Chapter Text
She couldn’t get him out of her mind. Try as she might, she just couldn’t, the thought of him and what would happen to him still lingering in the back of her mind, even as she tried to concentrate on Raoul, who was rowing them across the lake. Staring at the lake’s glittering surface she was instantly reminded of all the times that he’d rowed her across it, leading her away from the Opera house and down into his underground lair.
His lair, where they’d spent hours upon hours entangled in music’s soft and caressing embrace with him being the ever strict and focused teacher and her being entranced, almost hypnotized by his angelic voice.
To think that she’d never have that again … that she’d never be singing with him again … She would never forget all these times that he’d lied to and manipulated her, creating the vision of the perfect angel of music, would never be fully able to forgive him for all the pain and sorrow he’d caused, but still, to think that she’d never hear the voice of her angel again, never again sing with him …
Though she knew that he was certainly no angel, knew that many would call him a heartless murderer - a monster, even - with no second thought, the thought of never being able to sing with him again still left her with a bleeding heart.
To never hear his voice again …
Her limbs were moving on their own accord and before she knew it, she was standing waist-deep in the lake’s chilly water, her skirts immediately soaked through.
„Christine!“, Raoul called out at the reverberating splashing noise.
„Christine! What are you doing?“, he asked her, bewilderment and fear evident in his gaze.
Bewildered and afraid … shouldn’t that be what she was feeling, too? Instead, all she could feel was an odd, terrifying sort of excitement.
Knowing that Raoul wouldn’t, couldn’t ever understand any of the thoughts running through her head at this moment, she just said: „I can’t … I can’t leave him like this, Raoul.“
„What - Christine, he’s a madman!“, Raoul insisted, trying to make her see sense. „He’s murdered people, he’d have nearly killed us both!“
„I know“, she admitted softly. She knew it, had experienced his madness firsthand and yet … She couldn’t ignore the memory of all that pain and hurt in those mismatched eyes, couldn’t ignore the memory of that gnarled and mangled flesh of his cheek under her fingertips, couldn’t ignore the memory of his trembling fingers on her back as she’d kissed him, almost as if he couldn’t believe that what was happening was indeed happening.
He was a murderer, but she knew that he wasn’t a heartless man. He was only a monster because mankind labeled him as such, because he’d never been taught - never been led to believe - that he could be anything else. He’d never been met with kindness and compassion and in return had never learned how to take others’ thoughts and feelings into consideration.
„You can’t possibly be thinking about going back!“, Raoul shouted.
Christine shook her head. „I have to“, she simply said.
„You can’t be serious!“, Raoul exclaimed, as she lifted her skirts, taking a step forward.
„Christine, no! Whatever thoughts that thing has put into your head - „
„Please, Raoul, let me do this“, she interrupted him, wading away from the boat, still holding his gaze.
„Christine!“ He reached out a hand, as if to stop her, but she was already out of his reach.
„He’s not putting any thoughts into my head, I just know that I cannot leave him like this“, she said. Christine herself wasn’t - couldn’t - entirely be sure that it wasn’t still him exerting his influence over her. All she knew was that she needed to see her angel of music one last time.
„But why? He lied to you, manipulated you and abducted you!“, Raoul insisted.
„Please don’t try to stop me, Raoul“, she just said and whatever he saw in her gaze must have convinced him, because with an angry, yet concerned expression he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.
„Do what you must then“, he said.
„Thank you“, she replied, turning away from him and the hope of light and rescue and back to the darkness. Back to the only place she’d ever felt true happiness - before the unmasking of all the lies and deceptions.
On she went, wading through the cold water, away from Raoul - to most just the dashing and charming Vicomte, though to her he’d always be the zealous boy from the seaside who’d rescued her scarf from the ocean - and towards her phantom. Her phantom. The world only knew him as the phantom, the Opera ghost, the madman haunting the Palais Garnier. In recent months she’d come to know these facets of his personality as well, though she knew that some part of her would always cling to the memory of the days where he’d just been her angel and teacher.
Though the lake’s water was so icy that it chilled her to the bones, the pain didn’t really register for her mind was far too occupied with thoughts about him, about what she was doing. What was she even doing? Running back into the arms of the man who’d betrayed and deceived her, lied to and manipulated her, it seemed. Willingly so. It wasn’t just pity and compassion that drove her on, it was the very bond connecting her soul to his.
Maybe she’d gone mad as well. Shouldn’t she be happy that she was at last free of him and his obsessive and possessive nature? Shouldn’t she be working on severing that bond that connected them, finally ridding herself of it?
Maybe Raoul was right, maybe she was still under his influence. Maybe she always would be.
But hadn’t it been her own, free decision to return to him? She hadn’t heard his songs in her head when she’d jumped out of the boat …
The doubts and questions in her head only grew louder and more insistent the closer she got to his lair, yet she didn’t turn back around. She thought about turning back to Raoul and the promise of warmth and light every step of the way, but the thought of just leaving him like this pained her far more than any of her doubts.
So she trudged on through the cold water until, finally, soaked-through and chilled to the bone she reached his lair.
He didn’t notice her at first, his gaze fixed on the monkey music box in front of him. He hadn’t put his mask back on, so the whole anomaly of his face was on display.
Christine studied that wretched face - his puckered, mangled flesh, the mismatched eyes, the misshapen lips and his sunken-in eyeball - intensely. It didn’t frighten her, not anymore. It wasn’t horrifying to look at, not anymore. Just … different.
And to think that he’d had to endure that dark and terrible fate of his just because he looked different … it wasn’t right, wasn’t fair. Overcome with too many emotions, Christine choked back a strangled sob. The world was a cruel and bitter place indeed. It didn’t justify his actions by any means, didn’t justify him killing people merely because they’d been in the way of his plans. No, it didn’t justify all the terrible things he’d done one bit, yet Christine still felt for him in that moment.
She couldn’t help but mourn the life he could have had - they could have had - if he’d have looked normal, had been treated right by the world. What kind of man could he have become, if he’d had a loving and compassionate mother, a normal upbringing? How would he have treated others if he hand’t been met with disdain and cruelty by every single person he encountered?
Would they have ever met? She was sure of it, for music was the one thing that would always connect them, would always bring them together, in every life beyond this one.
At last, he noticed her.
He’d been crooning a song under his breath, too quiet for her to make out the words, but his mismatched eyes instantly found hers the moment she couldn’t hold back her tears any longer, letting out a frantic sob.
„Christine! What are you doing he- what’s wrong?“, he asked, concern lacing his voice and evident on his features.
It felt impossible to put all of her emotions into words, so the thing she said instead was: „Your ring … I - I noticed I still had it … I … „, she bit her lip to keep herself from becoming a crying and mumbling mess.
„Oh“, he said softly and it was like she could hear his heart break, feel his hope shatter into a tiny thousand pieces on the floor between them.
Her heart broke all over again for him, for them, for what could have been.
Maybe it wasn’t too late to start anew, to forgive and forget every bad thing that had happened between them?
Hope, she found, was a dangerous and deceiving friend. Because it was impossible to just ignore the twisted, ugly mess their relationship had become through all of his lies and manipulations.
Her tears were running freely now, as she said: „I … I don’t even know your name. Y-you never told me, angel.“ To her, he’d always been an angel - until he’d become the mad and dangerous Opera ghost that everyone so feared. He’d always only shown her parts of his personality, carefully crafting the perfect facade, never revealing the man underneath. Before all of the madness had started, there’d been a time where she’d told him everything, every thought running through her head, though he’d never done the same, only revealing bits and pieces of himself, too few and scattered to piece together the complete puzzle.
Standing before him now, seeing, feeling his defeated gaze on her, she felt as if she’d never truly known him. And how she wished that that weren’t the case, how she mourned all of these what-ifs plaguing her.
„It’s Erik“, he whispered so softly that at first she wasn’t sure if he’d said anything at all.
„Erik … „, she repeated quietly. It seemed fitting, somehow.
He didn’t say anything, just continued staring at her with those mismatched eyes that were filled with so much guilt, shame and sadness. It seemed as if all the fight had gone out of him.
Acting on impulse, she stepped closer, until she was standing right in front of him. His eyes widened and he let out a sharp gasp, as she abandoned all thought and reached out to him, drawing him into an embrace.
He was shaking, actually trembling, his hands hovering inches from her waist, not daring to touch her. Christine only deepened her embrace, clinging to him with all her might, clinging to all of these what-ifs still running through her head, allowing herself a moment to revel in those impossible fantasies.
She nuzzled her face in the crook of his neck, her curls tickling his scar-crossed skin. She felt his jagged breathing tease her skin.
Without thinking it through, she reached out her right hand, but he shrank back before her fingertips could ever graze his cheek.
Christine was startled by his abrupt response, but then she noticed the distant, faraway look in his eyes. Though his eyes were on her it seemed almost as if he was looking through her, seeing the horrors of his past standing in front of him instead of her.
„Don’t … „ he whispered and it stung Christine to hear how much pain and ache were conveyed in this one word. She almost felt her knees give out under her as she realized that, until now, he’d probably never been touched with kindness and compassion - not even once.
„Erik … „, she whispered sadly and without giving him time to react, to lean away from her again, she reached her hand out again, softly grazing his cheek with her fingertips.
„Christine!“ He brought his hand up as well, to stop her from touching him any further, she was sure of it, but his trembling hand stopped just inches from closing around hers. Almost as if he was afraid of touching her.
Holding his gaze, she slowly trailed her fingertips over his features. Careful not to hurt him, she traced the lines of his face with her fingertips - his scars, his sunken-in eyeball, the caved-in skin where part of his nose should have been. His body remained tense and stiff, alert under her embrace but she could feel his face leaning in ever so lightly into her touch.
Until her fingertips grazed over his bloated, misshapen lips. He recoiled from her as if her touch had stung him, breaking free of her embrace, putting some very much needed distance between them. She was left to stand with her hands still reaching for her fallen angel, but never able to grasp him.
„You should go“, he said, without looking at her. Christine saw the change in his posture - saw how he went from unsure and trembling to his usual cold and demanding stature. She saw the light leaving his blue and green eyes, and so, grasping at straws, clinging to that bond between them that had been left unsure and shaken by everything that had transpired, she bit out: „No!“
„Go, Christine“, he said, still refusing to look at her, his voice sounding cold and detached, but not as sure of himself as it usually did.
„No“, she repeated stubbornly, daring to step closer to him once more. He caught her outstretched hands in a viselike grip. Where her touch had been careful and gentle, his was anything but. His grip was so strong and demanding, she felt as if he wanted to break her wrists. He didn’t seem to notice her hiss of pain as his grip tightened even more.
„Must you insist on torturing me still?“, he demanded, shaking his head. „I let you go, what more do you want from me?“
Her torturing him? Wasn’t it him hurting her, still not having loosened his death-like grip? She couldn’t contain the strangled sound that escaped her - something between a sob and hysterical laughter.
At this, he finally turned to look at her. His face instantly fell as he saw the pain and discomfort written across her features. It seemed to her as if he hadn’t even noticed that he’d been hurting her. Immediately, he let go of her wrists. Shaking his head, blinking in disbelief, he stepped away from her once more.
„Go, Christine!“, he barked out, refusing to meet her gaze, yet the unspoken rest of his words - before I forget myself again - heavily hung in the air between them.
„But - „
„GO!“, he yelled, the raw hurt and anger in his voice slicing into her skin.
She knew that he was right, she should go, for the sake of both of them. Yet she found herself unable to turn away, unable to leave him. All of the things he’d done to her and yet she still couldn’t find the strength in herself to cut him out of her life completely.
„I can’t - I can’t leave you like this“, she whispered sadly, fighting back new tears that were clouding her vision.
„Oh Christine, what have I done to you?“, he murmured mournfully, shaking his head. „How I have twisted you … „
„Please don’t leave me, angel“, she sobbed, but he just shook his head.
„I must. Leave now, Christine“, he said, his gaze still cast downward, still not looking at her.
Suddenly, it wasn’t just pain and betrayal that she felt, but anger as well. There he went, making decisions for her again. She balled her hands into fists. No more, she vowed to herself. She’d no more allow him to so blatantly disregard her agency.
„Stop making my decisions for me!“, she snapped. Her sudden outburst must have surprised him, for he lifted his eyes, holding her gaze once more.
„I don’t - don’t make this decision for me, don’t make me leave you!“
„And why would you possibly want to stay?“, he sneered, not giving her the chance to answer. „It doesn’t matter … I cannot let you stay.“
„Why?!“, she demanded, biting her lip to keep from sobbing. This was all going so wrong … this wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she’d decided to return to him. It was infuriating, she thought, that he now seemed set on pushing her away at every opportunity, when in the past he’d been so careful not to let her escape from the spider’s web he’d spun around her.
„Why, you ask?“, he growled, causing her to flinch. Pain flashed across his features as he saw her flinch and the rest of his words were nothing but a mere whisper. „Because I can’t - I don’t trust myself around you, Christine.“
„Oh … „, she whispered softly, not sure what else to say. The air between them seemed thick with pent-up tension.
„Go, Christine, please“, he pleaded, but she still found herself shaking her head. He was giving her an out, letting her go, yet she still clung to him with all her might. Maybe he was right, maybe he had twisted her. She didn’t care.
All she cared about was that she couldn’t lose her angel of music - not like this. Maybe it was selfish, but she didn’t care.
„Don’t leave me, Erik. Let me stay.“ Her plea fell on deaf ears, for he was shaking his head the moment the words had left her mouth.
„You’re not in your right mind“, he said and oh, how that blatant disregard for her motivations and feelings infuriated her!
„Is that so?“, she replied angrily, „and in what state of mind would I have to be for you to trust in my decision?
He looked like her words had slapped him, yet all he said was: „I cannot chain you to me any longer, Christine … it isn’t right.“
She huffed a laugh. What a liar he still proved to be. They both knew that her chains would always and forever be his.
„Don’t take this decision away from me“, she said, but silence and a sad, defeated shake of his head was his only answer.
An idea occurred to her then. „Fine. Give me a week then“, she said, ignoring his irritated gaze, „ a week to make my decision, with a right and sound mind.“ She couldn’t keep the bitterness from seeping into her voice at the last words.
Again, all she was met with was silence. A heavy and uncomfortable silence, until - the slightest nod of his head.
„If that is what you wish for … „, he said and she eagerly nodded her head.
„Yes“, she replied, holding his gaze, willing him to see her resolve. Whatever he saw in her face must have convinced him, because he nodded solemnly. „So be it“, was all he said.
„Thank you“, she said and it almost seemed as if he was biting his lip to keep himself from smiling. No, that couldn’t be right, she thought. Far too much had occurred in the last few hours for that to be the case.
Unable to resist, she reached out, grasping his hand in hers. He seemed to recoil, yet she held on tight, linking their fingers together.
„Until next week, ang- Erik“, she said, giving his hand a final squeeze before convincing herself to turn around and walk away.
Had she looked back she would have seen how he stared with confusion and disbelief written across his features at his trembling hand - the hand that had just been touched by hers.