—Erik—

How long had it been since that night in the Opera House? Had it really only been three weeks? It had seemed so much longer: when you've had your heart smashed into a thousand pieces, time seems to crawl by, minutes meaningless, hours—meaningless. When you sit inside your home for three weeks doing nothing, time has little significance, and it's impossible to distinguish three hours from three days. It's not disdainful; it's just not caring anymore. After all, what have feelings done besides get in the way?

I still remember it like it was yesterday. Maybe it was. I don't care to think on it too much.

Her eyes had sparkled with unshed tears—whether from love, pity, fear or anger, I can't say. Her usually gently flushed skin was stark white, matching the white dress she adorned, and her dark curly hair hung perfectly ragged around her face and down her back. Even in the most dire and serious of circumstances, she was perfect, beautiful as always.

When I think back on it, I wonder what could've gone wrong to have caused us to be at such ends. Our relationship had always been incredibly unconventional to say the least. Not only was I fifteen years older than her tender nineteen, but for years I had been to her both an angel and a teacher. For years she knew nothing of my situation—except my name—and still put all her trust in me. I liked to think that was because she really cared about me, and not a consequence of naïveté, but deep down my heart reeked of guilt.

Initially, I had not intended to reveal myself to her. For the first year I had been content with being her teacher from afar. But as the months passed and her eighteenth birthday rolled around, feelings of a different kind began stirring in my heart. These emotions were new to me: desire, compassion, benevolence… but most of all love. My ardent feelings choked my heart, infiltrated my mind and pierced my soul, at times making me feel uncertain and scared with their overwhelming unfamiliarity. And although I was not prepared for the onslaught of these feelings my heart endured, for the first time in my miserable life I felt genuinely happy. Her voice, her smiles were like a balm on my troubled soul. She was my everything: my morning, my afternoon, my night, and my dreams. Everything else paled in comparison to her; she quickly became my obsession, and as time wore on I needed more. I wanted her to be my partner in life, a wife that I could care for and cherish for the rest of my life. I wanted to wake up next to her every day and see her smiling face; I wanted to take her out for strolls in the park aboveground; I wanted to make music with her every day while we sat in our light-filled home and watched our perfect children play outside.

I was intoxicated by these tempting thoughts. They rung so vividly, so enticingly plausible in my mind, that each day that passed without her by my side seemed to be another day wasted. There was no denying the irresistible pull I felt towards her, and since her being the only person I had ever cared for, I became only further convinced of our bond. In my mind, she was mine and I was hers, forever.

My desire on the verge of consuming me, I took a leap of faith and decided it was time for her to know the entire ugly truth in order for us to take that next step. When I revealed myself to her after her debut, her eyes had widened, a plethora of emotions playing in their golden depths, questioning my presence with childlike wonder. She had put her hand in mine without a moment's hesitation, and down, down we went, hidden from curious eyes and unhappy realities. And oh, how happy I was! My heart danced with the hope that she harbored the same feelings I had, and the longer she began staying overnight at my underground home, the more convinced I became of her feelings. Surely she felt something towards me!

Clinging to this hopeful notion, I confessed my love for her. She was stunned and fled to her room, leaving me sitting alone by the hearth, and my heart felt heavy as lead. I refused to let my tears get the best of me, and patiently waited until she returned, my heart glowing with hope that she would return announcing her requited feelings. She came back. She said nothing.

Regardless, I still had hope for a change of fate, even going so far as to make her a beautiful, ornate dress for our wedding day. Oh, but how blind I was! I was convinced that any day could be the day that she'd recognize what was always there inside her heart and consent to be my wife.

But that was foolish. What woman would want a selfish monster like me? Why would she pick me when she had the chivalrous, affluent Vicomte groveling at her feet? There was no more hiding of what lay behind my put-together façade. She now knew, first-hand, of my hideous wickedness, all culminating in an inevitably deciding performance of my accursèd opera. The opera I had ironically written for her.

It has now been twenty-three days since the night of Don Juan, and I haven't seen my sweet Christine since. A giant hole filled my heart where she was once held, my love for her bleeding out in every direction and infecting every part of my body. Without my love, I no longer had any reason to live. A mere shell, that was what I was, and nothing more. I ached knowing that she would soon be married to the boy, but I also sincerely wished for her happiness. She deserves so much more than I could ever give her.

Presently, I sat in front of the hearth in my makeshift home, watching the flames flicker and dance without inhibition, though their warmth did nothing to warm me, for my heart was ice cold with apathy. I hadn't moved from the chair for what seemed like days, barely eating, barely composing, barely sleeping—only thinking.

I had always been concerned with my well-being, blaming my misfortunes on others, or convincing myself that my actions were perfectly justified. It had been okay for me to haunt my dear Christine, because I was convinced at the time that she had feelings for me. I was too blinded by emotion to see the truth: that I was never the object of her affection.

But… it had seemed so real, what existed between us…

I couldn't help but cast a nostalgic gaze at the door of my makeshift abode, longing, yearing, for it to present to me what I most desired, even though I knew my efforts to be in vane. If I could only see her one last time, perhaps it would be enough subsistence to content my heart and soul for ever.

But I cannot change the past, and she will never walk through the door.

—Christine—

This was beyond the expected jitters that most brides experience the day before their wedding. I wasn't even sure if it was cold feet. No, no, it was definitely not cold feet. If I was having second thoughts, it definitely wasn't about my relationship with Raoul. I knew with absolute certainty what it was we had, and in no way shape or form was my anxiety related to my feelings toward him.

Rather, my anxiety laid in someone else entirely.

It hadn't hit me in the face until recently—that I would probably never see him again after I was a married woman.

"Move on and forget about him," Raoul had said. What a thought! As if I could really forget about him! As if I could just forget the past year and pretend nothing ever happened! I was not the same person I was all those months ago, and it was all because of him. My teacher, my phantom, my angel.

The thought of never performing again in the opera house and never seeing him again was too much to bear, and it wasn't long after moving into the De Chagney mansion that I found myself succumbing to tears. Of course, Raoul never saw me cry, for I did so behind the safety of closed doors. I liked it better that way—he would never understand.

But he would understand. He knew music better than any formal connoisseur, breathing and feeling the music just as I did. He knew every nuance, strength, and weakness of my voice, and knew how to tame it to perfection. With every cadenza, every verse, every line, every note, his heart and soul beat in time with mine. Nothing had ever felt more exhilarating, more liberating… more right. He was my unconditional rock, the person I could always look to for support. I never had to worry about pretending to be someone I wasn't. With him, I was just Christine. I hadn't realized how much weight that quality possessed until recently, so suppressed I was in the face of affluent company.

The night of Don Juan had seemed forever and a day ago, though it had been less than a month since, and every remembrance made my heart clench in despair for reasons I cannot say. The look in his eyes as I left him haunted me constantly. I had never seen so much emotion out of him; his eyes had been filled with such pain, hope, loneliness, and love. Pleading for me to stay.

And I had left.

Why did this scene keep replaying over and over again in my head? Why was I finding myself focusing more on my long-gone fallen angel than on my own wedding day preparations? My head swarmed with questions, all different but all the same in its unspeakable subject. There was no way around it, for anything and everything I thought about inevitably led me back to him.

And as I thought about him more and more, I found myself asking the same question: do I love him? Whenever the thought crosses my mind, my heart undergoes a frenzied flip-flop of emotions that I cannot entirely describe, and I often shut myself away before my feelings overwhelm me completely. These stirrings in my heart scare me a lot of the time, though they are not new. And try as I might, I still cannot provide a good enough answer to that wretched question weighing on my mind. I had convinced myself so much of my feelings for Raoul, that my judgment has too long been clouded with lies.

But despite all my hesitations, all my reservations, all my excuses and all my indecision, I cannot run away from what my heart has been screaming at me from the beginning.

Thus, I made up my mind.

He had once mentioned a home outside of his underground lair, tucked away in the woods in case of an emergency. It was the only lead I had, and I prayed to god he had not yet left town for good. I marched beyond the city limits, in each step never faltering in my determination. I don't know how many rows of townhouses and taverns I passed before finally reaching the outer-rim of the city. Beyond this point, I knew his new makeshift home to be only mere minutes away, and the thought made me tremor.

And before I knew it, I was face-to-face with the door of his hideaway. I knocked. The door didn't open, so I tried again, this time with more success. As the door swung open, I heard the sharp intake of breath in front of me, and I saw him for the first time in twenty-three days.

Can I possibly describe the moment when he opened the door and saw me standing there? He said nothing, speechless, and his frame starting shaking with emotion. I felt my own eyes gather with tears as my last ounce of resolution melted. My heart boiled over with a thousand different emotions, all vying for dominance within my clouded mind, and I stood like a fool at the threshold of his home in utter silence.

I caught his eye and it was in that moment that I knew he understood. He quickly motioned for me to come inside, and after the door clicked closed behind me he led me to a small sitting room, a meager flame in the fireplace the only light, and it reminded me a lot of his home back at the opera.

"Please excuse me," he said, and left the room.

I took a seat on the edge of the divan settled in front of the ever-dying fire as I waited for him to return, the struggling flames desperately reaching for their last breaths; when he came back, they were gone completely. I barely saw him as he entered the room, only feeling the divan give way as he took a seat on my right.

For the first few moments, I sat there, scared to do or say anything. He did nothing also. My heart palpitated in my chest, and for a moment I almost regretted coming there at all. My natural instinct was to run away again—to return to where I knew it was safe—but I schooled the little girl inside me to settle down and summoned my courage.

It was then that I noticed his deep, uneven breaths, and I anxiously shifted my place on the couch to turn toward him. I opened my mouth to speak but stopped as I felt my heart brake.

He was crying. I once again felt my own tears sting the back of my eyes.

"Erik…" I whispered brokenly. I extended my hand to touch his shoulder and he shuddered violently at the contact. I scooted closer to him and threw my arms around his torso, my grip strong and unyielding. Almost immediately he returned my embrace, and I was surprised at how hard he squeezed me back, as if he was afraid I would vanish. But there was no way I was leaving. He needed to know how I felt, once and for all.

I pulled back slightly and with a fervency that shocked even me, I found myself suddenly pressing kiss after kiss upon his face, my hands withdrawing from his back to delve deep into his dark hair. Even though I could not see his expression, I was sure he was paralyzed from shock. His whole frame was shaking slightly, and as my lips grazed the skin below his eye, I distinctly tasted the saltiness of his tears as they streamed downwards.

He had stopped breathing as my light kisses had unconsciously led me to the corner of his mouth, and then, ever so hesitantly, over his lips. This kiss was not like the one that had occurred all those nights ago in the cellars of the opera house. That first kiss had been a poignant, bittersweet way of saying "goodbye". This kiss, while still bittersweet, was more akin to true passion and was like coming home after a long, cold winter. And in a way, it was.

I poured all my heart into that one kiss, my lips moving unceasingly against his unresponsive ones, screaming at him to recognize the feelings in my heart. Gradually, his lips seemed to recover feeling and began moving gently against mine. Although malformed and slightly bloated on one side, his lips felt perfect against mine. They were distinctly Erik, and I wouldn't trade it for the world.

This was exactly what I had been yearning for when I came here: the feeling of completion that only he—only Erik—could fill. No amount of money, privilege, or chivalry could tempt my happiness if it meant denying the pulsing music inside me. The music constantly called to me, hypnotizing me with its luscious melodies and roaring cadenzas, taking my soul to heights unknown. And my fallen guardian angel was forever there to guide me there and back.

I kissed him with a new alacrity, eagerly brushing my tongue against his lips, coaxing him to open. A moan ripped from his throat as my small, wet tongue lashed at his lips, and he tightly fisted his hands in my long wavy hair.

"Christine…" he half-sobbed as he pressed another kiss to my mouth. "God, how I love you still!"

I felt the tears finally slip from my eyes as he reverently kissed me. Nothing mattered but him anymore. Only ever him. "Erik…" I moaned.

His fingers played along my collarbone through the blue cloak I had on, fingering the knot gathered at my chest, and I suddenly and emphatically wanted it off. He seemed to understand my need, and with deft hands, undid the knot and swept the material off my shoulders and onto the floor. I looked at the discarded material for a moment as I fully realized the enormity of what I was about to do. Part of me was unquestionably scared at the thought of giving myself completely to a man, and I had, truthfully, absolutely no idea what to expect. But, Erik was no ordinary man. He was my Erik—my rock, my angel, my teacher…

And I loved him.

Erik had already moved to my neck, gently sucking the sensitive flesh there as I let out soft little moans. His hands, cradling my face and his thumbs caressing my cheeks, lifted my head up higher so he could have better access to the soft skin, and I let out a shaky breath at the wonderful feeling. Everything he did, I loved.

"Touch me," I breathed to the air, only half-realizing I spoke. His mouth stilled on my throat and he pulled back to look me directly in the eye. A faint sparkle shimmered in their dark depths, and I saw a myriad of emotions playing beneath their surface, a storm brewing capable of consuming both of us in its power. For a moment I felt intimidated, but then as I looked deeper, I saw something much more fundamental at its core. Love. I felt his love so keenly that I could almost touch it. His love wiped away all my fears, all my inhibitions, and suddenly I wanted to be swept up in the storm in his eyes. As long as I was with him, nothing else mattered.

"Please…" I whispered. His eyes glinted darkly at me, and he roughly claimed by lips again. I felt his hand leave my face and trail down my neck, stopping to rest right under the curve of my breast. He pulled back to look at me, as if challenging me to stop him, but I remained silent. I gasped when he cupped my breast, feeling my nipples standing on end underneath the dress. He heaved a great breath as well and watched his hand with intent as he gently massaged my breast. Even through the dress I could feel the chill of his skin. I was finding it harder and harder to breathe with each passing moment, and I hated with a passion the strict confines of my dress. Erik brought his other hand up to my other breast, and I moaned.

He groaned my name as his lips drifted to my neck, pausing right above the neckline of my dress as if he wasn't sure what to do next. I grabbed his hand and shifted in my seat ever so slightly so he could touch the ties in the back of my dress. Although I was amazed at my newfound brazenness, my modesty was nothing compared to the new incredible feelings brewing inside me that I so wanted to explore. His fingers shook as they fingered the ties, and slowly he began pulling them from their lacings. With each loop that the dress fell more slack, I felt my skin get hotter and my body more alert, things seeming to drift lower and lower…

Erik pulled the last lacing free and I stood up to let my dress pool around my ankles, now clad in nothing but a chemise. I was very glad I had opted out of a corset today. I heard Erik suck in a deep breath in front of me and my cheeks warmed under his scrutinizing gaze. I seemed to stand there for a lifetime before he spoke.

"Oh, Christine, no goddess was so beautiful." He reached forward to grab my arm, persuading me back down to his lap. I settled my bare legs on either side of his thighs, and my eyes couldn't help but drift to his crotch. I flushed when I saw the conspicuous bulge that seemed to be straining through his pants, remembering what the girls back at the Opera had once told me about the male body. His lips drifted with a new fervency along my neck, our bodies melting against one another. His hands were roaming everywhere they could: through my hair, down my back, over my chest, around my calf—everywhere except where I ached for him most. A few times his hand drifted to my thigh and I almost wept when he didn't go any farther than half-way.

"Erik," I pleaded. His hand stilled on the curve of my knee. "Please," I moaned.

He seemed to understand, and his hand began another slow assent, slipping under my chemise and up my inner thigh. I felt my burning nether regions throb painfully as his fingers neared my entrance, where I felt quite damp. I couldn't breathe. Ever so gently, his index finger gently stroked my aching folds and a groan tore from both of our throats. I felt an unexpected rush of wetness as he did it again, and again, and again. His breath was hot and heavy on my neck and I frantically grabbed onto his shoulders to keep me upright on his lap.

His fingers wondered delicately around my womanhood, gently stroking and occasionally pulling on the soft flesh there. Little jolts of pleasure shot up my spine with each touch of his fingertips, the dull ache in the pit of my stomach seeming to magnify. His breath came harsher and more strained when suddenly he pulled away. I was confused and about to protest but he shushed me gently and gathered me in his arms. I was hoisted off the divan and I realized with a thrill that we were heading to his bedroom. The final threshold, I thought.

He set me down on my jelly feet in front of the bed. I made to question but was shushed again, and I watched with wide eyes as Erik grabbed the hem of my chemise at my thighs and promptly glided it up and over my head. My eyes widened at the abrupt action, though the surprise was not at all unwelcome. Though I could barely make him out in this darkness, I knew he could see me just fine with his trained-eyes. My nipples tingled and the center between my thighs heated as I felt his intense gaze take in all of me, from my head to my toes, but lingering mostly in-between. It was as if his gaze was physically caressing me as it passed over my nude form. And instead of feeling insecure or shy, I found that I felt nothing less than sensual. I could practically feel the love radiating from him, and that unconditional love made me brave and uninhibited.

"Ah Christine," I heard him sing huskily. "If only you knew how beautiful you are."

He approached me and gathered me in his arms, his lips smashing against mine while his hands eagerly explored the new exposed skin. Everywhere he touched seemed to leave a trail of fire in its wake, and I just wanted to be consumed in it.

"Come," he murmured, and pulled me around to the large, dark bed. I immediately climbed back to rest against the pillows propped against the headboard and watched his form expectantly. He hesitated and then murmured "hold on" before turning away. I heard a rustle of clothes before he joined me a moment later, and I realized with a start that he was now naked as well. I couldn't help the immense blush that colored my cheeks. I had never touched, let alone seen, a man naked, and I wasn't sure what to do next. Should I look?

I chanced a peek down and I nearly gasped. How was something that thick and large going to fit anywhere inside me? A million fears threatened to shake my confidence, and I told my naïve self to be quiet and have faith in my angel. He was always going to be there to catch me when I fell.

So, with my courage in my throat, I reached out and grabbed the whole length of him in my hand. He gave a low groan and his manhood seemed to jump on its own as I gently stroked the long shaft. It was both soft and hard, and I found myself delighting in the smooth texture. His breath became ragged as my strokes came faster and his hand abruptly came up to cover my own, stopping me. He shot me a reassuring glance and kissed me hard, rolling his body on top of mine so I was pinned beneath him. I responded eagerly, wrapping my legs around his slim hips and entangling my arms in his dark hair.

His fingers traced the curves of my neck and shoulder, and with each pass his hand strayed lower and farther off its original course until it once again found play at my breast. I was desperately aching for him now, and I let out a gratified whimper when he traced over my stiff nipple and gently tugged it. But it wasn't enough, and I moaned with longing against his mouth.

Erik let out his own groan at my plea, and lifted himself to shift his position lower on the bed. He planted a kiss in the center of my chest, watching my reaction with half-lidded eyes. He moved slightly more to the right with each kiss he bestowed on me, until finally he was able to close his mouth over my taut nipple. He sucked long and slow, as if enjoying my carnal torture as I gasped for breath. His fingers continued to gingerly pull on my other nipple and I wove my fingers in his hair to hold him closer to my breast.

"Mmm, Christine…" he murmured lovingly against my breast, the vibrations sending a pleasant sensation throughout my body. "I love you so much."

He softly pulled my nipple between his teeth, tenderly biting the sensitive flesh. I gasped at the exquisite sensation and he did it again. Then, his tongue feathered across my hard peek and I nearly died. Surely it was wrong to feel this wanton!

At last he pulled away, and I felt his hand delicately touch my womanly place again.

He breathed harshly, and suddenly he had shifted his position again. "Are you ready?" he gently asked me, his ardor cooling for a moment to make sure I was okay. I felt the tip of his manhood poking at my soft entrance, and I felt a wave of anxiety. I knew it was going to hurt, but I surely didn't want Erik to get the wrong idea!

"Erik," I whispered. "Just… promise me you won't stop."

He nodded, and I could've sworn I saw a tear escape his eye, before he entered me in one deep thrust. A yelp tore from my throat before I could stop it, and I bit hard into his broad, pale shoulder. I was pretty sure something had torn, and an indescribable pain wracked my nether regions. He remained unmoving, though, and stroked my hair and cheek, whispering words of love in my ear.

As the pain dulled, an indescribable feeling of raw pleasure overcame my senses, and I was in awe of the enormity of the union that we were now intimately sharing with one another. This was love at its best. I started to really feel him inside me, and that awareness alone made the ecstasy only that more great. The muscles in my legs that were wound around his hips fell slack, and he pulled up from the crook in my shoulder to look at me again with those loving eyes.

"Are you alright?" he tried his best to sound gentle but I could hear the great restraint in his voice, as if he were in agony.

I held his eye, nodded, and suddenly he was moving in and out of me quickly and fiercely. My head threw back in shock at the exquisite sensation while a gasp tore from my throat. I had had no idea it would feel like this! No words could describe the emotions that overwhelmed my senses at that moment; it was just him and me and nothing else. It was as if our love was building and building higher in-between us, and I just knew that I wanted more and more, desperately reaching for something I couldn't quite name.

His body continued to rock against mine in an even rhythm, his thrusts hitting my soft, sensitive flesh each time he drove back in, and, although it hurt slightly, I found that I thoroughly enjoyed it.

He kissed me hard before moving to press delicate kisses along my neck, his hand coming up to cup my breast. He gave the soft flesh a squeeze, manipulating the hardened tip between his fingers as I writhed beneath him. When I felt him somehow drive deeper into my aching flesh, I let out a resounding moan. "Please…" I pleaded, although I'm not sure what for, because I never wanted this to end.

My hands traveled everywhere they could: moving at first from his hair to his arms, then to his back, followed by his chest, where I delighted in the little bit of hair growing there. As I felt fulfillment draw nearer, I grabbed hold of his shoulders, digging my fingernails into the skin there as I cried out. My hips desperately rose to meet his as he drove into me with vigor, and I wrapped my legs around him tighter still.

His hands moved from my breasts to cup my face, forcing my hazy eyes to meet his. It was almost as if I could see straight through the windows of his soul at that moment, and though he was half-crazed with desire, there was no mistaking the impassioned emotion raging in his eyes. This moment meant everything to him, just as it did to me. After so many weeks, so many months of running from each other, our feelings were now finally bared. Our passion was slowly consuming us in our desperate lovers' dance, my body answering every unspoken question his asked. Even though I could hardly make out his form, he never appeared more beautiful to me than in that instant: I could see him pure, whole, without any barriers for either of us to hide behind. He was my Erik, and I loved him. He loved me.

He gave another deep thrust and I felt so incredibly close to what I needed so badly, but I still found myself unable to grab hold of it. Then, his lips descended on mine in a mind-blowing kiss, and I let out a resounding moan against his mouth as I felt my whole body quake and tense before falling completely slack, like jelly. His body, now coated in a thin sheet of sweat, continued to move frantically within me, guttural noises falling uninhibited from his throat as he moved closer and closer to the same precipice.

I kissed his ear in silent encouragement, and suddenly his body jerked out of rhythm. I felt a great warmth spread throughout my belly, and I knew he had finished as well. His body collapsed on mine, and for a few minutes nothing could be heard except for the sound of our labored breathing. His weight pressed me comfortingly into his mattress, and I was disappointed when he suddenly rolled off of me to rest by my side instead.

He smiled lovingly at me and tucked a stray hair away from my face behind my ear.

This was absolute bliss. That was the only way to describe it. I felt my eyes droop and watched faintly as Erik pulled back the black coverlet we had not used. I eagerly climbed in next to him, pulling the covers up over both of us. As I snuggled deeply into the crook of his arm, a sense of completion and pure comfort overcame me, and for the first time in a long time, I felt sincerely happy.

I was with the man I loved, and his name was Erik.