Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own the Phantom of the Opera. Well, actually, 'sadly' applies to everything but Raoul. . .I'm actually quite happy that I don't own him. ;) Author's Note: Thanks again to all my reviewers. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Keep up the good work, people! To M~ This chapter is longer, and, rest assured, there is much more coming! Archiving: Sure, why not? Just give me a heads up first. *Christine's POV* I opened my eyes, only to be greeted by the sight of Erik staring back at me, his eyes intensely emotional even when clouded with the trauma of the past night's debacle. Sometimes, I think that there is nothing about Erik that *isn't* intense; it's simply part of his mystique; just one of the many reasons I love him. His hand was still tightly clutched in mine, and I smiled. For the first time in two months, I was genuinely happy. Erik smiled back weakly - it was so easy to forget that he was hurt; the man simply radiates a quiet, irrevocable strength - squeezing his hand in mine as if to confirm that I was real. Once satisfied that he wasn't dreaming, his smile grew, and he whispered, "Good morning, Christine." "Erik," I replied, quietly running my fingers through his hair, "how do you feel?" "Well, now that you're here, I'm much better," he said dreamily, closing his eyes slowly. I laughed a small laugh, and then, realizing the gravity of the situation, I added, "Erik, I'm serious, how do you feel?" He opened his eyes, and lifted a hand to rest against my cheek; it was quite clear that he was trying not to hurt me. "Erik," I said insistently, "please tell me the truth." He sighed, and, in resignation, he said, "I have a terrible headache, my side feels like it's on fire and I'm very weak, as I guess you can tell. It's all right, though, Christine. I've had much worse without you here beside me; without something to live for." I felt tears forming in the corners of my eyes, and I looked away from him. His life - his existence - had been truly unspeakable. In that moment, my love burgeoned in my heart, and I felt as if I was going to faint. It was too much all at once, but through it all, I knew that if I could bring him some happiness, I would. Of course, if happiness for him was a life with me, it would be a wonderful life for me, too. Erik, however, had no intentions of letting me cry on his account. I assume that he's shed enough tears not to need mine on his account. The Phantom of the Opera may be invincible, but my Erik is just a man, as fallible as any other. "Oh, Christine, don't cry, please, you mustn't be sad. . ." I turned back to face him, and I marveled at the concern in his eyes. He was lying there with wounds he most likely couldn't remember receiving, and he was more worried about me and a few freshly shed tears. "Erik. . ." I whispered, "I'm sorry if I've upset you, I never want to hurt you again." "You came back to me," he said shakily, the emotions of the past months clear in his voice, "and that has made me happier than you could ever imagine. You haven't upset me or hurt me in the least, I assure you." I sighed; it was quite evident that he didn't remember a thing about last night. "What's wrong?" he asked perceptively, stirring slightly as he spoke. "I have to tell you, about last night; about what happened to you. . ." I said softly, dreading his reaction to the words that would soon come, like thieves in the night, to try and steal away my newfound happiness - and his. ***Flashback*** The sounds of a struggle echoed in the darkness as I ran blindly towards Erik's home. I could hear voices, gruff male voices, shouting angry words I couldn't make out from a distance. The one thing I couldn't hear, however, was Erik's voice. . . I grew frightened, and in my panic, I tripped, tumbling gracelessly to the damp ground. I could feel an intense burning in the palms of my hand as I braced myself against the fall. I stumbled to my feet and as I stood, I could hear the ominous voices coming closer; exalting in some yet unseen triumph. Again, I panicked, and I hid myself away in Erik's eternal night. ***End Flashback*** "Christine," he said reassuringly, snapping me out of my listless thoughts, "whatever happened, I'm still here, with you." "You don't understand. . ." I sobbed, "it was. . .it was. . ." "It was what, Christine?" He said gently, wiping away my tears once more. ***Flashback*** As time passed, the indistinct mumbles grew into a boisterous rumbling. There were three of them, and they all sounded like the sort no woman would want to bump into in a darkened subterranean labyrinth. I pressed up against the wall of the small alcove I had taken refuge in, my heart beating rapidly, loudly. I was so terrified they would hear my heartbeat. . .that my days would end right then and there. As I stood, exiled in my own private purgatory, I heard them approach, I could make out their words. . . "I swear, this place gives me the creeps. . ." "Yeah, but de Chagny is paying us damn well for this, so I think we can handle it for a little while longer. . ." "Do you think he's dead?" "I'm almost positive that he is. . .he was pretty messed up when we got there, must've been sick or something." "Maybe we did him a favor, ending his misery. Maybe we just did a good deed on the Vicomte's behalf. . ." "That girl must be something, huh?" "Either that, or de Chagny is damned good at holding a grudge." "For Twenty Thousand Francs, I really don't care what he is, or why he cares. . ." I felt revulsion rising in my throat, anger burning inside me even as tears of worry formed in my eyes. Erik was definitely hurt, my mind wouldn't allow any further speculation into that; and it was all Raoul's fault - my fault. The voices were soon standing right beside me, with only a wall between us. The light of their torches fell at my feet, but they kept moving, and I was spared. I heard them moving away, and as soon as I could no longer hear them, I began running frantically towards Erik's house. ***End Flashback*** "It was my fault," I sobbed, as Erik looked at me in complete disbelief, "you almost died and it was entirely my fault." *Erik's POV* It was surreal, she was saying she was responsible for my latest bout of suffering; she was saying she had caused me this pain. I didn't know what to think, and after a moment of silence, I could take it no longer, and I pleaded, "Just tell me, Christine." She took a deep breath, and began to speak, despite the fact she was still trembling from crying, "You see, since you made me leave you, I've been desperate. . .I missed you so much, and I realized I didn't want Raoul. . .I wanted you; I love you." My eyes grew wide, and I repeated, "You love me?" "Yes," she nodded, "so much." I looked at her with great incredulity; even though she was with me, I still hadn't expected her love to be thrown at my feet. I felt the need to say something, even if it was redundant. "I love you, too." "I know," she said, her voice a choked sob, "but, last night. . ." "Last night, what? Last night doesn't matter anymore; nothing matters to me but you, you know that." "But, Erik, Raoul paid those men to attack you, because I told him I was coming back to you; that I loved you. If I hadn't said anything, you wouldn't be." "I wouldn't be here with you, and that's all I need," I said protectively, "I'll recover from my physical injuries, Christine, but if you hadn't come back to me, I would have died of a broken heart. I would gladly bear a thousand times this suffering to be with you." She smiled, and put her head down on my chest, carefully avoiding my wounded side. I placed my hand on the top of her head, running my fingers through her hair. She sighed deeply, and looked up at me urgently, "They said that you were sick when they got here, Erik, what did they mean?" "I told you," I said, avoiding direct eye contact, "I would've died from a broken heart if you hadn't come back." She sat up immediately, "You had another attack, didn't you?" "Yes," I admitted, "I did." "Oh, Erik," she sighed, "maybe we should get Nadir to bring a doctor here, and. . ." "I have a feeling that I'll be okay from now on, Christine," I said, imploring her to smile with my eyes: she did. Suddenly, something hit me, "Christine, how did you know that those men said I was sick?" "I was coming back, and when I got to the rue scribe entrance, it was ajar, and I was running towards the house and I heard them coming so I hid, and. . ." she said, the words tumbling out rapid-fire. "They used the Rue Scribe entrance?" I asked, absorbing all that she had just said, "Then, they might come back at any moment, and. . ." "They thought they killed you," she said simply. "Then, you came here thinking I was dead?" I asked, finding that, against all odds, my love for her was actually finding a way to grow. "Actually, I came here refusing to think that you were dead. Erik, when Raoul finds me missing, he'll eventually figure out where I am, and. . ." "We'll deal with that when the time comes," I said dismissively, "we'll deal with this together." To be continued. . . |
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