Christine gasped. "Angel? Is that you?"
V looked at the ground. "Christine, I'm not your angel of music, I am Erik."
Christine took a moment to really look at Erik's face. She saw two halves of it-- the first half smooth, flawless peachy-gray skin; the other side a slightly deeper charcoal gray, except for the scars here and there, and a grey-and-brown gap where his nose should have been, as well as a few bald patches in his flat, blonde-brown hair. She raised one hand in the air, and moved it from side to side. When her hand was on one side, she saw a sexy, taunted genius. On the other side, she saw a monster.
Christine almost cried when she finally realized something; for all his life, all anyone noticed was the monster, and not the genius. The murderer, not the musician. The madman, not the troubled magician. All he asked of her was to be loved, and she didn't even give him that. She left him cold, alone, miserable-- more cold, more alone, and more miserable than he had ever been. No one else would ever even appreciate him, let alone love him. And she went off with the man who wouldn't have even noticed her if that curtain hadn't fallen on Carlotta.
Christine was practically in tears. "Erik, I'm sorry... I... I didn't know your... agony... I... I was too young to understand..."
Erik leaned forward, and put his hand on her left shoulder. "All I wanted was to make you happy. Did I make you happy by letting Raoul go free with you?"
Christine leant on Erik's shoulder. "At first, but now I feel so... so guilty! I abandoned you and left you to die, after all you did for me! All you asked in return was to be loved, and I was too selfish to even do that!" Christine was now sobbing, burying her head into his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, and rocked her back and forth, back and forth, as she cried. This went on for about five minutes, until Christine leaned her head up off of his shoulder.
"All you wanted was to be loved, loved by me in particular," she said, tears still streaking down her face, "and now, I'll give you what you've wanted from me."
Christine and Erik stared into each other's eyes, and they both knew what the other was thinking. They leant their heads together, and lightly touched their lips together. They both pulled away a bit, then sprung back together like two magnets. Erik thrust her lips apart, and she didn't resist. He grabbed the back of her head with one hand, her hips with the other. They both tumbled to the hard tile floor, still kissing the whole time. Erik licked the corner of Christine's upper lip, then into her mouth, feeling her cheeks, then gently ran his tongue against the backs of her front teeth. Christine nearly melted in his arms. She grabbed his head with one hand and his neck with the other, and pressed herself against him. She even gathered the courage to move her tongue a little, too, and then, their tongues touched. It was almost like they were kissing as well. Then, Christine pulled herself away.
"What is it," Erik asked, "Anything wrong?"
"Christine stared into the face that she had kissed, and boldly, but ever so softly, said, "Erik Destler, make love to me."
V looked at the ground. "Christine, I'm not your angel of music, I am Erik."
Christine took a moment to really look at Erik's face. She saw two halves of it-- the first half smooth, flawless peachy-gray skin; the other side a slightly deeper charcoal gray, except for the scars here and there, and a grey-and-brown gap where his nose should have been, as well as a few bald patches in his flat, blonde-brown hair. She raised one hand in the air, and moved it from side to side. When her hand was on one side, she saw a sexy, taunted genius. On the other side, she saw a monster.
Christine almost cried when she finally realized something; for all his life, all anyone noticed was the monster, and not the genius. The murderer, not the musician. The madman, not the troubled magician. All he asked of her was to be loved, and she didn't even give him that. She left him cold, alone, miserable-- more cold, more alone, and more miserable than he had ever been. No one else would ever even appreciate him, let alone love him. And she went off with the man who wouldn't have even noticed her if that curtain hadn't fallen on Carlotta.
Christine was practically in tears. "Erik, I'm sorry... I... I didn't know your... agony... I... I was too young to understand..."
Erik leaned forward, and put his hand on her left shoulder. "All I wanted was to make you happy. Did I make you happy by letting Raoul go free with you?"
Christine leant on Erik's shoulder. "At first, but now I feel so... so guilty! I abandoned you and left you to die, after all you did for me! All you asked in return was to be loved, and I was too selfish to even do that!" Christine was now sobbing, burying her head into his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, and rocked her back and forth, back and forth, as she cried. This went on for about five minutes, until Christine leaned her head up off of his shoulder.
"All you wanted was to be loved, loved by me in particular," she said, tears still streaking down her face, "and now, I'll give you what you've wanted from me."
Christine and Erik stared into each other's eyes, and they both knew what the other was thinking. They leant their heads together, and lightly touched their lips together. They both pulled away a bit, then sprung back together like two magnets. Erik thrust her lips apart, and she didn't resist. He grabbed the back of her head with one hand, her hips with the other. They both tumbled to the hard tile floor, still kissing the whole time. Erik licked the corner of Christine's upper lip, then into her mouth, feeling her cheeks, then gently ran his tongue against the backs of her front teeth. Christine nearly melted in his arms. She grabbed his head with one hand and his neck with the other, and pressed herself against him. She even gathered the courage to move her tongue a little, too, and then, their tongues touched. It was almost like they were kissing as well. Then, Christine pulled herself away.
"What is it," Erik asked, "Anything wrong?"
"Christine stared into the face that she had kissed, and boldly, but ever so softly, said, "Erik Destler, make love to me."