Another chapter! I'm kind of unhappy that this is short, but I didn't know where else to end it. I made a poll, and I would love it if you voted in it. Thanks in advance. Enjoy! 8D
"Erik...I love you." Christine said, finally admitting it out loud. The words felt odd on her lips.
There was a long moment of silence that unnerved her.
"Erik?" Christine had expected some form of a reaction, not this odd silence. She wished she could see what his face looked like, but it was hidden. Shifting awkwardly, she waited for some form of a response.
Finally, he answered her, "Christine, your kindness is more than I deserve. You do not have to lie like this. I thank you for your consideration, but you really should leave." His voice was composed, but there was a subtle, yet definite tremor to it.
Christine was almost indignant that he would suspect that she would lie to him, but she remembered that he didn't hear everything that had been going on in her head since she left Raoul's house. It must have been startling to Erik to hear her announce that she loved him. Maybe it was just a little too...sudden. Am I rushing into this? Was it
Christine didn't let her fears and doubts slip into her voice when she spoke again. "You know I wouldn't lie to you. Like I said, I do not want to go."
Erik's eyes were closed and he was taking deep breaths. "I do not want your pity. It would be better for both of us if you go like I asked you before," he said in a strained voice. He sounded like he was on the verge of tears.
"I don't lie; I've changed. In fact, you can thank Raoul for that." Christine unconsciously moved her hand onto her hip and mentally prepared herself to stand her ground; it was all she could do at this point.
Erik thought about it for another moment, and he realized that Christine was much too honest to lie to anyone, even if she had good intentions. The only other conclusion he could possibly come to was that Christine loved him. Actually, he had never been so happy to be proven wrong before.
"I believe you," he said, standing up from the piano bench.
The room's atmosphere soured to an unsure awkwardness because neither of its occupants were sure what to do. Christine flushed a light pink before uneasily wrapping her arms around Erik's waist.
He had the same odd stiff reaction as when she kissed him. He responded sooner this time, returning the gesture. The feel of his cold, thin body against her own was a strange sensation for Christine. It was different, but not unpleasantly so.
Tears began to fall from Erik's eyes, pooling on his mask before dripping down onto Christine's hair.
"Erik," Christine said softly, "You don't need to cry." Whenever his tears fell, it provoked a strange protective instinct in her, but Erik's display of fragility made her feel a little bit braver. She slid her hand up his back and rested it on the back of his head. His black, wispy hair brushed her palm, and the string that held hid mask in place served as a small reminder of his face. Christine's hand shifted slightly, nudging the mask-string ever so slightly.
"You!" Erik hissed dangerously, pushing her away. Every waking moment, he was hyper-aware of his mask. He interpreted Christine's movement of his the thread as an attempt to remove his mask.
Needless to say, Erik didn't appreciate that.
The sudden change stunned Christine, who had not anticipated this surprising turn of events. As her stomach fluttered with triumph, his strong arms jolted her. She stumbled back, her arms flying out. There was an instant of sharp pain as her right hand struck the organ. Roughly, she landed on her backside.
"Mad Christine! You say you love Erik then take off his MASK?" Erik bellowed at her, his voice rising with an awesome fury that climaxed on "mask." There was nothing left for Christine to do except whimper at him and nurse her hand, biting back tears. The pain in her hand (Had she broken a bone?) mingled with the terror that gripped the frightened and bewildered girl.
"Did Christine think Erik's face had disappeared?" he thundered. His bony hands shot out and seized Christine's wrist in his tenacious grip, meeting no resistance from the petrified singer. "Christine can feel for herself!"
He dug her hands into the death's head, ripping the twisted skin until it bled. In an insane, twisted way, he enjoyed the pain that he was causing his face, the most hideous part of him, except for possibly his soul. For him, it was poetic justice, his punishment for attempting to seize a piece of light when he knew that he would always be stuck in the dark hole. He was too repugnant to hope of holding something beautiful, no matter how much he tried to deny it, in his eyes. \
Christine ached to tell him to stop, to try to comfort him, to assure him that he wasn't horrible, to love him, but she couldn't when he was like this. Any words from her would just enrage him more, and that was the opposite of what Christine aimed to do. Tears streamed down her face, but she hardly noticed them. Instead, her mind was racing, trying to think of a way to pull both of them out of this situation before it destroyed them both.