Disclaimer: I'm a college student. Of course I don't own POTO! I don't own Wide Sargasso Sea, either. Bonus points to anyone who can pick out the WSS quote I used in this chapter!
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~Erik's POV~ Time lost its meaning when she walked out of my life. Days passed as years, or so it seemed to me in the house by the lake, my prison; each breath seemed to me the labor of a small eternity. I could not escape from her in her painful absence; in my mind, I could easily see her and her Vicomte in the flush of youthful Elysium, happily leaving their private nightmare to begin a new and better life. Though it was killing me slowly, I hoped that they would find it. I only wanted her to be happy, and I knew that she could not find bliss within these bleak walls that I so cynically called home. They were the ideal of love, Raoul and Christine - they innocently found what I have coveted for so many cold and lonely years: childhood sweethearts united - the blushing bride, the dashing aristocrat - the perfect life. Deep inside, it brought me a profound and unacknowledged relief that I had freed her; that she would live forever in the joy of a beautiful love that I could no longer taint.
I knew, however, that her freedom would come at the cost of my embittered life. I sat for hours, staring into the tomb that had served as my bedroom for so long - Christine had shown me life, love and beauty; she had shown me what it is to me more than a shadow waiting for death. Of course, that love still burned; the memory of her fair hair, her pale skin, her soft angelic voice. . .
The irony was crushing me - I had spent my life seeking love only to find it unrequited and die alone, longing for something that was never more than a madman's improbable fantasy.
I turned away from reality. Stalking away from my chamber, I entered the sitting room and found solace in an old friend: morphine. A sweet haze fell over my senses as I tumbled into a never-ending night of blessed illusions, and for a few hours, I escaped from the shadow of a love that never truly was. . .
~Christine's POV~
He smiled at me nervously from across the elegantly set table, holding a flute of champagne in his trembling hand. The sparkle in his eye was nearly blinding.I'd never seen anyone so charming, so exuberant, so free. I could hardly imagine how the other patrons of the small restaurant could help but stare at the spectacle before them.I guess they were caught up in their own love affairs.
As for me? I smiled genuinely - Raoul had finally become the wonderful man I had always believed him destined to be. Of course, he seemed a slave to his affections, a small fault it seemed, but hardly one that detracted from his undeniable charisma.
One cannot help but think that he'll make some lucky woman incredibly happy someday. . .
Raoul had insisted on this date with an adorable and fierce devotion that made me almost forget the events that had so recently changed everything. I had felt myself quite nearly falling in love with him as I once had, but something restrained me, some new wisdom that I knew had been bought with the loss of my innocence in Erik's endless night.
* "It is highly improper," he said, taking my hand as we walked through the garden of his home, "for us to be wed without any actual courting."
"Oh, is it?" I replied teasingly, but with a tinge of detachment that only a man blinded by love would fail to detect.
"It most certainly is! And, if anything else, our love is not something to be trifled with! Oh, Christine, surely we can amend our haste and enjoy some semblance of a traditional courtship before our wedding. Surely we cannot be denied that!" Bitterness crept into his voice as he spoke the soft glow of love never left his eyes. At that moment, I pitied him so. . .
"Then you shall simply have to take me out tonight; dinner perhaps. . ."
"Ma cherie Mademoiselle Daae," he said, turning to me and kissing my hand, "Consider it a date."*
Now, he could only stare at me as we ate our dinner in silence; I knew he was content in that. . .
For my part, however, I was not. My love for Raoul was beyond doubt, but the issue of the degree of that love was eating me alive. When I thought of Raoul, there were no easy answers: at times, I saw him as no more than a good friend.
But when I thought of my Angel, I felt the dizzying effects of an undeniable affection. I could hear him calling my name, I could feel his lips on mine: I longed for him with every fiber of my being. I could not deny what I shared with Erik, and I did not know if I could resist it for much longer.
"Raoul," I said suddenly, "I wish to return to the stage. Music has been my life for too long to abandon it now. . ."
His face fell as I spoke, but he did not react instantly. It was only after a brief pause that he asked, "Returning to the Opera will make you happy?"
"Yes," I whispered, "quite happy."
"And you are sure that the Parisian stage is the only one on which you might perform? Have you no desire to see the world? What of London, Berlin. . .I'm sure there are many other companies of merit that would greatly covet the chance to have you as their Prima Donna. . ."
"Raoul," I said, with a conviction that surprised even me, "my place is in Paris."
"Indeed," he nodded sadly, "if you truly wish it, Christine, I shall take you by the Opera House tomorrow, and we can see the managers about your future with the company."
"Oh Raoul," I smiled, "I do wish it. . .I do. . ."
~Raoul's POV~
My place is in Paris?
Was this the same Christine before me now that had so recently wanted so badly to run from this city forever? Was this the same woman who had pledged her love to me before the stars of the night sky and the glimmering city below our feet? She seemed older now - more mature, that is - she had changed so quickly, that I had to wonder: who was this Christine, this woman whom I adored so deeply?
My place is in Paris. . .
I daresay that was a statement of simple fact. It was not 'I wish to remain in Paris', or even 'Our place is in Paris', no. . .
Christine was intent to remain in this godforsaken city whether I did or not. I wanted to be angry with her, to raise my voice and demand to know the true motivations for such an absolute and counter-intuitive statement. . .
But, looking across the table at the angel I had rescued from hell, I knew that there was nothing in this world that I could, or would, deny her. I would stop the world for Christine, I would give her my life without hesitation. . .Say die, Christine, and watch me die . . .
"Indeed," I sighed defeatedly, "if you truly wish it, Christine, I shall take you by the Opera House tomorrow, and we can see the managers about your future with the company."
I should have realized right then and there that there would never be any going back: there would never be any freedom. There would only be the Opera, a never-ending musical drama.
I secretly longed for the silence I knew would never come.