Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Phantom of the Opera
A/N: Well, I felt like the last chapter was kind of pointless (it's not, but is kind of seems that way at the moment) so I thought I'd write another today. This chapter is something of an emotional rollercoaster... I hope you like it.
Dear Journal,
Well, I took off the mask. In retrospect, it was not the brightest thing I've done all day. It was probably a mistake, but there's no going back now.
As Christine walked down the hall towards her room, she noticed that the door to Erik's music room was open a crack.
She went to the door and peeked inside. His back was turned to her and was at his organ, composing.
Very quietly, so not to disturb him, she entered the room and approached him from behind and watched as his fingers glided across the keys.
He is so graceful… so in control. Of course he's in control, he is in his element. Everything is planned. No surprises. He controls everything down here. Even me. I wonder how he would act if something didn't go according to plan… if he was caught off guard. What would he do without his mask? Maybe, if he realizes I won't blindly go along with him… won't be his obedient little pet… maybe then he'll decide that I'm not worth the trouble… maybe, maybe he'll send me away… let me go, Erik, I want to go home…
I often wonder why I do the things I do. I just woke up this morning in such a desperate panic to leave that my sense of timing was a little off.
"Have you come for another lesson, Christine?" his voice broke through her thoughts and she looked up at him. His back was still to her, he had not turned around. How did he know I was here?
"Yes" she said, simply, not knowing what else to say.
He sighed and smiled slightly beneath the mask. She came to me willingly… she enjoys my company!
"Let's begin with a duet, shall we?" Not waiting for an answer, he began to play the introduction.
As he played she moved closer to him. With each step, Erik felt his heart quicken. When he felt her little hand resting gently on his shoulder, he thought he would die of happiness.
He turned to face her. There was so much he wanted to say to her. Oh how I love you! He felt as if he had finally been handed everything he had ever wanted in life.
That is when it happened…
For the record, the whole encounter went differently in my imagination.
When he felt the cold air on his bare skin, everything seemed to move in slow motion. He saw the black leather mask hit the floor, the look of terror and shock on his angel's face, a mess of blond hair as she turned to run from him. Oh no you don't, Christine, it's too late for that!
He grabbed her wrists and pulled her against his chest, her forehead barely reaching his chin.
I can't describe to you what it was like to look in the face of death, so I won't begin to try.
His face was death itself. Thin skin stretched over his skull, so pale that she could see the blood pulsing through his blue veins. His nose was nothing more than a hole in the center of his face. Deformed lips twisted into a snarl as he drew her small body closer. His eyes… his eyes appeared to be missing entirely. Two black, empty eye sockets stared into Christine with burning intensity. It was then that she realized that she had only been able to see his blazing eyes in the dark… she wished for darkness more now than ever before. Fear of the unknown was nothing compared to fear of this.
She tried to pull away but he held her fast, thrusting his hands into her hair and forcing her to look at him.
"Is this what you wanted? Are you happy now?" he growled, his throat panting and throbbing like a furnace. "Look at me, Christine! Look on this face that brings nothing but suffering!"
"E-Erik I--"
"You what? You're sorry? Oh no, my dear, it is too late for that. Perhaps you wonder if this is another mask? Hmm? Shall we take it off and see?"
"No!"
He laughed… the wicked type of laugh that indicates a complete loss of sanity. He roughly grasped her hands in his own and forced her fingernails into his face until blood began to flow.
Just as quickly, he thrust her away from him, throwing her to the floor. When she fell, the corner of the piano bench grazed her temple.
Taking no notice or concern of her frighten pleas, he continued to rant. "Don't apologize to me, Christine, apologize to yourself! Don't you see? As long as you thought me handsome, you might have come back… but now… a woman who sees Erik's face… she loves him forever… she belongs to him… don't you see? You can never leave here!"
Then, as if coming out of a chance, he looked down into the eyes of the frightened girl before him. She was no longer crying, no longer screaming or pleading with him. She had pushed herself back on the floor until her back hit a wall. Now she sat, eyes wide, trembling and holding her already bruising forehead in her hands.
Almost instantly, he fell on his knees before her, grasping at her skirts and weeping.
"Christine… Christine…" he moaned her name over and over again, rocking back and forth, as if it could offer him some comfort.
"I am so sorry… please forgive me. I want nothing more to be handsome for you… you… my angel… you deserve nothing less. I am nothing more than your pitiful servant… who loves you and adores you and will never, ever leave you! Oh… oh… but your Erik is nothing but a corpse... a corpse who loves you... Please forgive me!"
I suddenly understand so much more about Erik. I can't hate him. I never really did, although I probably should… but now I definitely can't. I pity him, I truly do. What horrors has this man endured? How terrible must life have been for this powerful, dominating man to crawl on the floor and weep like an infant because of his own face?
The sight of Erik's tears was almost more powerful than his anger. Her heart went out to the man as he crawled before her, begging her forgiveness when it was she who betrayed him.
Slowly, tentatively, she reached out to him. She slipped behind him, wrapping on arm around his chest and the other around his waist and drawing him down so that his head and shoulders rested in her lap.
Erik marveled at this woman. After all he had done to her, after all she had seen… here she was, cradling his trembling form, rocking him gently, stroking his hair and whispering soothing words in his ear as he sobbed in her arms.
She held him like this for quite some time, finding it strangely comfortable, until she noticed his steady breathing and realized he had fallen asleep.
The day wasn't a total wash, though. I sat with him until he fell asleep. I'm not sure if he forgives me or not. He didn't reject my comfort (I couldn't leave him crying--even in my anger I am not that cruel) so I can only assume he is not still angry with me. Only time will tell for sure, but I can't help but believe that I have undone any progress I might have made in my attempt to leave this place.
Ever so gently, so not to wake him, she moved her knee out from under him, instead cushioning his head with a pillow from the divan.
She set his mask within arm's reach so that he wouldn't panic when he woke up. As an afterthought, she found a blanket and draped it over him. It is unreasonably cold down here…
Christine then lingered a moment to study the sleeping form in front of her. He was hideous, she could not deny that. However he was much less intimidating as he slept. He looks like a little child, she thought, a little… dead child… but a child nonetheless. She pushed the thought from her mind roughly when she caught herself fighting the impulse to press a kiss to that white forehead. That is morbid, Christine. He's not a child… he is a bad man… an ugly spider… a kidnapper… a murderer… a corpse, for goodness sake!… stop thinking in fairy tales… what, do you expect him to turn into a handsome prince? Life doesn't work that way… don't delude yourself or you're both going to get hurt.
There's nothing to do but try to sleep and see what tomorrow brings.
A million more days to go,
Christine
