A/N: *Trigger warning for suicidal thoughts, read at your own discretion if having suffered from such thoughts or depression. Remember, depression lies.*
Thank you the girl with the red scarf, Phanatic01, AResidentGhost, and Erika H. Daae for following/favouriting this story. A bonus thank you to Erika for reviewing (your profile won't let me PM you to thank you personally, so here it is). I hope you all enjoy this emotional rollercoaster of a chapter!
They spent the rest of the evening with a singing lesson before Erik very nearly fell asleep sitting up at the organ. He argued lightly with her over his need to sleep, but in the end, her gentle shoving towards his bedroom persuaded him to go. Once more he made her promise to stay, and she reminded him that it was not up to her. This made him stop at his door. He turned round to look at her with a confused expression.
'Do you ever tire of that?' He asked at length.
'Of what?'
'Relying on me to provide your tangibility.' He looked at her as an as yet unnamed expression flitted across her face.
'Just go to bed, Erik.' She pressed, not meeting his now hurtfully pitying gaze.
He bowed a nod and bid her good night. He left her alone in the drawing room, her arms crossed as if she were cold. She did not wish to think of such things, let alone have him worry over them for her.
She remembered her promise to herself to make him rely a little less upon her company for his happiness, but as days passed, she was beginning to question her methods and resolve. He took her to performances, offered to give tours of the Opera, though he knew she was as familiar with the place as he was, and even brought her into the great glass dome to watch a thunderstorm one night. She had ooed and ahed at the lightning as it streaked its way across the Paris skyline. She would close her eyes to the resonance of the thunderclaps, occasionally laughing at their powers when they echoed through the mostly empty building. Throughout all of this, she felt Erik's smile grow wider and more comfortable on his usually tightly sarcastic face.
In truth, a part of her did not want any of it to stop. She wanted to keep spending time with him, to allow him to make her smile in return. Twenty years was a long time to spend alone. Perhaps alone was not the best word. Unintentionally ignored. Yes, that was more accurate. Still, she felt it was wrong to make him long for the company of someone who was, to the rest of the world, non-existent. He should be attaching himself to a real person with a beating heart and quick wit, not one who had long been dead and unseen to anyone but him.
She decided to take action one evening when they were about to start their music lesson.
'Are you ready, my dear?' He asked as he stretched his fingers over the ivory keys.
She fought back the glowing warmth in her breast bone at the title he had given her some days previous. 'Erik, I think it best if we talk.' She told him, trying to look stern and not melt at the slight wash of disappointment her words brought to his strangely luminous eyes.
'About what? Is something wrong?' He asked as she toyed with her hands nervously.
'Erik, I know you have been enjoying my being here, and believe me, I have too, but I think it best if you try to…distance yourself.' She told him, hoping the straightforwardness of her approach would help to understand easier. He hated beating round any shrubbery of explanations.
'I thought the whole point of you being here was so that I would not become distant.' He retorted patiently.
'I meant from me.' She explained, pleading with his eyes for him to understand her reasoning.
'Ah, I see.' She looked at him concernedly as he leaned back a bit, putting up a hard wall within his gaze. 'You are tired of living with a monster.'
'What? No! Erik, that is not what I meant and you know it!' She protested, following him as he rose from the bench and started to move towards the kitchen.
'Then what is it, hmm? My company tires you? My monotonous life bores you? Well, I am sorry to be a disappointment to you, but I do not really know what you had in mind when deciding to look after me.' He spat at her, rising to his full rigid height. His eyes were sharp as he stared down at her, but she could see the hurt swimming hidden in their amber depths.
'Stop it! It is not that at all! I like being around you and seeing all of the wondrous things that happen in the Opera.' She explained, trying not to be daunted by his imposing figure.
'Then what is it?' He roared down at her.
'I am not alive!' She screamed.
This silenced him quite quickly.
'I cannot be your friend or companion because I am not alive. I died twenty years ago and am not even real to anyone but you. I may as well be a hallucination, Erik. There is nothing that I can give you beyond meagre protection and trying to find something for you to believe in. I was only ever meant to keep you safe. I appeared because you needed a reminder that life can hold interest for you, but you took me instead. I cannot stay tangible anymore because you are relying on me to make you happy, and I am not supposed to do that.' She looked up at him now. 'You have to find someone or something real to make you happy, Erik, not me.'
'But you are real.' He protested, hurt leeching out from his eyes to the rest of his face, though most of it was concealed by the white mask.
'Only to you. Erik, I do not have a reflection. When I asked you to describe my face on the lake, I did so to keep you distracted, but also because I do not know what I look like. If I have a heart, it does not beat. For all intense purposes, I am nothing but a ghost.' She admitted, letting a tear slip free from her watery eyes.
'You are not a ghost, you are an angel.' He insisted, reaching to brush his knuckles in her silken hair. She recoiled from his touch, making him freeze. She had never reject his contact before.
'Only to you.' She let the words sink in, knowing that despite how he fought, he believed them. That was all she needed to be able to disappear. His broken look at the space where she once had been proved that it had worked. She had made him find reason somewhere in his mind, and now he would not be able to see her.
She watched him turn away from the tears that threatened to overcome his eyes. He swallowed his sorrows hard and went off to the kitchen. She remained in the drawing room, letting her invisible weeping free. She told herself over and over again that it was for the best, but her selfish attachment told her otherwise.
For the next few days Erik…managed. That was what he referred to it as. Nadir was still busy looking for any information that could potentially be dredged up on Christine, and Christine herself as absent from visible company. Every now and again Erik would look hopefully to the sofa he knew she so enjoyed perching herself upon, hoping he would see her there, but then their argument would come ringing into his ears once more.
What aggravated him most about the whole ordeal was that he knew in some way she was right. If he truly were to try and make his life interesting again, he would need to fill it with something that was real. His inspiration needed to come from a more tangible source, not some being who appeared at odd times and could not be seen by the rest of humanity. Not that he went out seeking mankind's approval of his choice in friends.
He sighed heavily one day, again finding her absence weighing upon his thoughts. He decided to go up and see how the latest production was going. The new diva they had chosen was not what he would consider worthy of the job, but was the best they were going to get based upon the auditions.
Slinking about in the rafters and the catwalks above the stage, he made himself comfortable as the little ballerinas flounced and floated about the stage in their white tulle skirts and ivory point shoes. Erik spied a petite blonde dancer, Meg Giry, and smiled to see how well she was holding herself. He had promised little Meg's mother, Madame Giry, that he would look after her. In truth he looked after all of the girls like they were tiny ducklings, but having Madame Giry do small favours for him throughout the theatre ensured he bestowed extra attention upon the budding young ballerina. She was called to centre stage and performed her routine without hesitation while the other ballet rats watched on in a mix of respect and jealousy. Such was the life of a dancer.
Once she finished, her mother took her aside to point out every flaw that needed to be fixed. She took the words with a straight and attentive face, clearly noting a few she had been well aware of. She was shaping up to be a wonderful artist, able to take criticism, but play off mistakes as if they were intentional.
This thought threatened to drive Erik back to when he had danced with Christine. Somehow he had managed to put aside all of the intrusive wonderings of each and every step of that occasion, and he certainly was not about to think on it now. He decided to put the occurrence behind him and not delve any deeper than to admit that it happened.
Turning his attentions back to the stage, his brow furrowed when he saw the new soprano take the stage, the chorus having assembled behind in a chittering mass. One swift tap of Madame Giry's imperious walking stick and the chatter ceased, leaving only Monsieur Reyer's instructions calling out from the on-stage piano.
The soprano began to sing, warbling through notes she should have been smooth on, making M. Reyer stop repeatedly to remind her. Erik sneered at her, knowing that there was no better option.
If only Christine could sing it, he found himself wistfully wondering. He shook his head of the thought, remembering all too well her proclamation that she was not alive or real to anyone but him. He listened with now aching ear, longing to hear his angel's silvery light tones caress the air and her effortless grace to flood the stage rather than this foolish woman who did not know a sharp from a flat.
Growing impatiently frustrated by her voice, Erik stood and exited the walk, but not before releasing a sandbag to fall fairly close yet harmlessly to the singer below. He grinned wickedly as he swept himself into the shadows.
Yes, he thought. I shall have some fun today.
Going over to the scenery, he started tying and untying certain pieces. Now, when they went to pull down a floral cut out, a castle wall would annoyingly be standing in its place. He found himself laughing at the images of the confused stage hands scrambling about to fix the problem, all the while wondering who had pulled such a useless stunt. It would harm no one, and they would quickly discover it when they went to doing more completed rehearsals.
He stepped back to admire his handiwork, but something in it felt hollow. His smile fell as he realised it was just a part of the same old routine. Just toy with them, watch them scramble about like ants near an approaching boot, and then it would all be back to normal with their continuance of cursing his name. Well, his persona's name to be precise. Opera Ghost, or Phantom of the Opera. He liked having the opportunity to be someone else, to be whatever he wanted to be while still having the real him to return to when the fun was over. But the fun had been over for some time now, he realised. The illusion had fallen flat and dead upon the audience and his tricks were running thin. Yet being himself all of the time had long lost its lustre.
Slumping his shoulders, he decided to climb his way up to the chandelier, always enjoying the view of his Opera from high above. He ascended upon somehow weary legs. He started to wonder if he were truly getting old; if this was what it felt like to hit the end of his youthful prime and energy. He no longer found his old haunts enjoyable, or haunting at all for that matter. His music did not come as easily as it once had, remembering when he would stay at his organ, composing for days on end until his fingers would not move. But even then he would soak them only to return or go off to design some grand home. Now he could find only enough energy to do one or the other in a day. His home seemed empty and his life just as barren.
He looked at his arms quizzically as they felt a longing to hold someone close. To be held and feel their warmth pool within him.
Damn that girl! He screamed internally, knowing that before her, he had never longed for such things so acutely. If she had not held me, it would all just be empty dreaming, but now I know how it feels and I want it back. Damn her! She has made a human out of the ghost!
He paced round the circular fastening for the chandelier, cursing and hating her for making him feel this way. What exactly this way was, he was uncertain, but he knew he hated it. He felt lonely and tired and old and all of the human qualities he had long despised in others. Beyond this, it made all of Nadir's damnable lectures come true. All of the Persian's scolding about needing someone to keep the masked man company, to occupy his time, to give him someone to take care of and long to please. All of it was true because of that girl who was not truly a girl. That was what made him hate her even more. She was not truly real enough to hate. She was just an angel.
He stopped pacing at that thought, letting out a dry laugh that echoed menacingly throughout the theatre.
Just an angel, God! I must be going mad! He laughed harder mentally. Of course, it is about damned time for that! I have been losing my sanity for years. Perhaps now it will finally do me the favour of getting the Hell out.
Shaking his head, he looked down at the now frightened faces of those brave enough to remain on stage after the falling sandbag from earlier. He laughed again, but this one fell bitterly upon his lips. He scowled at nothing in particular, a thought of similar bitterness coming to his mind.
'What would you do if I ended it all?' He asked of the empty space, keeping his voice just low enough so no one else in the theatre could hear. 'How would you stop me? What if I jumped from here? Would you rush to catch me, or simply watch me plummet to the seats and the frightened stares below?' He accusingly asked, looking about somewhat wildly for the deep blue eyes he assumed would be shimmering with tears or unrivalled fury. That seemed to be all he could get out of her without pretending to be happy or falling under her spell.
He peered down at the floor a dizzying length below and scowled.
'No, I would not wish to go that way. I have been in the fascinated eyes of man for too long. God knows what they would do with my body upon finding it, were there anything of worth left to it.' He shook his head.
A fluttering of his cape and a few flashes of his porcelain mask later and Erik was standing in his boat, paddling across the underground lake, hating it all. He had once loved the darkness for it concealed him, but now it only served to trap him. He never truly had liked the sunlight, but to have it forcefully taken from him made him spitefully jealous of those who could walk in it without care. He hated the coldness of his home, requiring him to have the fireplace going almost constantly. He felt confined in the rock and stone that he had hollowed out for himself. His tomb encased and concealed him from the prying eyes of the outside world and separated him in his of shadowy solitude.
Tying off the boat, he leapt agilely to the shore, wondering if one day he would not be able to do so and his knees would give out beneath him. If he would be trapped to this hell for the end of his days. No, he decided, he would not wait for that horrid day to reel its ugly head. But then, he continued his dark musings, why should he wait for another day at all? Feeling a surge of excitement, he decided to test his limits. He had always enjoyed the thrill of doing wrong, why not try it now with an angel supposedly there to stop him.
Walking over to the edge of the lake, he stripped of his jacket, undid his tie and took off his shoes. The mask he would keep in place. Yes, he would keep his hideousness hidden until the end.
Part of him was simply curious as he set his shoulders and walked into the icy waters. He wondered if he would actually be able to let all of life's vicious claws release him and allow his mind to swim far away into the dark depths of the Hell he was assuredly destined to go to. He let the cold, black liquid of his lake take all of the heat from his body. He had always been colder anyways, and he certainly had no use for it now.
Just a few more steps and you will not have to pretend or even be yourself anymore. You will be free in just a few more steps.
What a fool he had been to ignore that silky sweet voice in his head for so long. How many times had he turned it away claiming lies? How many days had he listened to it but never acted upon its instructions?
He remembered when he had heard it last, when he had been hurt so badly movement was simply not worth the effort. It had told him to stay still and let the cold take over. Why had he not listened? Why had he sat up? Why had he let Christine save him?
He felt a shiver threaten to run through him, but he turned it away callously. It would serve no purpose to allow his body to complain of the cold when he wanted it to just all go numb. How glorious it must be to not feel a thing.
He took another step, but found it halted before it could touch the steeply declining bed of the lake. He looked down confusedly at his body as it refused to make further progress. He blinked as if he had sleep in his eyes as a song, broken by sobs, echoed through the cavern. Slowly, she came into focus. Her head was down facing the water, which came up to her breasts, and bent over slightly as she pushed against his chest. Her hair trailed into the dark depths of the lake and her back shook as she sobbed.
Erik found his hands coming up to hers, feeling how hard she was pushing to keep him from going any farther. He coiled his long fingers about hers and allowing her pressure to give some as her song faded into simple tears.
'Please,' she begged. 'Please stop this.' She was barely able to manage it out through the weight of her sorrows.
After a moment of looking at her with softened yet still emotionless eyes, he felt her arms give, bringing her head to his chest as she wept into him. He found suddenly that he had no breath, but could not think on how to regain it. It was not until her voice came ringing through his ears again that he realised what he had been doing.
'Please do not die. Do not leave me.' She pleaded, staining the still dry part of his shirt with her tears.
It was then that his arms hesitantly curved round her, touching lightly at her back and her head as he returned the partial embrace. She buried her head somehow further into him as he leaned over to release tears he was only vaguely aware he had been withholding.
'Erik, please.' She begged once more and he only held her tighter.
He felt his vision starting to blur as he lifted her up into his arms and started to carry her to the house. He stopped at the front door, watching oddly coloured spots dance before his eyes as he gently set her down. Leaning heavily against the door, he heard her concerned words wash through him like liquid only before he fell forwards, the world going black.
