She woke with a hoarse, long moan, putting a hand over her eyes. Her head ached, and the most heavenly things in the world would be painkillers and a glass of water. As she laid there and became somewhat coherent, she opened her eyes and saw that she was in the bedroom of her little apartment. Christine blinked in surprise, having expected to see the old, faded curtains of the theater.
Rubbing her eyes again, she yawned and then groaned one more time before forcing herself to sit up. Her clock told her that it was midmorning, but there was hardly any sun entering through the windows. She realized that it was still gray and raining outside.
As she shifted her body to climb out of the bed, she saw that she was still wearing her black funeral dress. Her shoes were on the floor beside her. Erik must have somehow gotten her home from the theater. She didn't know why, but she was inexplicably touched by this, and her eyes stung a little from tears of gratitude. To think that the cold, cruel Phantom would ensure that she was taken home safely was…startling and nice.
And what he had done for her the day before…
Christine pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, breathing slowly and deeply. What had happened yesterday had been one of the most terrifying things that had ever happened to her. That feeling of no control…She felt as if she had been suffocating.
As she was calming herself down again, she suddenly heard a slight clattering outside of her room, and she could detect a scent—it was a breakfast smell, and she at last stood and carefully made her way over to the door, not wanting to fall down because of her unsteady legs.
Opening her bedroom door and walking down the miniscule hallway into the living area and then the kitchen, she pushed her hair out of her face and called softly.
"Erik?"
To her everlasting shame, she couldn't help but feel a little disappointed when Raoul stuck his head around the small portion of the wall. He caught sight of her and went over to wrap his arms around her, pulling her into a crushing hug. Christine was acutely aware of her dirty, wrinkled dress (which probably smelled because it had been soaked in the rain and then dried), her raw face, and her frizzy hair.
"Hey," he said softly. "Hungry?"
She paused and then nodded, suddenly aware of her growling stomach.
"It'll be ready in a couple minutes," Raoul then said.
"Okay," she said, surprising herself that she could speak so easily. She still felt a little funny. "Lemme just…change real quick."
She went back to her room and shimmied out of her stiff, hideous dress, tossing it into a corner, never wanting to see it again. Then she went into the bathroom and washed her face and neck, the water warm and somewhat soothing. With much effort, she pulled her hair back and away from her face. After putting on soft, comfortable yoga pants and a clean shirt, she emerged again, feeling minimally better now that she was somewhat cleaner.
Raoul pulled out her chair for her, the table already set, and she was almost shamed to see how nice it all looked. There were even flowers—pink and pretty, though she didn't know the name of them. Their scent mingled with the smell of the sizzling breakfast.
He served her breakfast first and then helped himself, and Christine looked at the bacon, eggs, and toast with jam. Her stomach was growling in anticipation, and she grabbed her fork and tucked in quietly.
"So who's Erik?" Raoul then asked, and Christine's stomach jumped. She looked up at him quickly to see that he was eating calmly, though he was looking at her as well.
"No one," she said stupidly, trying hard to think of a lie. It was difficult, as her head was still slightly achy. "What type of flowers are these, again? They're pretty."
"The lady at the flower store told me that they're called cyclamens," he said. "I'm glad you like them."
He gave her the option of juice or milk, and she instead asked for water.
After he had resumed his seat, he said, "You know, you're gonna have to tell me anyway. It makes me a little nervous when you think some other guy is in your apartment, making you breakfast."
She knew he was very upset about it. Otherwise, he wouldn't be bringing it up on the morning after her father's funeral. So she sighed heavily and set her fork down.
"I'm really sorry," she mumbled. "He's—he's my neighbor. He came over last night to say sorry about my dad." That would be accepted, wouldn't it? Erik was a common enough name…
"And stayed the night?" Raoul said.
Christine was beginning to feel upset again, and she tried to calm herself down, but there were cracks in her voice as she said, "No, I—I got…really sick last night. He was there, and he helped me. He's really nice, Raoul. He only wanted to help. I thought he…was just being nice and making me breakfast. I'm sorry. He's just a nice old guy that lives in my building. He's retired and divorced." She was inventing wildly, anything to keep who Erik really was a complete mystery.
Raoul waved away the last little bit of information. "You got sick last night?" he asked, looking concerned. "What happened?"
"It was nothing," she said, not wanting him to worry over her. "I'm fine now."
"Tell me what happened," Raoul said, reaching out to put a hand over hers.
"No—Raoul, it really was nothing." All she wanted to do was finish her now-tepid breakfast without anyone exclaiming over her. She just wanted peace and quiet, time to think and rest.
"If it was nothing, why won't you tell me? You don't know how worried I am about you." He was leaning forward, and he did look very worried.
Christine bit her lip and stared at her yellow eggs as she said, half-slurring her words in a crazy attempt that he would misunderstand her, "I had a panic attack, but I'm fine now."
"A panic attack?" He looked panicked now. "Why didn't you call me? Did you go to the hospital? Are you okay? Do you need to go the hospital now?"
Christine pulled her hand away from his and held them up as a plea for silence. "I'm okay, Raoul," she said, sounding as firm as she could. "Really, I'm fine. Please don't freak out over this. Erik said it was probably because of my dad's…funeral and stuff. I'm okay."
He was unconvinced and tried to get her to go to the hospital for a few more minutes, but she would not back down, and eventually Raoul conceded a reluctant defeat.
"But we're going if you start to feel weird again, okay?" he said, and she nodded tiredly. He cleaned up breakfast, and she sat with her cheek in her hand, feeling guilty but too tired to protest or help.
"Thanks," she said softly as he put away the last clean dish. He replied with an affectionate smile, and she yawned widely, covering her hand with her mouth.
"I took work off today so I could be with you if you need me," Raoul said. "Do you need anything? Do you need me to run to the store or run any errands for you?"
Christine shook her head, not wanting to even think about things like that. She didn't want to mentally run over her out-of-stock groceries or think about any bills. Even though she had probably slept for a solid twelve or thirteen hours at least, she was still feeling beat. All the sleepless nights she had spent tossing and turning those days before and following her father's death had finally caught up to her.
"You should probably just go home, Raoul," Christine murmured. "I just want to sleep today, so I'm not gonna be much fun. Thanks for breakfast."
He frowned a little. "I think I should stay here," he said. "I want to make sure that you wake up and eat. I'll cook for you again—no biggie."
"I'm not a baby," she said, and then she felt childish for saying that, but she continued anyway. "I don't need you telling me to eat."
"You do now," he said, his voice ever-gentle. "Just for today, Christine. Okay? Just until I think you're okay enough to do it yourself."
Knowing he'd keep arguing and feeling too tired to do so, Christine merely shrugged and stood. "All right," she said. "Do what you want, I guess. I'm going to sleep some more."
She was pulled in by him, and he kissed the top of her head. She then wriggled out of his arms and went to the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. Before going back to sleep, she took a warm, soothing shower and washed away the grime from the rain. Then she pulled on comfortable cotton pajamas and climbed into the wide bed, closing her eyes and falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
What felt like mere moments later, someone was shaking her, and she huffed in sleepy irritation and pulled away from them, settling comfortably on her stomach and burying her face in the soft pillow.
The shaking, however, merely resumed. "Christine, wake up."
She recognized Raoul's voice through her groggy haze, and she lifted her head from the pillow and cracked open her eyes. They were heavy and hard to open.
"Time for lunch," Raoul said quietly. Christine groaned and dropped her head into the pillow before reluctantly sliding out of the bed and following Raoul back into the kitchen. She ate mechanically, trying to remember the dream she had been having. It had been uncomfortable, she remembered that, but she couldn't quite remember anything else. When she had cleared most of her plate, she thanked him quietly and then trudged right back to the bed.
Sleeping was a blessing. She didn't have to dwell on…certain things when she slept. Everything disappeared for hours upon blissful hours. While sleeping, she wasn't crying, and she wasn't hurting. Gustave's pale, drained face wasn't haunting her thoughts, and Erik's music wasn't racing through her mind. She was at peace.
But it could never last, and she knew that soon she would have to confront herself and work through her anger and grief. Yet for now, she would let herself have the time to relax and get somewhat well physically again.
After she was woken up for dinner, she glanced back to the lonely bedroom and then decided that she wanted physical affection. Raoul cleaned up after she finished eating, and when he sat down on the sofa, she sat by him, leaning her head on his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his stomach. He accepted it all with good graces, and he put an arm around her as well. She knew she was a snuggly person—she liked touching and being touched, held, and caressed. Her father had raised her on hugs and kisses, and they made her feel warm and safe. She knew that she was lucky that Raoul didn't find it annoying.
He distracted and entertained her with the games on his phone. They played some trivia games together, quietly and contentedly arguing about some answers, and he made her giggle a few times throughout the evening. Then she felt bad about laughing the day after her Pappa's funeral.
The rainstorm was continuing, but the room was warm, and she was sleepy and comfortable. She yawned a little, and he pulled her closer.
"You still feeling okay?" he asked softly.
She nodded, closing her eyes. Then she shrugged. "I don't know," she admitted softly.
"Yeah," he said, and he ran his hand through her curls. "I know this doesn't compare, but…I had a cousin who was diagnosed with leukemia when she was five. It was hard for her parents, of course, and for the whole family, but…you know, they were just glad that she wasn't in pain anymore. They didn't want to see her hurting like she was. I'm sure your dad's in a better place."
She was silent. How could Gustave leave her alone while he went to this better place? Why would he die, knowing perfectly well how frightened and vulnerable she would feel after he left her? This was the worst kind of torture for her—she had struggled through poverty, she had experienced anger and terror and hurt, she had been trapped in a dead-end job…She had already gone through the death of one parent. Why would God take away the only thing she was genuinely afraid to lose?
Raoul was quiet as well, and the night continued in a somewhat contemplative, reflective stillness. Christine kept her eyes closed, curled up close to Raoul, his body keeping her warm. With a little sigh, she knew that she would never get the answers. She would never know why God took her father, and she would never know what would have happened if things had gone differently—if she had been there that night he was taken, if he had been found sooner, if they had diagnosed his tuberculosis earlier…There was no way of knowing. And it was frustrating, but there was nothing to be done. She forced herself to relax, and she slowly fell asleep.
The sun on her face woke her the next morning, and she scrunched her nose and turned away from it in irritation, feeling too sleepy and comfortable to consider getting up. However, now that she was awake, her mind was slowly beginning to buzz with thoughts, and she slowly opened her eyes. She was surprised to see Raoul there still; she had assumed that he would leave after she fell asleep. However, there he was, asleep on the couch. She was comfortably squished by him—half-beside him and half-on top of him. He looked peaceful and handsome while he slept, with his blond hair tousled and his lips curved upward ever-so-slightly. She wanted to kiss them, but that would wake him up.
She looked and saw that the rain had cleared, and the morning was bright. With a little grunt, she situated herself back down by Raoul, putting her head on his chest. She lightly played with the buttons of his now-wrinkly shirt, tracing them carefully. For a brief second, she considered what it would be like doing this every morning for the rest of her life. Was that what this relationship was leading to? She had already thought about it before. She wouldn't sleep with him, but he was still with her. So…what was it about? Pity? Obligation? …Marriage? Of course Raoul had talked about what he wanted for his future, and he was looking forward to a quiet life with a wife and some children…nothing incredibly dramatic. Gustave had said that Raoul wanted to marry her, but she wasn't sure.
With some pinprick tears of sadness, she realized that Gustave would never attend her wedding. Fathers didn't usually give their daughters away in traditional Swedish weddings, but…she had wanted him to be there. He was her only family.
She sniffled a little and then looked around the room, searching for something to distract her from her depressing thoughts. The nice wall clock was ticking softly, and she examined the intricate design for a few moments before actually paying attention to the time. She inhaled swiftly.
"Raoul!" she hissed, shaking him a little. "Wake up!"
He grunted and tried to shift away, but the couch was too narrow, and his brows knitted in confusion.
"Hey, wake up!" she said again. "Aren't you supposed to be at work now?"
Raoul reluctantly opened his eyes and then searched her face. "What?" he mumbled, clearly annoyed at having been woken up.
"Aren't you supposed to be at work now?" she repeated clearly. "Look at the time."
He looked over at the clock and, a millisecond after doing so, fell off the couch. He swore swiftly and repeatedly. Then he gave her a side glance and said, "I mean—dang it, dang it, dang it."
While he was washing his face and hands in the bathroom, she pushed down some toast for him, chewing on her lip and twirling a curl around her finger. She felt bad that he was late because of her.
He hurried out of the bathroom, and she held out the toast and an apple. He took both, gave her a distracted, hasty kiss, and said, "I'll call you later!" while rushing out the door. Then it was silent. Christine ate toast herself and then showered, keeping her thoughts light and almost vapid. She didn't want to…think about what had happened two days ago and what would happen tomorrow.
After readying herself, she sat on the sofa for thirty minutes and argued with herself before huffing, grabbing her coat and purse, and leaving her apartment, locking it behind her securely. The day was crystal-clear and chilly. The rain had washed away a layer of smog, and she inhaled the cool morning air, feeling a little calmer as she wasn't trapped in the tiny apartment with her own thoughts. Other people existed out here. She walked behind a short, rotund man for two blocks, and the way he looked around and the camera around his neck gave him the air of a tourist. He was sighing and muttering to himself, scratching his dull brown hair. Christine looked around at the other people—a woman walking her dog, a man running for a taxi, two little kids riding bicycles…everything so perfectly normal.
And on the bus, there was more normalcy. A teenage couple bickered, and a baby was screeching loudly. Christine put some fingers to her forehead, staring out of the window. Everywhere she looked…everything was the same. It wasn't just her and Erik and Raoul and her little apartment. The entire world was out there, and it was still spinning, and it demanded her to be part of it. The normalness of life wanted her to catch up and be in it.
And Raoul…He was the most down-to-earth, normal man she had ever met. He had no dark secrets or mysterious past. He was a normal, wealthy man with a normal life, and he wanted to continue his normal life by marrying and having children. She remembered the first time they had seen each other after Paris. It had been a dull afternoon at the bookstore, and she was rearranging some shelves, trying not grumble as she picked up books that some little kids had thrown around.
The bell rang, signaling a customer, and she had poked her head up from the shelves to spot a tall man entering. She called out habitually, "Hi! Let me know if you need anything."
The man nodded, and he went and looked at the finance section in the corner. Christine finished straightening the shelves and went to sit behind the counter, wondering what she would make her father for dinner that night. She had mentally run over the list of ingredients for köttbullar, hoping that they had everything necessary at home.
"Hey."
She blinked and looked up. The man was standing there, studying her.
"Uh—hi," she said, tucking some curls behind her ears and then feeling stupid. He was very, very handsome. "Finding everything okay?"
"Actually, no. I'm looking for this book. I didn't see it over there…" He told her the name and author, and she typed it into the database on the computer. After a moment, she looked back at him.
"Sorry, we just sold the last one two days ago. But a new shipment's coming tomorrow morning. I can pull one aside for you if you'd like."
"Oh, okay. Sure."
When he told her his name to put on the book, she felt her heart leap in her chest. She had looked back at him, amazed that she hadn't recognized him right away. He looked exactly the same—well, maybe not exactly. He was taller, and his features were much less boyish. She did some quick math in her head. He was twenty-four or twenty-five now. Trying to be discreet, she glanced at his left hand and was a little amazed (and relieved, if she was to be honest) by the absence of a ring.
"Okay," he had said as she got his information. "I'll be back tomorrow, then."
"Bye. Have a nice day." She smiled at him, her heart pounding loudly in her chest, but, to her disappointment, he merely returned the smile and left.
He had recognized her the next day, though. As she was ringing the book up, he looked at her closely, his brows drawn a little.
"I'm sorry," he began slowly. "I know this sounds stupid—and I'm not meaning it to be a pick-up line at all. But…do I know you at all? You look…familiar."
She glanced up at him, smiling a little shyly. "Actually, you do."
"I knew it!" he said, sounding relieved and victorious. "Okay, tell me. It's going to drive me crazy if I don't know."
Putting his book in a bag, she said in French, "You saved my necklace from a fountain. I can't believe you don't remember."
"Oh my—no way!" He looked completely stunned. "No way! Are you kidding me? Christine? Petit Christine with the crazy hair and the dresses?"
She had laughed and smiled. "Small world, I guess."
He was altogether amazed and demanded that they catch up in a proper way that didn't involve him scrambling for jewelry in the water for her. She laughed and happily, shyly, agreed to meet him for lunch the next week. And he had been so charming and so wonderful that she was again instantly smitten by him.
Still, as she stepped off the bus and made her way to the theater, she wondered what she was doing. Why was she returning to Erik again and again? Why was she bawling in front of him and trying to push Raoul away? She stepped into the musty, chilly theater.
Erik knew she was weak. He had known it from the very moment they first…met. From the very moment he had threatened to kill her. She had wailed and begged pathetically. And she had cried during countless lessons…and when Gustave had been returned to her…and when she found out why her father had been taken…and when her father had been diagnosed…Erik knew she was apt to cry at everything. She didn't like that she cried all the time, but it seemed to be the only way to express her built-up emotions.
Raoul knew that he was the stronger one in the relationship, but there was guilt associated with that as well. She felt bad for running to him to sob. She never wanted to complain around him or annoy him, and he wasn't the person she wanted to talk to about her father's death.
Erik was.
She entered the house and looked at the stage.
"You are back."
Erik materialized, and she suddenly smiled.
"I am," she said. She went and climbed up onto the stage, going over to the piano.
"I did not think you would return so quickly." He sat down on the bench.
"Yeah, me neither, actually," she said honestly.
There was a pause, and then Erik said, "I believe these belong to you, my dear." He pulled out her nylons, and Christine felt her face flare up faster than it ever had before.
"Oh, my gosh," she groaned softly, snatching them from him quickly and shoving them in her pocket. She had never felt more mortified in her entire life. There was a long silence, and Christine tried to get her blush to go away, but it wouldn't.
Finally, it appeared that Erik was getting irritated by the silence, for he said, "You are here because…?"
She looked at him and said hurriedly, "Yeah. I just…I was just thinking. I don't want to stay in my apartment and cry all day. I can't do that, can I? It doesn't make anything better. I know my dad's…dead." She choked a little and then swallowed the lump in her throat. "He's—he's gone, but I still want to make him proud. I came back to work."
"Very well." He handed over some exercises, and his eyes were glowing, but he was not angry or annoyed. He looked…pleased. She took the papers from him and smoothed them flat, taking a deep breath and preparing herself for a lesson.
"Let us work," Erik said.