Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera
A/N: I almost ended it here, but there's a little more I wanted to wrap up. I've got a few more chapters, I think. Please keep reading. Anyway, thanks for your reviews. You guys rock.
Dear Journal,
One good thing did come from Mamma's passing, although I'm not sure how to describe it.
For several moments, they neither spoke nor moved. Erik's anger faded as he held his wife, rubbing light circles on her back and absorbing the shudders her body made from her crying, which had begun anew when she went into his arms.
The couple did not even notice that the daroga had arrived some time after them. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, trying to get their attention as he shuffled about in the doorway.
"What do you want, daroga?" Erik whispered. His voice was barely audible--scarcely more than a breath--but the Persian was not ignorant of the warning in his tone. He grimaced and blushed; the Persian had just come in to make sure Christine was alright; he hadn't realized he would be interrupting such an intimate moment.
"Ah… never mind," he stuttered, "I'll come back later. Actually… I'll just be in the parlor if you need me."
Moment broken, Christine pulled back slightly from Erik's embrace and looked up at him. Erik just watched her for a moment. He half expected her to step away and greet the daroga like a polite hostess and Erik was secretly pleased that she seemed oblivious to the other man's presence. The lingering tears made her eyes even bluer and brighter and his grip on her tightened slightly. Erik ran his hand down her cheek, gathering up some of the wetness and sighed contentedly when she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.
"She's gone, Erik," Christine said, after a time. "Mamma… she is dead."
The declaration spawned a whole new round of crying and Erik gathered her up once again. After a few more minutes of this, he swung her up into his arms and carried her from the room.
I suppose I could say that it made Erik and I closer, but I really think it was the events that followed that are more responsible. I know I've mentioned it before, but I have always believed that the reaction is more important than the cause.
Exploring the empty flat and the pile of documents on the table had given the daroga a fairly good idea of what had happened. When he saw his friends emerge from the room, he was able to approach them with a clearer understanding of what was going on.
"I'm taking my wife home, daroga," Erik said. His voice was calm and displayed an odd combination of contentment and concern.
Christine's head popped up suddenly from its position on Erik's shoulder. "We can't leave," she protested, "There are still things that must be done here. There is paperwork to sign and I need to figure out what to do with the house and Mamma's things and---"
Erik interrupted her, setting her on her feet. "Tell me what you want, Christine, and I will see to it."
Her eyes darted around and a perplexed look crossed her face. Erik stroked her cheek and clarified, "I mean it, Christine. I see how much Mme. Valerius meant to you. You should not have to concern yourself with legal matters when you are grieving. Do you want this house? We can keep it exactly like this forever, you know. I can do anything your heart desires."
"No," she said quickly, "No, get rid of it. Sell it all or give it away… it doesn't matter. I can't live in the past forever. I'll always remember Mamma, but she wouldn't have wanted me to keep some sort of shrine to her memory."
Erik nodded. He knew this was a big step for Christine; she had pined over her father for years and he only assumed he would be in for a similar run this time around. He had already resolved in his heart that he would be there for her every step of the way, but it was a testament to her growth that she would be willing to part with all of these belongings so soon.
The daroga stepped forward, "I can take care of all that if you like," he offered, glad to have something to do.
Erik nodded once more in silent thanks to his friend. Then he turned back to Christine. "Are you sure? Is there anything at all that you wish to take with you?"
Christine thought for a moment before running back up to Mamma's room. She had forgotten her diary on the nightstand so she snatched it up and tucked Mamma's letter inside it.
"I'm ready now," she said, still sniffling.
"That's my brave girl," Erik murmured, using his handkerchief to wipe her eyes.
Erik's friend from Persia has been wonderful. He took care of everything. In fact, he made it so all I had to worry about for the next few days was my own grief and reconnecting with my husband. He even arranged a small memorial service, since I was not present for the funeral.
Christine's movements were somewhat hollow as Erik led her from the parlor. He kept her hand gently in his and she followed him listlessly out the door.
Once she was situated on the horse, with Erik pressed behind her, she sprung to life with a surge of frantic energy. She threw her arms around him, clinging to him like a monkey.
"Don't leave me! Please don't leave me!" she cried, resting her head on his shoulder and hiding her face against his neck.
Erik was confused. He started to reply and remind her that she was the one who left him, but he thought better of it.
"Darling wife… why do you say these things? Has Erik shown any signs of letting you go? What sense would it be for me to leave you now?"
"I don't know…" she sobbed, "it's just… it's just that everyone I love seems to abandon me. I don't understand it. It isn't fair."
The mention of love--even in such a round-a-bout way--made the masked man tense. Dare I hope?
"What are you saying, Christine?" he asked urgently, "What do you mean by that?"
Briefly, Christine lifted her head and looked at him as if he were an idiot.
"Haven't you been listening?" she said with exasperation before returning to her earlier position on his shoulder, "I mean that I don't want you to leave me!"
Erik was not sure what to think about this. Actually, all thought entirely seemed to flee his mind at the feeling of her lips, which moved against the skin of his throat as she spoke her desperate pleas. He shuddered, but allowed on arm to snake around her waist securely while the other maintained his grip on the reigns.
"Never, child," he assured her.
Erik, for his part, has been more attentive than ever. The only time he is not by my side is when I am in the washroom and he all but carries me wherever I'm trying to go.
It's a different type of attention though--less obsessive and controlling. It is gentler, as if my best interest is behind it rather than his compulsion to be near me. I don't know, it's difficult to describe.
Actually, this new attention is something I don't mind as much. I can see that Erik needs this time just as much as I do. I even found myself seeking his touch more. For someone who has grown up in a home full of hugs and caresses, I had forgotten how calming it can be. Recently, when I sense Erik trying to catch my eye, I have this overwhelming impulse to go over and settle against his shoulder or onto his lap. After some consideration, I decided to give in and, on several occasions, I've woken up still in his arms after being lulled to sleep by his heartbeat of subtle humming. Strangely, the sensation was far more welcome and comforting than I would have found it months ago.
Oh! I almost forgot. I wanted to talk about the service.
Christine took Erik's extended hand and stepped up into the carriage. She hadn't wept in earnest like she had the day Erik had found her at Mamma's house, but her grief was still apparent in her quiet demeanor and the reflective tears that seemed to escape from time to time.
Erik watched her for a few moments as the carriage hustled along the old roads to the hotel they were staying at. They had opted not to make the trip to Perros-Guirec in one day, preferring to stay overnight and allow Christine some time to rest and visit her father's grave as well.
For all his devotion, Erik could not bring himself to get out of the carriage. I am not offended though; I had the daroga to lean on, anyway. He is a good man. Erik is lucky to have him as a friend.
At any rate, I am thankful enough that Erik made the trip with me; I know how difficult it is for him to venture out into public. When he made the decision to stay the night in town, he took the liberty of renting out the entire inn. It was a small establishment, but I'm sure the cost was substantial. I imagine he would have cleared out the whole town if he could. Erik values his privacy above all else.
His heart went out to the girl as she refused to meet his gaze, her body trembling as her resolve to steady her emotions slipped.
As they were coming up on the hotel, Erik finally spoke.
"What can I do?" he asked softly, reaching out to take her hands.
"Just…" she breathed wearily, "Just tell me I'm yours, Erik."
The funeral itself was difficult for me. I always pictured these services taking place on cold, drizzly days. The weather should match the occasion, I'd say. That is how it was for Father.
But no, it was a beautiful, sunny afternoon. The perfect day. From the carriage, I saw couples walking arm in arm, undoubtedly on some lazy afternoon stroll or heading off to a picnic. It irked me that everyone else could be so happy. I know it's irrational, but I think I believed that everyone should be as morose as I was. For the rest of the world, though, life went on as normal. Suddenly I felt very alone.
I looked to Erik for comfort, once again. I felt this indescribable need to belong to someone or something. I needed to know that someone would always be there for me.
For all his faults, Erik has always been that person.
Erik released a growl low in his throat. His hold on her hands tightened and he pulled swiftly, fluidly maneuvering her across the seat and into his lap.
She gasped and looked questioningly into his eyes.
"Close your eyes, Christine," he commanded.
Christine's eyes fluttered closed and Erik removed his mask. Something about her helpless plea had released him from his hesitancy and he pressed his lips against hers. One hand buried in her hair while the other rested against her neck as he kissed her desperately. He was unsure and inexperienced as he had never truly kissed a woman before, but he allowed instinct to take over and groaned into her mouth when he felt her begin to respond.
The carriage rolled to a sudden halt and the driver knocked on the side, signaling that they had reached their destination.
Erik pulled away reluctantly. "Keep your eyes closed," he rasped as he tied his mask back into place.
He led her into the hotel and towards their room hastily, causing Christine to run to keep up with his purposeful strides.
"Erik!" she panted, "What's going on?"
He stopped abruptly and looked at her with glittering eyes.
"It is time." he said simply.
And Christine knew what that meant.
We came together as a real married couple that night. That sounds silly to say, but I have to think of some pleasant euphemism to keep me from blushing at what is a very unladylike topic to write about.
I don't know what I expected, but I found myself completely surprised. It was awkward and painful and all-around uncomfortable for us both. Afterwards, though, he held me close and stroked my hair the way I like.
It felt strange to be held so close after such a moment. Strange but good. His skin, his hands, his lips are so very cold--unnaturally so--but his heart is warm. I can sense the heat just as I can feel it beating when I rest my head on his chest. It is a very safe feeling.
When Christine kissed his mask for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening, Erik finally had a revelation. When Christine had said that the mask did not matter to her, she had truly meant it. She would kiss his face, mask or no mask. It really, honestly made no difference to her. Slowly, giving her ample time to stop him, Erik removed his mask and set it on the night stand. Then he allowed his tears to flow, unhindered, into her golden hair, still splayed over his shoulder.
Tightening his arm about her, Erik tenderly repeated the words he had growled only moments before.
"You are mine, Christine. You have always belonged to me and you will always belong to me. I will never leave you… nor will I let you go. You are mine forever."
Christine sighed. She had all the reassurance she needed.
I do not regret anything about that night. Quite the contrary, actually. I feel different now. Clingy, almost--without the bad connotation.
I know what it is. I love him. I truly do.
I'm not sure when I had fallen in love with him. Maybe that's the problem: I never fell in love with him. I understand now what Mamma meant about not falling in love. The love I have for Erik is not the kind that you fall into. Rather, it's the kind that sneaks up on you while you're arguing over toast and jam.
I think he needs to know. We have much to discuss, but I believe it is important I tell him this.
First, though, there is something else I have been thinking about. Something I want to try, if you will. I can't explain now though. Erik is looking this direction--I think he wants my attention. I'll write about it later, dear journal.
Until then,
Christine
