Still own nothing :(

Christine

The rehearsals for my Erik's opera have been under way for about three days now.

I am so proud of his accomplishment.

I am to play the lead Aminta as Carlotta has not yet decided to return to the opera since her voice failed that night on the stage. From the various rumours that have been circulating over the past few weeks it is because of the level of humiliation that she feels she has suffered. Of course the humiliation of which she speaks does not stop her from demanding her salary or from attending the Masquerade – but then who am I to judge.

My lessons over the past few days with Erik have been mainly filled with rehearsing my part for the opera and I have found that singing the seductive words that my part calls for is a lot easier when playing opposite Piangi. All I can do when rehearsing with Erik is stumble over my lines and blush so deeply I am surprised I do not set the sheet music on fire.

And that is just when we sing!

I do not know what came over me that first day when we danced beneath the stage and Erik held me so close. Being held so by him seemed as natural as breathing. But now, when we practise the stage directions I seem to develop two left feet my blushing growing to a constant fever as soon as his hands trail down my arm and he presses close to me.

I can feel myself blush just thinking about it.

Yet it is ridiculous.

I have kissed him and been held close to him before and yet it does not seem the same. The lyrics and music that surrounds us now is filled with such raw emotion it seems to speak of what is happening inside my mind. I blush to think that he may know this and I blush even more to think that the same might be happening with him. And when he holds me close i can barely think.

But I know that he will never take 'advantage' of me – though to me honest I am not entirely sure of what that entails. Madame Giry has always been very protective and careful of both Meg and myself. I know that many of the dancers take lovers from among the stage hands and some from among the young men that frequent the opera and I have caught glimpses of secluded couples in the corridors...

But this is not seemly either to speak of or write of so I shall end it there. All I know is that Erik would never do anything dishonourable especially when I spend so much time alone with him. But then again I am thankful that I am not a usual girl of society for if I was I know that I would be watched and chaperoned wherever I go - never having time to myself or the time with Erik that I treasure.

But then...if I was watched it would prevent such things from happening as what happened yesterday evening.

It was after my lesson with Erik.

I was so happy after spending our time together - despite the constant embarrassment that seems to fill me lately – and I was making my way back to the dormitories a spring in my step and humming the music to myself that we had been practising.

I was in a haze – the same one that fills me after every lesson and I have no doubt at all that I was also walking along the corridors with a silly smile on my face, as I usually do.

I had just passed one of the many closets that fill the walls of the dimly lit corridors when I felt an iron grip close about my waist the fingers digging into my skin and I was swung about and slammed painfully into the stone wall.

I struggled and kicked as soon as I felt my feet leave the ground and a small scream managed to escape my lips before a hand was roughly slapped across my mouth cutting off all sound and all cries for help.

I could hardly breath past the hand that was firmly glued to my lips and I thought my heart was going to fly out of my chest it was beating to hard in panic. I tried to kick out with my legs but all my movements were ended when the body of my assailant pressed me against the wall, his body pressed down the front of my own. I cringed as my shoulder blades dug into the stone wall.

I would have gasped if I was able when Raoul's face came into focus, a stream of light coming from one of the lamps a few feet away casting a clear stream of light across his twisted features.

His eyes were blazing with an anger that I have never seen before and his breath was rich with the smell of wine – by the flush that covered his face I had no doubt that he had drank more than enough for one evening.

Anger, surprise and fright filled me.

Anger at being treated so by him.

Surprise at seeing him in such a rage. After all apart from a distant view of him over the past months I had neither spoken to him or been in close proximity to him since his 'proposal'.

Fright at the pure anger that I saw in his gaze and the unrelenting grip that he had on my body. In size and strength I was no match for him.

"So Christine," he spat at me his expression matching that of a snarling animal more than a human as he bared his teeth at me

"You refuse my offer of marriage to flaunt yourself before the whole of Paris in the arms of some other man."

He shook me forcefully, releasing my mouth and moving hand to my shoulders – gripping hard. I tried to capture my breath.

What was he talking about? Flaunting myself?

As I tried to catch my breath and stop my head from hitting the wall behind me my mind raced with his words. Trying to make some kind of sense out of them.

"Raoul wha-" I began only to be roughly cut of my another violent shake.

"I watched you all night Christine, dancing in the arms of some man." he snarled and I no longer recognised him as the boy who I had grown up with, or even the man who had came to see me in my dressing room my opening night, but as a man to fear.

He had watched me dance with Erik. Did he know who he was? Why was he acting this way? He could not be jealous. Could he?

"You dare refuse me just to fall into the arms of some...some..." he stammered and floundered for words though his grip on my shoulders only seemed to tighten and I could feel his fingers biting into my skin. I fought back a cry of pain but felt by eyes water all the same.

So that was why he was so angry. Not jealousy as such but angry because it was not him that I had chosen. It was the sting of rejection that his pride would not let go.

"I followed you you know." he cried, one of his hands moving from my shoulder to my neck. I froze, not daring to move, not knowing what he was going to do.

"I watched you go to the chapel Christine and I waited and I watched. A very appropriate place to wait for your lover. I saw you fall into his arms and play the whore. Perhaps it was you who should have worn the scarlet."

I blinked at his words, shocked at his language and at just how he had read my behaviour. And for the first time I wondered at the state of his mind. The gleam in his eyes spoke of anything but sanity. I wondered how his mind had twisted our actions into what he thought they were. Into what he thought he had seen.

I went to protest but I could not speak as his hand tightened about my throat. I began to fight him once again. Darkness began to fog my vision as his grip on my throat only intensified and I coughed and wheezed in his grip trying to breath. I could only concentrate on wanting out if his grip.

I heard his angry voice as though he was speaking to me from far away as I fought to remain conscious.

"Did I not offer you enough Christine? Or did you both enjoy laughing at my expense?"

I tried to gather the strength to kick out again but I could not.

And then suddenly his body and his grip was gone.

I slumped to the cold floor coughing violently, reaching a hand to my throat trying to reassure myself that his hand was really gone from my flesh. I drew in deep gulps of air trying to fill my empty lungs as tears began to stream unbidden down my cheeks.

What was wrong with him?

My throat burned as I continued to gasp. I heard laughter and voices drift to me from not to far away and realised what had caused him to release me so suddenly.

I dragged myself from the floor – not wanting to be seen in that state. I steadied myself and stumbled to the dormitories. Everything was silent and empty in the large room, all the beds made and empty.

I glanced into the mirror that hangs from the wall and saw that my eyes were red and swollen and looking further down I saw nasty bruises beginning to form along my neck – one on the shape of a perfect hand print.

I hurried to get changed and went to bed avoiding the other girls being at the front of my mind.

This morning I woke up and my throat was raw. Having drawn the curtains around my bed last night I changed quickly in privacy and reaching for a shawl I tucked it tightly about my shoulders and neck. None of my dresses are as high as my chin unfortunately so I went through the day keeping a tight grip on my shawl trying my best to hide the ugly bruises that had formed during the night.

I raced through the corridors and past doorways not trusting the shadows not to jump out at me. Never before have I feared to be in the corridors of the opera, after all it is my home. But today I jumped at the slightest noise and lighting change.

The day went fine - with no singing required of Piangi or myself due to the dance and chorus rehearsals – until I had to go to Erik for my lesson.

My throat was so sore and sensitive I could hardly speak but he did not seen to notice as he escorted me from the half way point to the lake. we walked in silence the whole way and I felt as if something was missing. Usually I would run to him and throw my arms around him despite the embarassment that I know is coming during my lesson but today I could not. Today I had to hold my shawl in place.

I kept a tight hold on my shawl trying to keep it as high as I could without raising his suspicion. My knuckles must have been white I held it so tightly.

When Erik began to play I knew that I would be unable to keep up the pretence for long and when I croaked out the first line he immediately stopped playing and turned to me. Worry and concern clearly filling his face.

"My love, are you not well?" he asked me gently standing from his seat and approaching me.

I did not know what to say.

I did not want to lie to him and yet I did not want to tell him the truth either.

He came up to me and stood before me. I leaned forward and still keeping hold of my shawl I leaned my head against his chest. His arms wrapped about me and I felt safe.

I settled into his embrace and relaxed only to tense again when I heard his sharp intake of breath.

My shawl had gaped at the top to reveal a very impressive bruise.

He took my shoulders firmly and I winced as his finger pressed against the same spots as Raoul's had last night.

He noticed my wince and immediately removed his hands only to reach for my shawl and tug it from my death-like grip and peel it from my shoulders.

His eyes blazed as his gaze fixed on the assortment of bruises that covered my neck and throat.

"Who did this Christine?"

Hi, so now we know why Raoul was giving Erik daggers at the ball.

I was going to write Raoul out and have him vanish (since i really don't like him) but then i kinda remembered that i needed him and figured why not have him go a bit crazy.

I think that this is one of the most serious chapters so far, so sorry if it sticks out a bit.

Let me know what you think.

:-)