Her Anguish - Chapter 2
Anguish was a one minded word. A single train of thought, spiralling lower and lower, repeatedly. Another hour, another moment of her existence in a haze of utter misery. It was the contemplation of the vast variety of twisting emotions that now controlled her. Her life, stolen. Her entire world, shattered. Too many emotions, all dragging her into despair. Flushing anger, burning resentment, flickering vestiges of dignity, wretched sadness, fluttering desperation, moments of wild hysteria, all was a whirlwind in her mind. Not to mention the sudden defiant bouts of the need to rebel, but then, once his anger was aroused, the need to flee from his dominion.
Her little gilded cage. Her bars had been battered; Christine was proud to remember how she had shattered that vase and used the shards to put holes in the wallpaper, put dents in the bed posts and to make fine ribbons from her curtains, which originally had been fine linen things that had also surrounded her four poster bed. Unfortunately, they had been replaced with the heavy drapes that accompanied the rest of the house – her punishment for taking her liberties and then discarding them. In fact, while Erik had ordered a new bed for her, he had made her sleep in a metal cot, in a drab room that did not have heating. At first, he had only asked for an apology and he would forgive her irrationality. When she had defiantly jutted her chin and remained silent, he had tried that other tactic. No graffiti such as that had turned up on the newer sturdier furniture and wallpaper. Perhaps the lesson of humility had been the intended one, it had also shown her that he would do everything in his power to ensure she knew that she lived with the opulence he, and only he, had granted. Whilst he also had the absolute power to take it away. Much like her freedom.
If the metal cot had not bruised her, just as Erik threatened it would, she would have then chosen to stay in that cell. That room was more like the reality of her situation. The starkness that would keep her from falling into his sick game. It had held a certain realness that was like a breath of fresh air, despite the lack of windows. Her current residence now was fit for the Master of the House, or his Lady, which was a thought most disturbing. It was another dream, as if she were kept in here to play pretend and if she did it long enough, she would then forget her introduction to it as mysteriously as she arrived. Christine knew not where she was; it had pertained a certain anger from the fact that she had been drinking and then mysteriously, all she could do was shut her eyes. Later had been the careful prick of a needle and a whispered devoted apology from her elusive Angel, which had only confused her more from her unfocused state.
Thankfully, from the accents from the mostly mute servants, she had the realisation that he had transported her to England, of all places. But, she had found it an odd coincidence that Raoul's company had swiftly abandoned the idea to set up business in England, which would have meant that Raoul would have had to move there, only to then be taken there by Erik. Christine shuddered; it was as if he was covering all the variables. However, when she had shouted at him, outraged to be so far from her elderly guardian, still back in the states, he had calmly interjected that it was he 'who has organised her care and continues to, while you remain my guest.'. At the levelled threat, her resentment had soared, only to flounder into sudden misery at the gravity of the situation. No longer could she care for escape, not while her vulnerable once-caretaker was in his clutches and his mercy. Yet still, her heart only wished to beat against the chains he had put in place. Christine knew she could never love him, even as she knew he so dearly wished for her to do so. She would not out of spite, out of anger and utter helplessness of her situation.
His mask was one peculiarity, but his personality had always been the far greater mystery. It seemed to give and take, flounder the edge of insanity then drive itself inwards and back to a gentlemanly reserve. Only after music was he languid enough to relax, or seemed to. Somehow, as much as his voice was an elixir to her ears, her own had the ability to put him in a good mood, so to speak. He would answer her questions calmly, meet her eye to eye on compromises, "Can I go outside?", "When I see fit, my dear.", which to her, though non-committal, was not a resounding, "No! And it will be no for as long as you ask!" of which he had previously said in a terrible show of temper. She had not gone to the floor with begging to go outside, though she had after exhausting all other methods, was what she had done for her release. Of course, she was still trapped, which showed little good her begging had done.
Erik sank to his knees before her, even then his height was greater than she could imagine for one kneeling. A trembling hand whispered in the air before her own, before it retreated.
"You will learn in time to be happy with Erik." his hoarse, though lyrical, voice whispered.
Her lip trembled, daring her to shed a tear at the sight of the fragile man before her. Turning her head away from the scene, as a terrible knot of guilt was appearing when she looked at him, she absently stared at the golden rimmed picture hanging above the mantelpiece.
"You can't expect me to be happy." her voice did its best to choke out in desperation.
"You will," came his small cry, and she flinched when she felt a hand clasp the fabric of her jeans. A pressure of a head rested on her shin and she resisted the urge to step away. Her feet seemed rooted to the spot. Bile rose in her throat, at her supposed 'guardian' and 'confidant' lowering himself to this lack of composure. What little dignity he had left – here he was, clasping at the very fabric of her clothes! Was it pity that strangely spiked her conscience? Was it her fondness of empathising that made her want to assure him that she would be happy, just to see (I)him happy? What wickedness, her mind cried, banging on the hope of securing freedom.
Her mantra, I will not get Stockholm Syndrome, I will not get Stockholm Syndrome, I will not –
A pressure of fingers trailing down her leg, maybe with the slow hesitation of that wretched adoration, (which had caused her all these problems in the first place), currently distracted her from her mind's warnings. With distant shock, she realised that somehow there was a wetness there, on her lower shin. Her head jerked downwards to realise that the man was crying! Crying! Peering closer, Christine could see trails of small glistening tears that dripped off the end of his jutting chin, or so she supposed it was, it was hard to tell with the hanging cloth obscuring the lower half of his face, that steadily darkened the denim material.
Oh, don't cry. Please don't cry! Her heart throbbed. Swiftly, she shoved such thoughts away. Damn him, it wasn't even a performance. Christine knew that deep down, that this was not some emotional blackmail to make her bond with him or whatever it was. It was the tears of a terribly broken man, that depended on someone… Someone who would be his salvation.
Someone that was not her.
Fear reared its head, able to penetrate the spiralling thoughts on the man's – her captor's – personal issues he decided to thrust upon her to fix. Cursing herself with the sudden guilt that kicked her stomach, she moved herself from his grip.
No mercy, her mind wept. She gave a sniff, tears clouding her vision. No mercy.
Dropping the handkerchief, of which he had gifted her upon awakening, for Erik's use, she stepped away without glancing at the prone figure huddling on the floor, still weeping. She stepped back again and again, until the heel of her foot kicked the stairs.
Here, her conscience was screaming to look, to give a parting glance at what mess she was leaving, leaving to fester in anguish. But for once, Christine did not follow what her heart begged. She chose to not peek under that mask, to continue to live in a world of black and white. So, with silent tears and a trembling bottom lip, her fingers found the stair rail to lean on, while making the painful ascent to her room; with each heartbeat not knowing whom, out of them both, was the monster now.
I will not know him; I will not love him. Became her new mantra.
Christine had chosen to hide in her room at some point, tired of the ever-draining man who had come to govern her life. Without locks on the door, her heart always trembled in anticipation for his unexpected presence. The phantom had obviously had not taken a vacation from her, but he had the theatre behind. A sad smile lit her face, perhaps that was the good thing about their unplanned trip; though the dastardly Carla would make a return, she had no doubt, they at the opera no longer had a malicious ghost plaguing their lives. She hoped. A pang hit her heart when thinking of the theatre and the people within, Meggie (or so she liked to nickname her) Christine's only best friend, Meggie's mother Anne Giry and of course, precious Raoul.
It shouldn't be a surprise that she had that giddy feeling in her stomach when she thought about Raoul. There was something charming about him, so gallant and gentle, bright and so happily optimistic. Sometimes she marvelled at the simplicity at what it took to make him pleased. A good day at work, a friendly drop in and coffee, to catch the movies and walking in the rain on a summer's evening. A rush of adventure with the idea of a camping or skiing trip. Such a different type of sweetness compared to the bitterness of what her Angel had been like. She shivered, not that she would start comparing Raoul to a kidnapping, foul-tempered, deceiving recluse who had stolen her away from the light of day. Never to be seen again. She let out a disgruntled huff, the breath fanning a stray piece of hair resting on her forehead.
Resting her head back on the goose feathered pillows, 'Only the finest for my Christine', she stared at the engraved wood above, vaguely aware of the detailed engraving of the Chinese dragon taking centrepiece on the roof of the four poster bed. A hand rose, as if it would be suddenly long enough to reach the scales of the dragon. However, her hand travelled as if feeling out the texture of the dragon and its scales, slowly veering left and right to follow the twisted serpent-like figure. Eventually, her arm's strength waned, thus coming to rest on the bedspread. Gingerly, she smiled at the flowery socks she wore. It was as if someone had peeked into her drawers when she was a fifteen-year-old, with remnants of the childish too-tight socks and took them right out for her to wear here. When she had commented on the fact that they were not ordinary black or white, Erik had made a grand point of her not being 'filthily ordinary' or 'diabolically average' and thus she should not dress as such. However, when viewing the largely formal wear of a dozen dresses in her wardrobe, she then pointed out that she would not be comfortable to wear such things on a daily basis. As such, Erik had procured her regular clothing, desiring to please outweighing his own views on that instance. For once, she had not been guilty to receive 'gifts'.
Sometimes, more so after they had just finished a lesson, she could just catch that fleeting look in his amber eyes. The only word to describe it was adoration. A sort of peculiar marvelling of her, of which made her feel oddly invaded. Like, as almost as if he were hiding such restrained passion that merely glancing in her direction could simultaneously make him combust or fall apart, weeping at her feet. It was not as if that scenario were entirely out of the question. However, it had made her feel entirely unprepared. Vulnerable. It was as if he were scandalously gazing at her without clothes on. His presence had always seemed to intensify if he caught her while he flicked that strange expression at her. His golden eyes held her utterly captive, before he was suddenly talking again about something frivolous that made her shake her head with confusion, meanwhile snapping her out of that peculiar trance. What was the most unnerving was that he continued as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, not even acknowledging the lapse in the conversation. Though, she was thankful for it. What could she say if he had accused her of staring? 'Oh, Erik, you have the most hypnotic and unveiling eyes I have ever seen. I really can't stop myself from wondering why you look at me like that, or why I feel like a fly caught in your trap!'
Groaning, Christine set the book aside, feeling a decided lack of energy to read any more Shakespeare. She had tried to tell Erik that Shakespeare was better seen and not read, but he was adamant that reading it equated to a fine performance. After studying enough of Shakespeare in school, and then seeing it as a performance, she certainly disagreed. Never could she really tune into the language of old English as a chunk of text, but let her watch it, she would be able to understand the gist of what was meant. So far she was reading the famous classic of Romeo and Juliet, as she had studied only Macbeth and parts of Twelfth Night in school. Erik had been flabbergasted that those 'poxy fools would allow adolescents to miss out one of the most brilliant and ingenious romantic tragedies ever written' and had thrust the book at her. For this, she had allowed herself a slight smile. As much as Erik made himself to be as dark as they came and hated humanity with the ugliest loathing, somehow within his impassioned speech she had gathered that he really was a romantic at heart. A little part of her had found that incredibly endearing, and out-rightly funny. However, she had squashed those emotions as quickly as they came, the desire to remain ten feet away from any emotional attachment that might develop quickly warning her to keep her distance. If she wanted to get out of this mentally intact, it was necessary.
However, with someone as passionate as Erik, it was terribly hard to do so. In a way, he reminded her of a charismatic cult leader. A weird likening, however, she believed that, if he was not so much of a recluse and did not wear a mask, he could have the entire world at his feet! His voice was so beautiful, that anyone could believe in what he was saying. Perhaps with the same power he had projected the angel upon her. How terrifying to think that if Erik were not a madman, he really could do anything.
A hand came to trace her cheek, imagining Erik's black mask in place of her soft skin. She had not seen under the mask. Dared not to touch it after his grim warning and glittering danger sparkling within those unusual eyes. It had unnerved her enough to cower and nod shakily. As much as she wanted to be upon an even playing field, with Erik, she knew whatever she did, nothing would be enough to elevate her position. She was trapped both physically and mentally.
Her dependence on needing the outside had only grown without the guarantee of it. Spring was fast approaching and a part of her, she knew, would wither if she did not taste the sunlight from the outside at some point. If spring and summer passed without her breathing within it, she would beg. As much as she hated the degradation, she would have to go outside at some point and if begging made it a possibility, what was one more thing lost?
Her desire to go outside became the grounding need for her 'good behaviour' towards the man that held her in her cage. As loathe as she were to admit, if she had to become docile to see the world outside, she would do so. Only then could she plan, perhaps, her escape. If she could somehow message Raoul…He could come with the police and set her free? But where would that leave Erik? No. She could not think about him, worry about him. It wasn't her place! Yet, could she live on, knowing the man could be caught? Put in prison? Such marvellous creativity, shut away from his soul's calling of music? Could she dare? Could she be the one to betray him in such a way? He would blame her; he would perhaps even kill her for such an attempt. A minuscule part within her heart told her that she could never chain up such a man, who had obviously suffered much from humanity. Christine could tell that even without seeing under the mask.
If only she were not governed by her heart. Her conscience wished to give Erik a second chance, to indulge in this fantasy so it would be easier to live. Easier to forget. Playing pretend had always been a favourite of hers, as a child. Dragons and heroes, princess and prince, pirates and krakens. All fantasies that had become real in her mind's eye. Raoul had been the perfect playmate. He had believed as much as she had and most of all, had loved playing the prince to rescue her from the wizard's dungeon and she rewarded him with a kiss on the cheek. Though she had much preferred to rescue herself, she had always admitted it was far more fun to do it with two people. Now she realised that it was far more dangerous.
"Look, you're not the same, Christine. You've been so jumpy recently." Raoul's forehead crinkled in concern. Glancing around in the crowded café, her eyes flicked to Raoul's pale blue ones.
"I'm fine, really." her voice had mustered up as much strength as possible. Somehow the breeziness failed to turn up.
Gripping his coffee cup, Raoul leaned forward, voice dropping into a murmur, "You've been looking around every ten seconds. Is someone causing you trouble?"
It was almost impossible not to gaze at his lips before she quickly yanked her thoughts away, and her eyes. "Apart from Carla hating my guts, there's no problem." Christine nonchalantly lent back on her chair, but almost jumped when her eyes thought she saw a shadowy figure. An older shuffling man that came past told her it had just been her imagination.
"Look! You jumped just then and you became even paler. Something is wrong." Raoul insisted with increasing worry. Painful it was for her to not suddenly burst into tears and collapse with the truth about her situation, but with one sudden chill that ran down her spine, her back became ramrod straight. No, no, no, no. He was early, way too early. Why was he here? She had told him that she would be out doing grocery shopping for Mama V. That she would not be available until this evening, late evening.
But he had found her, in the middle of committing what he thought was treachery.
She gave a shiver, a vice wrapping around her heart. Christine turned cold, dead cold. However, looking at the fretting Adonis before her, her only mission right now was to calm Raoul.
Christine gave him a small smile, "Look, I appreciate that you're looking out for me, I really do." She sighed, realising she would have to give some excuse for her 'jumpiness'. Resting her head in her hand, she allowed herself to show that twinge of misery, "It's just that there's nothing you can help me with." Raoul leaned forward, almost in anticipation of where she spilled her problems, that really could be solved with his shining optimism. "I just keep getting nightmares. That's it. Really terrible ones, you know? I've got them ever since…Ever since Papa died and they come up a lot. I've just had a recent bout of them, okay?" her eyes glanced to his, noting the sympathetic expression that now clouded them.
"Oh gosh, I had no idea. Can't you take some prescription for them? I know when Phil struggled, they gave him something to help him sleep." Raoul suggested, hand reaching out to clasp hers. She smiled gingerly at the warmth of them, his hands were masculine and large, with his natural slight tan. A thumb started to rub back and fourth, of which made her wonder what a massage from him would feel like. Biting her lip hard enough for her to push the unexpected thought away, she focused how the rest of her had started feeling numb. Was there an air conditioning unit behind her? She dared not turn around. Sliding her hand away, an idea to deposit both of their empty cups in the bin to ease the reluctantly made rejection, she gave him a slight nod as she moved away with the two cups in hand. Unfortunately, going to the bin meant traversing though the coffee shop and of which brought her to the other side. And out of Raoul's line of sight.
The two cups had just fallen into the bin when an ugly hiss sounded next to her.
"Come, we leave now," she jolted as Erik's malevolent shadow regarding her coolly, came into view. With the hot rage in his eyes, she did not need to guess that she would not be returning home that evening.
A hand came to grasp her forearm but she ducked away from it, glaring at him, "No. I will leave with you after I say goodbye to him," she knew better than actually say his name in front of Erik.
His black mask shook from side to side, eyes flashing even within the shadows, "Do not try my patience, Christine. I have already been deceived once today."
Flicking her eyes to the floor allowed Erik to take a calm step towards her but she stepped back, towards the light of the central part of the café. Where Raoul was.
Erik let out a gravelly hiss.
Losing her defensiveness, she bowed her head, "Please, just let me say goodbye. Then I'll come to you. I promise." At this she looked up, knowing that Erik valued promises she made to him.
Erik's eyes narrowed, "You have two minutes," with this he receded into the shadows and as she turned to go back his voice hissed in her ear, "Do not keep me waiting."
Christine took in a shaky breath as she casually walked back to their table, willing her hands not to tremble. Raoul's eyes flickered to her's and she thought she saw a glimmer of relief. Gulping, she saw Raoul didn't wait to question her, "That took a long time. You good?"
She nodded reassuringly, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder, "Yeah, the bin's lid got jammed. A few thumps from my fist did it though." She gave a smile, forced enough to make her cringe inwardly. Oh god, Raoul, please don't hate me for disappearing on you. I don't know how long I'll be away this time.
Raoul rose, preparing to leave with her. She couldn't help but giggle as he pretended to dust off her coat like a gentleman help her tuck her arms in her sleeves. It was her favourite coat, it a vibrant red, that matched her scarf that Raoul now picked up, gazing at it fondly.
He swallowed, "Is this the same one, Lotte?"
She came closer, for a moment not thinking about the consequences of such an action and gently picked it up from his hands, fingers brushing. A similar smile flickered through her as well, "Yes, it is. I still remember my brave prince diving into the sea, battling tide and wave to go and fetch it. How I nursed you through that chill you got because of it!" she closed her eyes as Raoul came to take it and place it delicately around her neck, relishing the softness that had never washed out.
"I remember that beautiful voice of yours soothing me through my delirium and me always begging for more. Our childhood of games and fantasies and music." She grinned fondly at this. She felt him step closer. Was that a finger she felt brush a lock of hair and the most pleasant warmth burning in her cheeks?
"That Angel of Music really did wonders, didn't it, eh?" he chuckled, oblivious to her sudden stillness. She could feel the breath on her hair and his radiating warmth. Erik would not approve. Icy fingers clutched her heart. Erik would not approve at all.
Stepping away quickly to retrieve her mittens from her pocket and placing her bag on her shoulder, she turned back around to him. The desire to wrap that navy-blue scarf around his neck as he had to her was pounding in her heart but watched silently as he did so. A need to straighten those ends was so strong that she could barely resist the urge and so she wrapped her arms around her to stop her traitorous hands from further endangering their lives.
They walked to the front glass doors, stepping into the chill January air. Raoul's tousled blonde hair shone in the weakly sunlight. He turned around to face her, blue eyes lit with a sudden eagerness, "Would you like to go to the movies this Saturday? I heard that there's a new Marvel one coming out."
She froze, rapidly thinking of an excuse to give Raoul. Oh, if only Erik was more predictable, she could make things sound less vague. Less like she was in danger. Lying was now her least favourite sin to commit. It made her stomach roll and mouth taste bitter.
She did not deserve Raoul's friendship. Not when the truth could not set her free.
Christine shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, I've got plans. I've been really busy lately and I can't think of a free day to meet again." If it was not torture enough to see his deflation, it was that if he thought her unwilling to have his company. Trying to reassure him that was not so, her hand reached to touch his, while still encased in its mitten.
"Hey, I know, what about in a couple of weeks we can meet in Perros? There's meant to be a winter fair and I wanted to visit my father again." She smiled at the idea, there was no way Erik could forbid her going to her father's grave and they happened to meet at the fair!
At this, Raoul's handsome face lifted, a hand reaching out to brush a curl behind her ear, "That's a wonderful idea! I know that there was a fair there, apparently Phil wants to advertise the company with it going on, so I was meant to be going anyway." Raoul lead the way to the car park and gave her a nudge, "So, we organise our secret engagement there and then you and I disappear, for me to whisk you around to every stall we see. Well, at least the mulled wine and roasted chestnuts stall."
She giggled, imaging what it'd be like to rest her head on his arm, or interlocking hands, "Perhaps there'd even be churros and hot chocolate."
Raoul gave a loud laugh, "You're still so young. I'd thought you'd grown out of hot chocolate by now." He added teasingly, a hand reaching to ruffle her hair.
Decided, she gave him a hard poke for his cheekiness, "How dare you! I'll have you know that I still own a doll house and you Mr Grown-up, still call me Little Lotte."
She hadn't smiled this much for a long time; her cheeks were hurting from how hard she was beaming. Oh God, how she had missed this, missed him.
A sharp shrill from someone's mobile rang in the air and she blinked, realising it was her own. They both seemed to snap awake and she, for one moment, despised the person on the other end for breaking the moment. As she hurriedly retrieved it, pulling off a mitten to grasp the device. The flurry of warmth gained from Raoul drained away. Glancing in apology to Raoul, she stepped away, already trying to maintain a casual tone as she answered.
"Hello?"
"Christine," the voice hissed ferociously, "You will walk away right now. You will come out of the back exit of the car park and turn down the left street." Inadvertently she nodded, but then realised he could not hear her affirmation and he continued, repeating his instructions, "You will come out of the back exit and turn down the left street, understand?" Erik's voice had such coldness that it made a dozen glaciers seem warm.
"I- I understand." she whispered, feeling the numb terror invade her senses. Most of the time she could never remember verbal instructions, but this was Erik and his voice. Any instruction he whispered retained in her memory.
He paused for a moment, "You will not, and I repeat, not, be back before Monday. I have taken care of your sudden absence. Now say goodbye, properly, to that snivelling fool. I will be waiting. Waiting for you, always." his suddenly soft voice promised.
Click. Christine dazedly stared at the phone before blinking and mechanically tucking it into her bag. Raoul was pacing and she walked up to him, eager to have him out of the firing line.
"Raoul, I've got to go. I'm sorry I won't be here this weekend, but I'll see you soon."
Raoul smiled down at her, "It's alright. I know you work hard for that theatre. Just don't disappear again, alright? That stunt where you were missing for a week with no sight or sound of you made me almost have a panic attack," his joke was laced with clear concern that glimmered in his eyes. Gritting her teeth, she almost felt the will to resist crumble as she felt Raoul step closer. His head seemed to be lowering, as if aiming for a kiss. Startled, she dodged his advance and wrapped her arms tightly around him, pressing her head against his chest, before releasing him abruptly and stumbling back, ignoring desperately the hurt look within his eyes.
"I gotta go. Tell Phil I said hi." She all but ran to the back exit, feeling tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. Irritably she wiped them away with the one mitten-encased hand, the coarse knitting dissuading for any more to come. Christine's footsteps and panting slowed as she turned into the back alley on the left, coming face to face with a black Bentley that she knew to be Erik's. A side door swung open. A wave of tiredness shuddered through her and all she wanted suddenly was a nice hot bath, to get rid of the chill throughout her. Drained thoroughly from that day's ordeal, she did not try to fight the coaxing classical music swirling from the car, or Erik's soothing, "Come, my dear. I am sure you are quite tired. The car will only get colder if you leave the door open."
With little emotion, she toddled over to the door, slumped down into the plush car seat waiting for her and let the door shut. Even with the sound muted, she knew the doors had automatically locked.
"Seat-belt." Erik reminded from the other seat, ever so patiently. As if the man she heard only moments ago had only been an awfully bad dream. A seat-belt click later the car was rumbling down the roads, the tinted windows making it hard to view the passage. Her heart leapt as they drove past the car park and there was Raoul, sitting in his car, his head resting despondently on the car wheel. Without realising a hand rose to touch the windowpane, subconsciously reaching for the light and warmth it sort. It was only the glare boring into her back did she snatch it away ashamedly, it curling around the strap of her bag and fiddling with a key ring with her initial on it. Classical buzzed in the background and she pleasantly ignored her companion, resting her head on the seat's headrest. It was a couple of hours drive to reach his home, which was devoid of civilisation surrounding it. The smooth tread of the car had often lulled her to sleep and distantly, she knew Erik had blankets stowed for that very occasion.
"Should you like to sleep, my dear?" his voice hummed melodically, contented with the sight of her within his care once more.
She gave a shrug, not particularly in the mood for communicating with him. She was well used to his tactics and rules by now, yet each day they seemed to become tighter. Each visit becoming longer. As if one day, she would never leave at all. The thought scared her more than she was willing to admit.
Without breaking his casual tone, he continued, "I do not want to see you touching that boy. Nor him touching you. He will not be taking any liberties to my protégé."
He has no right, because you are mine. Was the unspoken phrase. Pursing her lips, she gazed out of the darkened window, "He is my friend Erik. I am allowed to touch my friends. I am allowed to touch Meg." Meggie was a word she dared not use in front of him, it felt offensive and vulgar somehow.
"You know why, Christine." his sudden amiability was gone, leeched out by sudden thunderous anger.
The idea of raising a finger at him was an extraordinarily strong urge, but instead she tried to reason, "Erik, you know I feel nothing towards him but friendship. He's like a big brother to me, one I never had." She drew in a shaky breath, "Before my mother died, my parents were trying for a boy. So, when he came along and befriended me, it was a miracle to my Papa." Here she went to gaze at him, hoping to draw some sympathy out of those amber ever-staring eyes, "My father would be disappointed if I shun him. If I stopped acting like a friend."
Erik's gaze slid from hers, not so much as it was a retreat as it was a moment of contemplation. "I will allow you to see him, if only there is no physical contact between you." His narrow eyes slid to hers, with enough fire that it almost made her flinch, "Do not think I was fooled by that quick embrace of yours. I have full knowledge of what he was attempting. That in itself inspires dangerous urges to inflict bodily harm to the boy. Unless you would like for that to occur, you will keep your distance." He did not need to check she understood that, for it was perfectly and deadly clear.
Well well, it seems that this chapter became a lot longer than I expected to write! A whooping 6,000 words in one chapter. If you hadn't guessed, the italics are past moments.
I actually do enjoy writing modern RC, sometimes Raoul can be quite sweet. At least, my version of him. I know there are some Raoul haters out there. After seeing one particular version, of which I will not disclose for fear of it being a popular one amongst the Phandom, his portrayal did turn me away from the light, ha ha ha...But since then I have seen the Raoul I would imagine he'd be and been able to write him 'more accurately'.
Of course I am EC at heart, even if this version of Erik is particularly dark. I do admit I have been thoroughly and utterly inspired by the numerous Leroux fics on here, but at the same time, I hope this Erik is still unique.
I forgot to mention, since this sorta a given, NEVER HAVE I EVER MEANT TO IMPLY I OWN THESE CHARACTERS AND UNFORTUNATELY NEVER WILL. They all belong to Gaston Leroux, ALW ect.
Anybody want a rose from our best ghost, please review! Any kind words are well received and encourages me to continue. I know people have been reading this, even as it hard as it is to imagine. But even if you hate it, let me know what I can do to improve!
Thanks,
Enigma