Disclaimer: I do not own anything remotely close to Phantom of the Opera.
Author's note: No, it's not over. You could say this is the beginning of Part 2. I hope these characters don't come off too bipolar in this chapter. Keep in mind they're both in uncharted waters and utterly confused about their feelings... so it's going to seem a little tumultuous at first. Thank you for reading.
Journal,
The day after tomorrow. That is when the wedding is.
Erik wanted to be married straight away. I suppose he thinks I'll change my mind. Not that I have that option, but I won't begin to presume how that man's mind works. I have a feeling that he would have preferred to carry me off to a chape1 last night directly after I came to him with my choice. I guess I should give him credit for his restraint. He is giving me this little bit of time to allow me to… come to terms with my situation.
I know what that allowance must have cost him. He is still so very insecure when it comes to me (and for good reason! I have no allegiance to this man apart from the promise I made to him. Which, I suppose, granted him my ultimate allegiance… but I'll choose not to think about that right now).
Anyway, it is those little acts of selflessness--albeit few and far between--that give me the confidence to continue.
Christine was sitting again in the library, comfortably perched in the large, soft chair, lost in thought while pretending to read the same book she started last night.
How did this happen to me? Is it my fault for leading him on… or his fault for starting this whole mess?
My life has changed so much in just a few months. If someone told me I'd be living underground, pledged to be married to the devil while my true fiancée narrowly escaped with his life I would have had them committed.
This is not at all how I imagined my life to end.
Wait… why did I think that? This is not at all how I imagined my life to end. Is my life over, then? I cannot die. I promised to live for Erik… the 'living bride' remember? I am no coward and it seems an awful waste to go through everything I've been through only to end it now. Then why can't I stop thinking it?
This is not at all how I imagined my life to end.
Ah. I understand now. Sure, I'm still alive technically… but my life is as good as over now. It just seems so utterly pointless now.
No, it's not pointless. I live now because I had to save Raoul. I made that sacrifice… I couldn't let Raoul and all those others die. It was a lose/lose situation for me… but I still have to live with my choice.
At least Raoul is safe…
Poor Raoul… he must hate me. Why did I drag him into this? I should have been stronger… should have fought harder. Why didn't he listen to me? From the beginning I only tried to keep him safe. I tried to send him away from me. Why did he tempt me to confide in him? Why does he make me feel so very safe?
Why did I let him into my heart? I never thought it could happen… I didn't think I was meant for love. I'm too cynical, too bitter, too… broken.
I should have had more control! Why can I manipulate others and yet have no control over my own heart? Why--
"Christine?"
She was pulled from her thoughts by Erik's silky voice calling her from the kitchen. When she didn't respond, he came to the library, leaning casually against the door frame.
"I made breakfast, Christine…"
He folded his arms across his chest in a gesture that might have been intimidating had its intent not been to hide the nervous trembling of his hands. The slight waver in his normally controlled voice indicated to Christine how insecure he really was.
She sighed. This could be a chance for her, she realized, to show him a little kindness and make his day. She couldn't bring herself to do it, though. She didn't feel a thread of tenderness towards the man and had no desire to act like she did. She was sick of acting… it was her acting that got her so deep into trouble in the first place. Maybe now it was time for honesty… and she honestly didn't feel like being nice.
"I'm not especially hungry." she answered quietly.
"I…" he cleared his throat, not quite knowing what to say. Christine had the ability to make Erik feel emotions he had not thought he was capable of and now, it seemed, he was feeling them all at once.
His knee-jerk reaction was one of anger. Fine! Starve then, ungrateful woman! But he killed that before it left his mouth. Anger… rage… bitterness. That was all he had felt for so much of his life. He realized that, after so many years, anger was the emotion that he always projected, even if he was feeling something else. It's all he knew. No, Erik, that will only make things worse. She has seen this side of you too much already. Think about your words…
He tried to make sense of his feelings.
There was joy. A raw, powerful joy that resided in the back of his mind ever since last night. She was his, by her own admission, forever.
Still, there was that lingering insecurity brought on by his pessimistic nature. He knew he would feel infinitely better once her choice was sealed by a priest and his ring once again resided on her finger. Until then he would have to force himself not to dwell on his many doubts. He thought of his hostage, currently locked in a tiny cell in the Communard dungeons. It was a great comfort to him that he still had de Chagny to bargain with should any of the darker possibilities come about.
There was sadness as well. He never wanted to force Christine into marriage. He wished to woo her and propose to her and marry her and make love to her just like he would if he were any other man. He had hoped… he had believed that she could love him for himself. But he had been wrong. When he discovered her deceit it broke his heart. When, in his madness, he forced her to stay with him it crushed the already broken pieces. His black heart was nothing but tatters when he tried to let her go…
But she didn't go. That is what gave him hope. Hope that she may care for him someday. Even if it was just a little. Or, if could feel no romantic intentions, perhaps friendship. He'd even accept pity from her. He was nothing more than a dog at her feet, willing to die for her. If need be, he was ever willing to take any scrap of kindness and delude himself into thinking it was something more. He could do that. He had power over his own mind just as he did over the minds of others.
Then there was nervousness. He felt helpless and timid as a child around her because he wanted so badly--more than anything else--for her to accept him. His heart told him he had the power to sway their precarious relationship to his side. His mind warned him not to screw it up.
There were so many emotions floating about his head that the poor man couldn't begin to make sense of them all.
"Very well," he sighed. He still wasn't sure how to respond. It irked him that he had spent so much time trying to prepare a meal that would please her. But, still, he knew they were both exhausted and he figured that this wasn't a battle he needed to fight.
Judging by the clock (though I know not whether it is day or night), that gives me somewhere between 36 and 48 hours before I'm bound to him forever. It's hard to be sure exactly how much longer I have… even with a clock, the passage of time is exceedingly difficult to calculate down here. There is no passage of seasons, no natural light, no change whatsoever. Minutes and days run together seamlessly. It is as if we are outside of Time's jurisdiction, tucked away as we are underground.
Then, getting an idea, he left the room and went to his workshop, where he had left a gift he had retrieved a few weeks ago but had yet to give her.
"These are for you, my dear." he said, handing her a new pair of reading glasses.
Observing her blush and widened eyes with satisfaction, he elaborated, "You other pair seemed to have fallen upon an unfortunate accident."
"H--How… how did you know?" she choked out.
She looked at him curiously, noting that he had relaxed some and his body language betrayed a hint of amusement.
"Hmmm. Let's see, my dear, where shall is start? With the broken glass I found hidden behind a lamp or perhaps," he said tapping the book she was holding, "with the fact that you have been staring at the same page for seven hours now."
Christine smiled sheepishly and her blushed even deeper. She was caught. After a moment of silence, she giggled adorably and hid her face in her hands, shaking her head back and forth at the awkwardness of the situation. Then she looked up, still dreadfully embarrassed and delightfully flushed, and took the new spectacles from Erik's open palm.
"Thank you." she murmured, opening her book back up and pretending she did not notice Erik's burning gaze on her.
Erik smiled behind his mask. He could not have asked for a better reaction. She was so endearing, his little angel. She smiled at him. It was slight, but it was genuine. It's a start… he mused.
Then again, I can't begin to fathom exactly why any of this matters to me. I'm already bound to him forever. I have been from the day he first spoke to me in my dressing-room. Possibly even before then, but I can't be sure. No, a ceremony is just a formality. I've been his since he first set his sights on me.
Why me? It's still something I don't understand. I asked him that question once when he first brought me to his home--no, it does me no good to sugar-coat things; I should use the right terms--when he kidnapped me. He said it was because he loved me.
But this was not always the case, was it? I am not ready to believe he just heard me one day and fell instantly in love with me. No, at some point he must have made a conscious decision to pursue me. How does one decide to become a stalker? Did he wake up one morning and think "You know, I could really use a good obsession" or was it a gradual thing?
He doesn't seem especially willing to answer that question. Either that or I can't seem to find the way to ask it and coax an answer from him. There are a lot of things I want to know about my fiancée. Sooner or later I'll find some non-threatening way to get the information I am looking for.
"Erik," she announced after supper, "we don't know much about each other."
His head tilted slightly to the side. "On the contrary, my dear, I know a great deal about you."
Not nearly as much as you think, she thought, clearing her throat slightly to hide her discomfort. She decided to blow over that statement and continued with her idea.
"Yes well… I don't know anything about you. I think we should play a game."
"A game?" he said, looking thoroughly amused.
"Yes," she stated matter-of-factly. "I will ask you a question and then you can ask me one."
"My dear, there are some things I do not wish to talk about." he warned, the dark tones in his voice making Christine shudder.
She recovered quickly and responded, "I've considered that. So, here are the rules. Any question is fair game, but you can choose not to answer. Here's the catch, though: no lying, no leaving out key details, no deception of any kind. Either tell the whole truth or say 'Pass'."
It was still too light to see the look in the empty blackness of his eye sockets, but she sensed he was glaring at her.
"Of the two of us, I don't think I'm the one who needs to be told not to lie." he muttered dangerously.
Touché. She thought, smarting from the bitterness in his words. I guess I walked into that one.
Christine frowned, but nodded. "Fair enough." she stated casually as her voice came off completely unfazed by his scathing remark, "Shall I start then?"
He sighed and shrugged indulgently. "Very well. You may proceed if it pleases you."
"How old are you?"
"Probably somewhere over forty."
"Probably?"
"Yes, probably. The anniversary of my birth was not something people would celebrate"
"I see. I'm sorry."
"It matters not. My question. Do you always resort to silly games like these?"
"What kind of a question is that?"
"You said 'any question is fair game'…"
She knew what he was trying to do… what he was trying to get her to admit… but she refused to be baited. "Fine. For your information, my games are usually much more sophisticated. I just thought you'd appreciate some bluntness."
"Interesting." he said evenly, reading of all the possibilities in that statement. Perhaps his toying little fox was more resourceful than he gave her credit for. He wasn't sure whether he admired or despised that thought. He made a mental note to find out more. It suddenly occurred to him that, with all of her deception and good acting, he might not know as much about her as he thought. He'd never admit that out loud though.
"How did you come to live at the Opera?"
"Pass."
"What did you do before you came here?"
"Pass."
"What happened to Joseph Buquet?"
"Pass."
"You are being most uncooperative."
"You are being most invasive. You ask questions you know I cannot answer. Think, little one, what is the point of this little exercise? What is it you really want to know?"
"I--I just… I guess… why me, Erik? With all the beautiful, talented, young women here… why did you fall in love with me? I mean… how… what did I do? What made you decide to pursue me, of all people?"
Erik paused and thought over his response. What should he tell her? What had attracted him to her?
He remembered the first time he saw her. She was moving her things into the Opera house along with all the other new students.
There was something about the kittenish way she carried herself… so alone, timid… so very vulnerable. He saw how she shyly endured Carlotta's abuse and tried to hide herself in the masses. He saw her trying to make her self as invisible as possible. Ironically, that is what made her more visible to him.
When he looked on her, he was reminded of himself as a child. Before he was old enough to run away from home, ignorant, superstitious, townspeople used to attack him on a regular basis. They would throw rocks at him or beat him with sticks. On more than one occasion he was tied to a fenced and brutally whipped and beaten even after he lost consciousness. At first, he had not even attempted to defend himself. He was just a little boy, so terrified of the world.
But he was not that little boy anymore. He adapted quickly, learning to manipulate light and shadows… learning to become invisible. One cannot attack what cannot be seen. Those who had hurt him had long since paid for their crimes and the experiences had simply disappeared into the mass of other disappointing memories in the back of his subconscious.
But seeing Christine… it dredged up all those memories and lit up ever protective fiber in his being.
He may look like a monster, but Erik was very much a man. His instinct to protect drove him to seek the girl out a second time.
His second investigation merely established in his mind what he had already hypothesized. This girl was not a survivor. Her shy countenance was one of a girl whose soul was being crushed by the weight of her world.
(The true irony was that neither Erik nor Christine would ever fully realize that all the things he noticed about her in the first few days--the way she tried not to stand out or attract attention… the way she could disappear even while surrounded by people--all the things that led him to believe she was not a survivor were really just her own, refined, deliberate survival tactics.)
But, then, there were whole new facets to her personality. He saw other endearing qualities that emerged whenever she was alone. She had a charming sense of humor, a quiet gentleness, and a tremendous potential for love--which was plainly obvious in her voice whenever she spoke of her father or Mamma Valerius.
And her voice! Listening to that voice obliterated any remaining doubt about getting involved with the girl. Her technique and pitch were flawless--she had obviously been well taught. But the voice itself was as timid and broken as the girl herself.
When had protectiveness become possessiveness? When had interest become obsession? When had fondness become love? When did he begin to need her as much as she needed him?
He did not know the answer to those questions. But he did know what attracted him to her.
"Because you needed me, Christine, that's why."
"I… needed… you?" she said slowly, testing the words on her tongue.
I'm still working on it though.
Christine bristled. Well! Of all the arrogant… idiotic… insufferable… This was not the answer she was looking for. Her hands clenched at her sides and she tried to curb her temper. Did he actually mean that or was he just trying to irritate her?
"Yes. We needed each other. You were so… so beautiful… so defenseless. You needed me to protect you… to teach you and guide you. You needed what only I could give. Don't you see? Fate has linked us together. We were meant for each other."
She gritted her teeth. It would do no good to lash out at him right now.
"This was a bad idea," she ground out as she turned to leave.
"Not so fast, angel. It's my turn."
She turned and glared at him but he refused to meet her eyes.
"Was it all a lie? All this time…" he asked quietly trying to maintain his indifferent tone but inwardly terrified of her response.
"Most of it." she whispered, looking at the ground in shame.
Erik stood abruptly, turning over his chair in the process.
"You're right. This was a bad idea." he growled as he stormed from the room. A few moments later, Christine heard the slam of his door, followed by the heavy lock, followed by the familiar sound of destruction. She shuddered thinking of what the man was doing to his room. He must go through a lot of furniture.
I'll be honest. I don't know how this is going to work. I don't even know where to begin with this man. I'm so confused that I can't even seem to organize my feelings into coherent thoughts.
What am I supposed to do?
I need help. I need advice. I wonder if there is someone I can talk to get a fresh perspective.
I'm going to ponder this tonight, since I don't think I'll be sleeping.
Christine
