doubt that several of them were cracked and broken. Gingerly pressing his fingers to his rib cage, he hissed as white hot pain seared throughout his entire body, making his shudder in an attempt to conceal his pain. A quiet moan escaped his swollen mouth, and he struggled to open his eyes.
The dark stone wall of his cell slowly came into focus as Erik attempted to raise himself. He stared angrily about him, watching as the prisoner opposite him shrank away in fear. He must have looked a truly gruesome sight.
"Why do you turn away, messieurs??" he hissed. "Why not feast your eyes upon the Devil Child! Many before have had to pay a hefty fee to see this face- and here I am giving you a showing for free!"
His tirade ceased only when a bout of coughs racked through his chest, rendering him breathless. He fell back against the straw pallet and stared up at the ceiling, wondering where Christine was and if she was safe.
A seed of doubt crept into the back of his mind, as he thought of Christine locked up with that boy day in and day out. Would she forget about her poor Erik, chained in squalor, rotting in the bowels of a prison cell? No! He still had hope, not all was lost. Christine loves me… she loves me… He repeated the words over and over like a silent mantra long into the darkness, desperate to believe in their truth.
Oh, Christine…
XxXxXxX
"That monster!"
The brandy glass shattered against the wall. Raoul fell back with a growl, slumping in the armchair as he rubbed his weary eyes. What had happened to his Christine? He rubbed the wedding band marking his left hand unconsciously, letting his fingers roam the smooth surface of the metal. He had felt his heart tear in two when he saw Christine no longer wore her wedding ring. She has denied me once more…
She is my wife!
Oh, but she was never yours… A small voice in the back of his mind whispered scornfully.
I knew there was a reason why Christine did not return my letters… even she couldn't be that cruel. He's brainwashed her – turned her against me!
Who are you fooling? She was already objecting to you long before she walked away from you.
I can't believe that…
Why not? You and I both know that it is true... she won't even let you touch her...
She's just... angry with me. She'll soon see.
Will she? All those long, empty nights she spent alone she ached for him… thought only of him…
No, she wouldn't...
She does not love you…
Then why did she choose me?! Why did she leave with me that night?!
Did she willingly...? Did you not force her?
No! I'd never... she - she was distraught, confused...!
Because she realized she loved him!
She couldn't! She's my wife!
But she has already given herself to the beast… such a sin cannot be repented…
Then I'll kill him! And it will be like it was... before the nightmare began...
Do you really believe that?
Yes, he protested weakly.
But she loves him! SHE LOVES HIM!
"No! It's not true!"
Raoul crumpled to the floor, raking a hand through his bedraggled hair as he shook with the silent sobs that racked his body. Those three simple words echoed endlessly through his mind, tormenting him in the most excruciating way. He sobbed hollowly, his fist clenched about the engagement ring digging circles in his palms.
"It can't be true…!"
He slammed his fist against the floor, angry tears spilling down his face as his heart filled with wretched despair and hatred. Why must he love her so much??
"She… my… Oh, Christine!"
XxXxXxX
Day turned to night and several hours passed as Christine sat in silence within her room, the events of the previous day leaving her emotionally drained and hoarse. She had screamed and pleading with Raoul to listen to reason, but to no avail. She was a prisoner. She was his prisoner.
How did it come to this? How have the tables turned so abruptly?
She tugged gently at the long gold chain about her neck, bringing forth a secret that she dared not even reveal to Erik. From the midst of her bodice, a tarnished gold ring emerged. The plain surface dully reflecting the candle-light that danced in the lamp on night-stand.
No! Her mind screamed frantically, you cannot give up; you cannot give up on Erik! But what could she do? She was trapped within the room – Raoul had made sure of that, locking the door as he came and went.
Suddenly the sound of heavy footsteps thudded down the hallway.
"Christine!"
The door flung open and the walls quivered with rage, as Raoul stumbled into the room, his eyes bloodshot, emanating an air of drunken fury.
Christine rose warily from her vanity, tucking the golden ring back inside her bodice, and turned to face her husband. Her courage faltered at the gleaming look in his eyes.
She waited for him to speak, as he approached slowly. Barely contained rage quivered from every pore of his being as he took slow, deliberate steps towards her.
"It's time to stop playing games, Christine…"
Christine regarded him apprehensively, sensing his barely suppressed rage.
"What on earth are you talking about?" Her heart pounded wildly in fear and her voice trembled slightly, as she took in the wild look in his eyes.
He stepped around the bed menacingly, until he stood right before her. She stepped back, fully aware of their close proximity. A knowing, bitter smile broke the corners of his lips, enhancing his drunken, deranged look.
He paused and sniffed the air, drawing in the sweet smell of her lavender scent. "Do you have any idea what torture it is to have you here…"
He stepped towards her menacingly; every step he progressed towards her, met with another she took back. Oh God, what was he going to do?
"Do you have any idea… what it does to me… to have your little, seductive voice… whisper in my head… all… day… long…" He said this through ragged breaths, the stench of the brandy overwhelmed Christine as she tried to distance herself from him.
Before she could suck in another frightened breath, he had her by the shoulders, backing her up until the impact of the wall stopped their progress. As he slammed her against the wall, she felt all the breath forced from her lungs, leaving her pinned. With his fingers digging into her delicate shoulders, Raoul leered down at her.
His lips came within centimeters of hers, and she almost gagged on the stench of his breath.
"Tell me, Christine…" He panted, pressing himself against her. "Tell me… that you… love me."
He pressed his lips roughly to hers, pushing past her teeth in his impatience to taste her. Anger, love, penned up desire and betrayal, all melted together in one brief, crushing kiss.
"You want me Christine…tell me you want me!" he growled.
She turned her face from him, whimpering.
"TELL ME!"
"No…!"
He unleashed a growl of fury, slamming her back into the wall with even more anger. Time and time again he was denied his marital right! No-one would question him if he took her to bed right now; no-one would ever think anything of it. Dare he?
Christine gasped when, in one fevered motion, her sleeve was wrenched from her shoulder. Raoul clapped a hand over her mouth, his lips instantly upon her milky soft skin.
"You're mine Christine," he whispered menacingly. Christine's breath hitched in terror. "You belong to me…," he paused, "but I wonder, if I took you right here, would you be thinking of your monster throughout the course of it?"
Christine freed her hand and lashed out at him with as much force and anger as she could muster. Her eyes widened, and then hardened as she stared as Raoul's face grew dark and even more furious. He cocked his head to the side, straining his neck while his eyes bored holes through hers. He seemed to retreat inside himself.
"You must know, Christine," he whispered dangerously at length, "that when you act foolishly there are consequences." He shook his head defiantly as he felt Christine quiver with fear, feeling the sting of her rejection and betrayal as acutely as ever.
With a growl of rage he flung her around, watching as she stumbled across the room and fell to the floor; her eyes wide like saucers with fear. She had never seen him so angry; the very air around him seemed charged with anger and generating waves of fury.
The stench of brandy wafted from his breath and he stalked towards her, "I would have done anything for you!"
He screamed the words desperately, feeling all the injustice and hatred of the man who claimed her heart bubble to the surface. He felt the rage boil through his veins, as he reached down for Christine, pulling her to her feet.
"I loved you more than anything, and you betrayed me for him!"
Terrified, Christine tried to pull from his grasp, but his grip upon her shoulders was too fierce.
"Raoul, please…!"
"You let that… THING… touch you!" He raged.
"No! I didn't! I swear!"
"LIAR!"
He drew back his hand and Christine clenched her eyes shut as she felt the sharp sting of his backhand collide with her cheek. She crumpled to the floor, tears leaking from her eyes as white lights sprang before her eyes.
He dragged her to her feet once more and slammed her against the wall, pinning her small frame beneath his as he bore down heavily upon her. Hot tears spilled down Christine's cheeks as he pressed himself against her, unable to fight back. Raoul's hands clenched her shoulders painfully, his thumbs digging into the crook of her neck as moaned despairingly, "I would have given you anything, Christine, anything!"
His face crumpled in grief, "but you left me! And you chose him!" he spat.
He released her, looking down at his hands as though he had been burned. Tears were now glistening on his cheeks. Christine's face was frozen in shock and fear as she watched him stagger back, a man drunk to the point of confusion.
"You left me Christine… you left me…" he murmured the words over and over again, shaking his head as tears trickled down his face. He raised his eyes to her face, and she gaped as the hurt and rage filled him, overpowering his senses.
Shaking his head, "I would have given my soul to love you!"
"Yet you say you love him." He shook his head defiantly, her betrayal like a red-hot poker piercing his heart. Bitterness seeped into every syllable he spoke.
"Well now, my dear, sweet Christine… if I cannot have you, then you too will know the torment of being denied!"
As he stalked from the room she heard the tell-tale click which confirmed that she'd been locked within once more. She continued to stare at the door as she slowly slid down the wall; a horrible bruised and weeping mess.
A/N: That is the end of part one, I hope you have the complete picture now. Thanks for reading.