AN: Hi to my readers! If you've gotten this far, that means you've made it through to the end of Gift Five! The original concept of this story was one of the usual "five times x didn't happen and one time x did happen" stories, so with that logic Christine still has one more gift to go. However the story has taken a huge change from that original format... thus there will be several more arcs before the end. I hope I do not disappoint!

Also... if you are impatient for the next chapter, feel free to check the story out on AO3. There are more chapters over there for your reading pleasure and reader interaction is much easier!

Gift Five
"The Vow"
(Part VIII)

Christine set her pen to the side and stared down at her journal with a grim expression set upon her face. Erik was bound to read this entry, like he had all the others, and it would hurt him terribly to read the way that she written about him… but wasn't that what he deserved? Isn't that what he wanted, by constantly invading her privacy? If he thought so much that she hated him, what was he expecting to find by reading her journal?

How cruel Erik could be to himself! And how cruel he was to her, by association! They were truly in this together now. His pain was not just his to bear alone; anything he did to hurt himself now served to hurt her as well. And so the pain had to be addressed – if not for his sake, then for hers.

Slowly, Christine rose from her desk and stepped lightly to the door. Breath held in silent anticipation, she pulled it open in one swift movement - just to find Erik's masked face hovering before her, fist raised as if to knock.

"Christine!" he squeaked. He brought his fist to his mouth and coughed into it. "It is time for your lesson."

Her brows flew up in surprise. "Lesson...?"

"The Opera must go on," Erik said, resuming his usual dark cadence. "They expect you at tonight's performance. You must attend to your singing – I fear you've become rather distracted in the past few days, and your lessons have been neglected. Come."

He led her to the parlor, where he guided her to stand at the side of the piano while he took his seat on the bench. He handed her a crisp score, which she promptly rifled though with some confusion.

"Erik, what is this?" Christine said, furrowing her brows. "I've never seen this before."

"It's an unpublished opera called Tosca," Erik explained. "I happened to have a review copy fall into my hands recently, through entirely legitimate means. Here, sing this aria – Vissi d'arte."

He launched into the introduction before she could even ask a thing, and soon she found herself pulled in by his keys, chained to the wilting, wrenching stanzas of the piece. She knew she was butchering it; she hadn't had time to review the libretto or mark her breaths. Her pronunciation must have been all wrong, even though she'd sung Italian operas before, and she couldn't read ahead fast enough to anticipate the next phrases in the line. She knew Erik would be thoroughly unhappy with her performance. But he was the one who arranged this! He was the one who wished her to sing such an unfamiliar piece with no preparation at all. He was the one who was making them suffer.

She met the refrain with tears in her eyes.

Nell'ora del dolore
Perché, perché, Signore,
Perché me ne rimuneri così?

And then he stopped.

"It's quite tedious," Erik said, letting go of the sustain pedal as he tapped his chin with a long, skeletal finger. "Very Wagnerian. Ah, well. I suppose there's a reason it's unreleased."

"Erik?" Christine cautioned, taking the opportunity to get a word in edgewise. "May we speak?"

"Speak of what, dear?" Erik said.

"All that has transpired?"

"Ah," Erik nodded understandingly. "No." He struck an insistent chord on the piano. "Now, from the beginning -"

"Must we act as though nothing has occurred between us?" she demanded.

"Nothing has, my dear," he said, fixing the score upon the stand and starting a new phrase. "Actually. Let's pick up from measure 52. Sing at your mark -"

"Nothing?" Christine asked. "Erik, we are married."

His playing stumbled just briefly, but did not stop. "No, we are not."

"We are."

"Tsk, tsk," Erik sighed. "I have no wife."

"There is a certificate in my room that says otherwise."

"It's nothing but a piece of paper. Papers are such flimsy, disposable things. They get ruined so easily." He circled his phrase lightly with nimble fingers upon the keys, creating an unwritten dirge of perpetuity. "Hmm. Why don't you bring it out here, my dear?"

Christine was not stupid. She folded her arms across her chest and stared pointedly at the fire in the hearth. "So you can do what with it, exactly?"

"Nothing," he said innocently. "I just want to see it."

"I'm not giving it to you."

He creased his brow. "It's a piece of paper, Christine. Just give it to me."

"No."

His shoulders tensed, and he brought his hands down in a loud, discordant smash.

And then he started up playing again, the lilting melody from before. "Come in at your mark. Start at -"

"Erik!" Christine stomped her foot. And, oh, she felt so childish! But it was the only way to make him pay attention to her. "Stop playing!"

"We have limited time," he said, but this time there was an edge to his voice. He restarted the phrase. "Now, Christine, before I lose my patience."

"I refuse to sing until we speak."

"There is nothing to speak about," he insisted.

"Is this how you live your life?" Christine countered. "Erik, you came to my door asking to speak. Surely you must know we have things to talk about…"

Beneath his mask, she could see his jaw clench unhappily. "That was… not quite the purpose of my visit."

Christine flushed. The intention and raw need emanating from his voice back then came rushing back. "I know. But the matter is -"

"If you know, then why do you insist on discussing such disgusting matters?" he spat. "Do you wish to embarrass Erik further?"

"Embarrass you? In what way?"

"That certificate of yours is meaningless," he groused, "since we have not yet completed this farce of a marriage."

He was trying to euphemize. Christine opted to be a little more straightforward. "Well, did you think I would just welcome you into my bed after all that you did?"

"Of course not."

"Then why did you marry me in this way?"

"I didn't marry you. Have you not been listening to me this entire time?"

"But we are married! The certificate -"

"Means nothing."

Christine gaped at him. "Erik, why did you bring me to city hall if you insist on it meaning nothing?"

"I wanted to marry you."

"And you did!"

"I did not," Erik sighed. His fingers halted upon the keys briefly. "I have a marriage certificate but no marriage. Do you understand?"

Coercion…

He went on: "Veni, vidi… non vici. I am a husband but I have no wife."

Christine sighed. "I am your wife."

"If you say so," Erik shrugged. He took up his playing again, just the same as before. "Would you have let me into your bed last night, if you had been conscious enough to think about it?"

"That -" Christine paused. It was one thing to love him. But it was another thing entirely to feel any sort of passion for him last night… or even in this moment. "You have hurt me very deeply. I need time…"

"My clocks can be rewound as many times as you wish," Erik said softly. "How many rotations should I make?"

She had no answer to give.

He turned the page and kept playing through her silence. And then another page, and another. Finally he reached the end of the song – just to flip to the beginning and start again. "Remember your cue, Christine."

Her voice came at his command, hardly better than before.

Nell'ora del dolore
Perché, perché, Signore -

She broke off as she collapsed against the piano in tears.

"Collect yourself, dear," Erik said coolly, still playing. "Your tears shall ruin your voice."

"My voice?" Christine bit out through her sobs. "My voice? Is that all I am to you?"

"That's all I was to you for a very long time," Erik replied tersely. "Now, begin the stanza again -"

"I shall not!" Christine said, picking her blotchy face up from the cradle of her arms. "I have no desire to sing right now, dear husband of mine!"

"Damn you…" he seethed, glaring up at her. Despite his ire, he still pressed on in his playing. His fingers curled sharply upon the keys, picking at them like they were irritating, excruciating scabs. "Christine. I am not wicked. I have told you that many times before. And yet you never listen. Why are you intent on insulting me like this?!"

"You insult yourself!" Christine countered. "You think so lowly of yourself that you thought the only way I would ever marry you was to drug me and force me!"

"Was I wrong, Christine?" Erik sneered, now completely mutilating the legato of his melody. "I gave you a chance. I brought you to your chapel. I stood there stupidly as you ran off with that boy. What else was I supposed to do? Was I supposed to just stand there with the priest and wait for you to return? I'm afraid I'm a little out of touch with society these days, so, by all means, forgive me if I'm out of line – but is that how weddings typically proceed, dear? With the bride running out to skip town with her paramour?"

Christine swallowed. "I – I -"

"Right! Right, Christine, I forgot!" Erik threw his hands up. "It wasn't a real ring, so it wasn't a real proposal! Erik is the fool for thinking it was, isn't he?"

The false diamond glittered in the candlelight as his hands moved back down to slam on the piano.

"I heard you giggling with him," Erik muttered, resuming his sinister playing. "In the back of that carriage. You were laughing."

"We were not -"

"Don't lie to me. What else were you two doing back there? How about on the train? It took you two a very long time to leave that cabin. Should I be preparing a cocktail of turpentine and pennyroyal? Or perhaps you'd prefer a more direct approach. There's plenty of stairs in this building for you to find yourself at the bottom of. Otherwise! I've had to throw out a perfectly good tailcoat after last night's debacle – now I have a free hanger to use, if you would so like!"

"Erik, please, stop -"

"Stop? Whatever for? I am just trying to be a good husband and rid our marriage bed of filth before we lie in it." He leered at her as she cringed. "Oh! Does the thought of lying with old withering Erik disgust you, dear? He can be terribly crass, can't he? Here, let him make it up to you. You have given Erik many gifts, Christine, but perhaps he shall give you one now, as well: a promise."

"A promise…?" she echoed faintly.

"He will let you draw the first blood," Erik said, turning back to the music, "before he fights back."

Christine started. "Erik -!"

"You must want to hurt me. Don't pretend that you don't. You've thought about it every day since I've brought you down here, slicing a clean line through my throat, haven't you? Maybe putting a stake through my heart while I was sleeping? How about slashing my wrists so I can bleed out upon these keys? That must be it, my dear! Why else would you still be carrying around those useless little shears of yours?"

She did, in fact, have her sewing scissors tucked in the folds of her skirts. But she didn't think he knew she still had them…

Christine felt her fingers reach for the scissors despite herself. "I do not wish to hurt you…"

"Slash away, Christine. Hurt me. I insist. But, please - do make sure your first hit is good, because you'll only ever get the one. Erik has never lost a fight, and he is not, unfortunately for you, a suicidal man."

She produced the scissors in her clumsy hand and wielded them before her.

"Tell me, Erik," Christine fixed her gaze upon him, breathing quickly and deeply. He was still playing, not even sparing her a passing glance now. "If I were to actually try to hurt you, would you kill me?"

"I would not," Erik said. "But maybe it'd be easier for us both if I did. Then we could prove I really am that dastardly villain you think I am. But I am not wicked, Christine, remember that. I have never committed an act of wickedness against you ever."

"Never?" Christine laughed in shock. The scissors shook in her hand so she brought her other hand up to steady it. "Are you that much in denial about your own actions? Erik, you have only ever hurt me!"

"Never by intention!" he gritted out. Another page flip.

"All those people you killed… Erik, do you really not see the harm you have done?"

"Do you not see your own? I burn for you, Christine – does my own pain not matter just because I have hurt some people in the past?" Erik's fingers tensed upon the keys. "I confessed all to that priest, and I was forgiven. Yes, even your God forgave me! I am a sinner no more – I have no more blood upon my hands! And yet I am still punished by you!"

"No more blood?" Christine repeated dubiously. "What of Raoul? Even if you confessed to all your other crimes, you still have his life to answer for!"

"I will pay no reparations for the harm that has befallen that idiotic boy at my hand, when it was his own stupidity that landed him where it did," Erik sneered. "Though, I daresay: I deserve a far cry more than this disparaging thanks you are bestowing upon me, considering all the undeserved help I gave him!"

"Help? Help? Is that what you call it?" Christine stared at Erik in pure, horrified awe. "I shall not thank you for murdering the man I love!"

Abruptly, Erik pulled his hands from the keys. He spun in his seat, a curse upon his tongue, ready to strike with venom. Fire blazed in his eyes, furious anger burning him at her callous words. The man I love, indeed!

But all at once something came over him, in the breadth of an instant, that stayed his anger and softened his resolve. Carefully, too carefully, he tilted his head to the side and searched her eyes in disbelief… and then, with a great sense of unease, he told her: "Raoul is not dead…"

It didn't register for a long moment, so for that time Christine just stared back at Erik as all the thoughts in her head flew away. All the fight in her left, her anger forgotten, and at last her mind curled upon his words and consumed their meaning.

Raoul is not…

But Erik was a master manipulator, wasn't he? How could she dare to believe a thing he said? Especially when she had seen the carriage run away in the way that it did. She had heard Raoul's screams… she had heard them end… and thus her anger returned to her in full flame -

"How dare you, Erik - how dare you lie to me right now? How dare you make me doubt the things I have seen with my own eyes? Next, will you tell me it was all in my head? That I dreamed this all up? Will I awaken tomorrow with you in my bed as if we were always married? Will you reprimand me when I say no, and tell me I've never said no before? And then, when it's done, will you pretend it never happened? Is that what happened last night when you drugged me to sleep? How many times have you tried to convince me of your lies, Erik? And how many times have you actually succeeded? I shall never know for sure, I suppose, but know this: I am not as easy to fool as I once was. I remember your words, Erik. You said he was resting in peace. You said -"

For a third time, Erik slammed his hands down on the piano.

"Enough of your ridiculous accusations! It sickens me. Listen to me, Christine," Erik warned, "and do not attempt to antagonize me again."

Christine's mouth clamped shut.

"It is true, all that you say I have said on the matter of the boy. But now, I'm afraid, the misunderstanding here has been yours. Raoul is indeed resting in peace," Erik said. And then he let out a short, barking laugh. "Resting peacefully, but not dead!"

Christine felt herself go still, not daring to believe. "What?"

The edges of Erik's twisted lips turned upwards. "I told you already, Christine. I found the boy in the woods, brought him with us in the carriage, and left him on his front steps. I rung the bell so hopefully his servants have brought him in by now. The rain would not be good for him in his condition."

"So he's not…?"

"No! No… goodness, no!" And now Erik was howling with laughter. He raised a slender finger to wipe a tear from the deep socket of his eye. "The boy is hurt badly but it's nothing a few days' rest won't fix. He's a strong boy, Christine; he'll be okay."

Christine felt herself walk backwards until she sat upon the chaise, feeling faint. "But he – the carriage -"

"Is destroyed! As he should have been, too." Erik sighed, suddenly wistful. "I will admit I was wrong to have hurt him in such a way. I did intend to kill him; it was only by luck that the horses disobeyed me. Still, though I was not the one who startled them… it would have been my hands that were stained should he have died. And so I request your forgiveness, Christine. Does it make you less sad when I apologize for these things?"

She hesitated – and then nodded slowly.

"Then I am truly sorry."

He reached out his hand to her, tracing a tear on her cheek before cupping her soft, red face in his palm.

"Do you forgive me, Christine?"

That only made her cry harder.

He pulled his hand back regretfully. "You still despise Erik's touch, after all these months…"

"No, it's not that…" Her shoulders wracked with sobs. "Everything is just – I can't - "

"It's okay to hate me for this, Christine. Erik understands. I understand," he corrected.

"It's not…" she took a breath. "I do not hate you, Erik. Nothing you could do could ever make me hate you. I have never done anything to you out of hate. Like – like you said, Erik, you are not wicked. I am not wicked, either. Can you allow yourself to believe me?"

Erik allowed a small, sad, knowing smile, but said nothing.

"I did not intend to run… I did not intend to hurt you. I only wished to show you my love, but I – I ruined everything. I have failed you."

"You have done no such thing, Christine," Erik said. He tapped her chin. "You have wounded Erik greatly, but it is nothing you haven't done before."

"But now you know…"

"I have always known, Christine. Given the choice, you will always leave. It's as simple as that. This is the reason I refuse to marry you – truly marry you - and why I wish not to hear you say your sweet little I love you's, as beautiful as they may be. It simply isn't true, and it never will be. It hurts, Christine, and it hurts deeply."

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Erik said. "It is I who has hurt you first, and who continues to hurt you by keeping you locked down here with me. I am glad for one thing, and it's that you seem to be able to delude yourself into a state of contentment with the way things are. But let us not dwell anymore on the things we cannot change and the choices we cannot make. At the beginning of the aria, then…"