TW: Brief reference to self-harm.

Chapter 5

Christine woke early the next morning, immediately feeling nervous about what the day would hold. After dressing in a simple blue dress, she made her way to the living room, where Erik was still fast asleep on the sofa. In sleep, he still appeared troubled, his eyebrows scrunched down and a pained expression on his face. He was curled up under a quilt and breathing easily. Christine smiled to herself and went to prepare breakfast.

After setting a cup of tea, bread, jam, and cheese on a tray, Christine entered her aunt's room. Aunt Alice was sitting up in her bed, her legs stretched out in front of her, reading a book. She looked up and smiled at Christine.

"Thank you, my darling," she said, her voice tired and hoarse.

"How are you feeling, Auntie?" Christine asked, settling into the chair at the bedside.

"Better today than yesterday," Alice said. "I'm feeling a little stronger."

"Oh, that's wonderful!"

"Tell me, child," Alice continued, "did I hear you arguing with Raoul last night?"

Christine looked down to avoid her aunt's curious gaze. Alice may be bedridden, but she wasn't deaf. She must have heard Christine and Erik fighting. "Yes, it was," Christine lied.

"Is everything alright with you two?"

"Of course, Auntie," Christine said.

"Well just be careful now, child. I remember when I was about to marry your uncle, your father sat me down and made sure I was happy. Goodness, I remember him grilling me, telling me that how much money a man had never mattered, it was whether he would love you and grow with you for the rest of your lives. Just because Raoul is wealthy doesn't mean he is perfect for you. And you deserve the best, Christine." Alice's voice was so weak that by the end it came out as barely a whisper.

"I know, Auntie. And thank you." Christine kissed her Aunt's hand. They sat together as Alice ate, Christine filling her in with the latest gossip at the opera house. Ever since Alice became confined to her bed, she lived vicariously through Christine's stories with the ever-entertaining cast of characters at the opera. Christine had left out much of what happened with Erik, though, in order to keep her stories lighthearted.

Once Alice finished, she curled back into her covers for a nap. Christine took the tray back out to the kitchen and found Erik sitting at the table.

"Good morning, Erik," Christine said cheerfully. He was wearing the same clothes she had given him the night before. His fine gray hair was smoothed down over his scalp. He watched her enter but said nothing.

Christine smiled and tapped Erik lightly on the forehead. "Yoo hoo! Anybody home in there?"

"What?" he said indignantly.

"When someone says 'good morning' it is polite to say it back."

"Oh, uh, good morning," he said awkwardly, tripping over his words.

Christine smiled in approval. "Would you like some breakfast?"

Erik nodded hesitantly. Christine realized that Erik probably hadn't been a guest or been served in a very long time. For the past three years he had been totally secluded in the opera house and before that he was tortured by the traveling fair. No wonder he reacted so strangely to Christine's hospitality.

"Do you have rehearsal today?" Erik asked as Christine set the table.

"No, it's Saturday. And there are no performances tonight, so I'm home all day today," she said. She left out that she had sent a message to Raoul saying she had a headache and would be spending the day in bed to keep Raoul away from her apartment. She figured she needed to supervise Erik on his first day here.

Erik opened his mouth then closed it again, looking conflicted and longing.

"What?" Christine asked.

"Will you sing for me today?" he asked tentatively.

"Sure," she said. "I need to practice an aria for our next opera anyways."

"Thank you," he said, his voice heavy with emotion.

After they finished eating, Christine cleared the table and placed the dishes in the sink. As she started to wash them, Erik stood and moved to stand beside her. He placed a hand on her wrist. "Let me," he said roughly. "You've done so much for me already."

Stunned, Christine stepped aside. Erik peered at her sideways. "You can sit," he said sharply. Christine nodded and sat at the table.

She watched Erik's back as he watched the dishes, taking in this bizarre sight. A man doing a woman's work? Unheard of.

Erik placed the clean dishes on the counter and they started to drip. Christine couldn't help herself; she grabbed a towel and stood beside Erik to start drying the dishes. Erik shook his head, but Christine saw the corner of his lips turn upward.

Christine watched Erik's delicate, nimble fingers as they washed a plate. Like the rest of his body, Erik's fingers were long and thin. Her gaze worked its way up his hands and to his wrists. His sleeves were rolled up and on the pale skin of his inner forearms she saw multiple red gashes.

Her breath caught in her throat. Christine knew what those cuts were. She wasn't surprised to see them, but she felt her chest constrict anyways. She knew too well the loneliness and self-loathing that led to that kind of behavior. She remembered the shame and the ecstasy that came from digging something sharp into her own skin and the seeing marks it left behind.

She peeked up at Erik's face, his eyes totally focused on his work. The lines in his face were the shadows of years of physical and emotional agony. While she and Erik had experienced totally different pain in their lives, in this one instance they had reacted the same way. Somehow, it made her feel closer to him. She felt as though she was beginning to see him as a human being, an equal. She could see herself reflected in him in some ways, although the window into who he was remained cloudy. She longed to see through it more clearly.

When they finished the dishes, Christine and Erik moved to the living room. Christine pulled out her music for the next opera and obliged Erik to a small concert. She stood tall by the armchair while Erik sat on the sofa. When she started to sing, he seemed to go into a trance, softly closing his eyes, his features more at ease than she'd ever seen him before. The aria was still new to her, but Christine tried to sing it as perfectly as she could for him. Halfway through, he opened his brown eyes and watched her with a tender expression. She smiled at him, keeping eye contact for a few bars. Finally, the aria came to a close, and Christine held the last note for longer than necessary. When she finally stopping singing, a silence covered the room like a layer of snow. Neither of them seemed to wish to shake the snow globe and disturb the moment.

Finally, Christine spoke. "So? What did you think?"

"Magnificent, as usual," Erik said after a beat. "Although, you need to remember to sing from your stomach not your chest when you hit the high notes." Erik continued with a number of other corrections, easily falling back into his usual role of instructor.

Their singing lesson lasted for about an hour, when Christine said she needed to rest her voice. She settled herself into the armchair, sipping a glass of water. Erik remained on the sofa, watching her closely.

"Erik?" Christine said. "How old are you?"

Erik looked taken aback by her question, but he answered with little hesitation. "I'm thirty-three."

"Oh."

"Were you expecting older or younger?"

"I honestly wasn't sure. Sometimes you seem wise like an old man. Other times you seem emotional and energetic as a young one. So, I could never tell."

"Do I look thirty-three?"

This was a loaded question, so Christine answered carefully. "You have the face of a young man, but your natural hair is gray…"

Erik shook his head. "It's always been that color."

A wave of exhaustion broke over Erik's face. He slouched back on the sofa, looking defeated.

"Are you tired?" Christine asked.

"A bit," he admitted.

"Get some rest. I'll wake you in time for lunch."

To Christine's surprise, Erik nodded and curled up on the sofa. Christine grabbed the quilt from beside the couch and spread it over Erik. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw a tear leak from the corner of his eye.

Christine enjoyed the rest of the morning quietly doing some chores around the apartment. Around noon, she prepared a simple luncheon, which she brought to Aunt Alice. Once Alice had finished eating, Christine set the table for her and Erik, but Erik had not appeared. Popping her head in the living room, Christine saw that he was still asleep.

Kneeling down beside the sofa, Christine gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Immediately, he jumped, his eyes flying open with a look of pure terror.

"It's okay, it's okay," she said desperately, holding up her hands. Erik sat back on the sofa, panting. "Lunch is ready."

Erik nodded but said nothing. Christine left him to gather his composure and waited for him in the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Erik silently entered the kitchen, sat at the table, and started eating without a word. Christine watched him curiously as he focused on his food, slowly picking it apart with his fork and knife, but never lifting his eyes from his plate.

"Erik? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said bitterly, refusing to meet her gaze.

"It seemed that you slept well," Christine ventured.

"Mm."

They finished the meal in silence. Erik got up when he finished and left the kitchen. Christine watched him go in shock. He had seemed fine before he had slept. What thoughts had crossed his mind while he rested that led him to react this way? She wished she could jump in his mind and find out. She also knew, though, that he had every right not to tell her.

Christine spent the rest of the day in her bedroom reading a novel she had started a few weeks ago. As much as she tried to focus on the characters, she kept thinking of Erik in the other room. She knew he needed some privacy and alone time to deal with whatever demons had come into his mind. The afternoon passed without Erik leaving the living room. Christine made supper alone, brought some to Aunt Alice, then set the table again for her and Erik.

Erik was standing by the window, staring down at the street, when she entered the living room.

"Erik, supper is ready," Christine said softly.

He turned sharply, his expression dark and brooding. "I don't want any."

"Erik, you must eat. You're so thin already."

"Why do you care? And why do I have to do it when you tell me to?" he spat.

Christine took a deep breath, leveling her emotions before she spoke. "You know I care. We've already been over this. And I prepared a meal I would like to share with you, so will you share it with me?"

"I can take care of myself. You don't have to patronize me."

"I'm not patronizing you!" Christine said with frustration. "I'm taking care of you!"

"What's the difference? You tell me when to eat and when to sleep and where I can sleep and what I can and cannot do. I will not be your prisoner."

Tears filled Christine's eyes. "Is that what you think this is? You think that I'm your captor? This is what people do for each other! They take them in, feed them, and give them a bed when they are in need. It is what the Girys did for me when my father died. It is what I am trying to do for you."

"People don't do that kind of stuff for people like me. There's always an ulterior motive. 'Build us a palace!' 'Horrify the people who come to the fair!' It is always about exploitation. I'm just trying to figure out what you're getting out of this."

Christine shook her head. She stepped forward and took Erik's hand in both of hers. "Sometimes," she said quietly, "people do things for each other because they care about one another. I'm sorry the world has never shown you those kinds of people. But we exist, I promise you."

Erik looked away from her gaze, his bottom lip quivering. "I want to believe you're good, Christine. That you could care about a man like me. But how could you?"

"Because there is good in you too, Erik." She reached up and caressed his non-deformed cheek. "You came to me when I was so alone and hurting so much and taught me to sing. You saw me when no one else did. I have felt the love you are capable of and heard the beauty you are able to create in your music. I have seen you choose the right path. Let me keep caring for you, as you care for me. This is not about debt or exploitation. This is about caring for and protecting one another."

Erik shook his head. "You don't need me, though."

"Well I can get by without you," she said, a slight smile growing on her face, "but I do like having you around." She winked.

The corners of Erik's lips turned up. "Whatever you say, Madame," he said.

"Mademoiselle, thank you very much," she corrected as she led the way to the kitchen. She mulled over the words she had just spoken to Erik. Everything she had said was true. She did care about him and she did see the good in him. She was even enjoying his company. The power dynamics were so different now with him in her realm. It also seemed that a wall had broken down between them after what transpired in the lair a few weeks ago.

Christine served them and started eating. She asked Erik to tell her a story of Persia, and he obliged. He told her stories of living in the palace of the shah and playing tricks on the aristocracy there. He spoke of evading the police because the shah planned to blind him in order to prevent the sharing of his architectural secrets. Erik wove his stories well. He maintained a sarcastic comedy to his narrative, and Christine found herself laughing in the most un-ladylike way at times. Her laughter made Erik smile triumphantly. Throughout these stories, though, ran undertones of hardship. Erik was always running or hiding, and ultimately always on his own.

They stayed up late into the evening, finishing a bottle of wine together as they talked. He asked her for stories of Sweden, and she spoke of her and her father's adventures as they traveled across Europe for his performances. He listened intently as she spoke, asking questions about how she felt during it all, always trying to focus the story more on her.

The grandfather clock in the living room chimed midnight. Christine sighed, smiling at Erik. "I think it's time for bed," she said.

"I think you may be right," Erik said.

"I'm going to mass tomorrow morning, so I'll leave something for breakfast on the table for you."

Erik nodded. "Thank you, Christine."

"Of course."

He walked with her to the door to her bedroom. "Goodnight, Christine," he said gruffly.

"Goodnight, Erik," she said. She hesitated briefly then pulled Erik into a tight embrace.

He hugged her back easily, sliding his arms around her more comfortably than he ever had. Christine smiled into his chest.

"I'm glad to see you're feeling better today," Raoul said. He and Christine had attended mass with his brother, Philippe, and were now eating lunch at the de Chagny family estate just outside of the city.

"Me too," Christine said. Raoul hooked his pinky finger around hers under the table. Philippe watched them closely from across the table.

"So Christine, how is everything at the opera now that the whole Phantom of the Opera affair has ended?" Philippe asked.

"Philippe," Raoul said warningly.

"It's fine," Christine assured them. "Everything has been very normal. I do miss Piangi, but Carlotta is somewhat more subdued now. We are working on a new opera for which I have a supporting role. She's an amazing character, though, and one of her arias is very challenging, but I think it will be a joy to sing." Christine thought wistfully of her lesson with Erik the day before. It had felt so nice to work with him again. She had progressed more in that hour than she had in a week of rehearsals with Monsieur Reyer.

"And this should hopefully be your last opera, right?" Philippe said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You are going to stop singing before you marry my brother. He cannot have such a tarnish on his reputation as to be married to a working woman. An opera singer, no less."

Anger bubbled in Christine's chest. "Excuse me, Philippe, but I have every intention of continuing to sing. Singing is my passion, my life. I don't know who I am without it. Don't you dare minimize it or try to take it away from me."

"Well," Philippe continued, meeting Christine at her level of anger and intensity in his words, "your 'passion' and your 'life' as you say should no longer be singing if you plan to marry a Vicomte. Your passion and life will be my brother and nothing else."

Christine stood, her chair falling to the floor behind her. "I will not lose myself in my marriage. I will not stop singing." With that, Christine turned and left the room, her dress flying out around her. She stopped in the hallway and leaned against the wall, tears filling her eyes. She shook with anger.

"Well, well, well," she heard Philippe say to Raoul, "that should teach you why opera singers are not meant for men like us."

She heard Raoul's chair scrape along the hardwood floor.

"Good," Philippe said. "Go control your woman."

Raoul shut the dining room door behind him before approaching Christine, who was standing against the wall with her arms crossed.

"Christine," Raoul said softly, "I'm so sorry." He gently caressed her cheek.

"I'm not going to stop singing, Raoul," Christine stated angrily.

Raoul nodded, his expression pained. "I know," he said, "but Philippe is also right."

Christine's eyebrows shot up. "What?!"

"You don't have to stop right away, but what about when we have children? And Christine, as much as I love watching you sing, won't it be fun to sit beside one another and enjoy the opera together?"

Christine couldn't believe the words coming out of Raoul's mouth. "What happened to you falling in love with me when I sang?" she asked indignantly. "You know how much performing means to me. You… you knew my father! How could you suggest I stop when you know what music meant to him as well?"

"Christine, this doesn't mean you can't sing at all. You can sing for me, or at salons or something. It's just improper for a woman to work while married to a man who can support us both easily."

"When has our relationship ever been proper?" Christine cried.

Raoul ignored this. "Besides, our life will be so different when we're married."

"Okay. Do tell me, how will our lives be different when we're married?" she asked sharply.

"I will do business during the day and you will be spending time with the other comtesses and vicomtesses. When we have children, you will raise them. Maybe even teach them to sing," he added hopefully.

"You really don't get it, do you?" Christine said. "I hate the other women of this stupid aristocracy. They are so petty and self-serving. I want to sing. I want to perform. Maybe when we have children I will stop for a while, but I will return to singing."

Raoul closed his eyes and shook his head in frustration. When he opened his eyes, they were full of hurt. "I love you, Christine. I want you to have the world. But there are some things that cannot be done."

"Do you remember when you said to me 'let me be your freedom'?"

Raoul nodded. "On the rooftop, when I told you I loved you."

"Can you truly say taking me away from my music is you being my freedom?"

"I meant freedom from the Phantom! The man who was using your music to imprison you!" Raoul cried, looking at her desperately, as if willing her to understand.

"At least with him I could still sing," she said coolly.

Raoul stepped away from her, looking like she had just slapped him across the face. Christine turned and walked out of the house. She told the doorman she wanted to go back to her apartment, and he called a carriage to take her home.

As the carriage pulled away, she saw Raoul standing in the doorway, watching her go.