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Save Me From My Solitude	By : Pasque Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 2589 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Hi, please forgive any times when Christine appears as Christina, its my sisters name so its hard to get out of the habit of typing it lol! Hope you’re enjoying the fic, I promise it will get more exciting in time just keep checking back! Also I am trying hard not to make this a stereotypical fic that trashes Raoul just for the hell of it (don’t get me wrong I am very anti-fop) I just wanted to try and make it realistic by having normal problems in their marriage.

chapter 2

Erik found himself frozen as he entered the shop. The music was relatively simple by his standards, Vivaldi if he was not mistaken, and yet it was played with a passion and desperation that he had previously heard only in himself. M. de Jere had music specifically ordered for Erik that he had come to collect and yet he found himself forgetting why he had come here. All he could see, think and feel was her. That wretched, innocent, beautiful, traitorous, beloved girl of his. He heard her speak her old name for him, Angel, and instantly came crashing back down to earth. She was not his, she was the Vicomte’s, and having been married three years by now he assumed she was most certainly not innocent anymore. Yet here she sat, like an apparition in from of him, tiny body hunched against the piano in awe of him.

“Christine,” he whispered. He wished he hadn’t spoken. To say her name was very simple… yet what to say next? He corrected himself with a small hint of spite in his voice, “Vicomtess de Chagny.”

To his surprise she flinched at the title, “Don’t,” was all she quietly said.

“Ah Erik!” M de Jere bustled back into the room. “So glad you’re here my fellow, oh… I’m sorry, do forgive my rudeness, allow me to introduce you, this is the Vicomtess de Chagny.”

“Yes we’ve met, “Erik murmured but nonetheless bowed low to her. Christine felt her face flush uncomfortably, to watch the man who was once her maestro, her master, bowing to her was unbearable. She stood so quickly that her customary clumsiness overcame her and she tripped over the stool landing ungracefully on her behind and sending the music scattering across the floor.

“Oh!” she exclaimed embarrassed. Dear sweet Jesus, let me just evaporate now she prayed silently as M. de Jere and Erik both rushed to her side. Erik extended his hand to her and without hesitation she felt her own grab it and allow herself to be gently helped to her feet.

“Madame, are you hurt?” he asked with genuine concern, but beneath that she could see his mouth twitching with suppressed laughter. Realising that nothing was to be gained from trying to ignore this embarrassment with haughtiness she allowed herself to laugh at her own expense and reply, “Only my pride.” She brushed herself down and rearranged her voluminous skirts, suddenly wishing that M. de Jere would leave her alone with her Angel.

“Clumsy as ever Christine?” he asked wistfully. “I rather thought you might outgrow that.”

“Apparently not,” she said gazing at him thoughtfully. Their eyes met and explored each other’s silently, each pondering the years that had passed and wondering what the other had done. Where have you been? Have you thought of me? A thousand unanswerable questions hung in the air between them.

The sound of M. de Jere awkwardly clearing his throat broke to silence, “I wasn’t aware that you two were acquainted.”

Christine froze, unaware of how to answer before deciding to brazen out the situation by flippantly explaining, “This man was my tutor at the opera house in Paris until he kidnapped me and attempted to kill my fiancé due to his growing obsession with me.”

M. de Jere stared at them both. Christine was unreadable, coolly regarding him and Erik was staring wide eyed and open mouthed at her. After a moment M. de Jere burst into laughter, “You have the most bizarre sense of humour my dear! You spend too much time locked up in that gloomy old house, get your busy young husband to take you out and show you off a little more often!”

Christine shrugged amicably and Erik could see her amusement shining in her eyes, he understood and admired her honesty: why lie when the truth is simply unbelievable?

M. de Jere continued to speak unaware of the tension between the two musicians, “Actually it is rather agreeable that you should decide to visit today Erik.”

“And why is that Monsieur?” Erik asked politely. He had only returned to the small provincial town about a year ago and during that time had come to frequent the small music shop so often that he had developed a friendship with the kindly old owner.

“The Vicomtess here has requested my services as a piano tuner but I’m afraid I am unable to leave the shop today, I’m sure it would be possible for a man of your skills to assist the young lady”

The old man’s gesture was meant for her benefit but Christine felt her heart stop. What on earth would Raoul say when he found out? She was ashamed to admit that she found herself beginning to not care about her husband’s opinion, all too often to her he appeared petty and vindictive: so much lay hidden beneath the veneer of sweet kindness she had once loved. Yet to be alone with her old tutor seemed dangerous; her mind swam with images of his face distorted in anger and hatred as she had pulled of his mask that first time in the cellar, as she had revealed him yet again to all of the Opera house, as she had left him broken and crying in the ruins of his home to run away with her fairytale Prince.

Erik’s voice cut through her reverie as he replied, “I’m afraid that solution would not be acceptable to the lady, we did not exactly part on the best of terms” Christine stole a sideways glance at him and saw that as he spoke his last comment his eyes had flicked to hers in sadness and resentment.

“Nonsense dear fellow,” M. de Jere dismissed his protests, ”You are both my friends and I have come to know you very well, I see no reason why you cannot get along, besides it is the obvious solution, you shall need entertaining anyway I’m afraid as your music hasn’t arrived yet.”

“Now go on with you both I have much work to do here,” he hustled them both gently out and Christine found herself standing on the street, her once maestro staring blankly at her as if unsure what to do.

She smiled suddenly, “Your name is Erik?”

He nodded slowly, realising that to her he had always been Angel, Phantom, Opera Ghost… or his personal favourite: Master.

“I never knew that.”

He cursed himself for his inability to reply. How could she slip so easily back into conversation after three years apart, let alone the disastrous way they had parted?

“Erik, would you tune my piano for me please?” she asked with such sweetness and innocence that he longed to shake her roughly for daring to ignore the terrible circumstances of their departure. He forced the feelings down, he had long ago sworn to himself never to touch her in anger.

“Of course, Vicomtess,” he bowed formally in acquiescence and followed her as she began the short walk home towards the looming mansion he saw in the distance.

“Please do not call me that,” she begged softly unable to look at him. “You were once my master, to her you address me that way and bow to me… feels wrong.”

“Seeing you a married woman feels particularly wrong to me and yet I have to learn to live with it” she said shortly.

“Where is your husband?” Erik asked abruptly.

“Away.”

He nodded slowly and behind the mask she saw his dark eyes processing the information, she silently damned herself for having given him any details, however slight, about Raoul. She knew Erik’s deviously fast mind, she knew that he would be quick to see through the glossy yet thin layer of exterior happiness that covered the de Chagny household making them appear cheerful and very much in love, the perfect young couple in fact.

They walked in silence, she felt strangely nervous about him seeing where she lived: he would hate it she knew, after all she did and she knew that they shared much the same taste. The furniture was all antiques handed down generation to generation of de Chagny’s, the stuffy, over dressed rooms, the air of claustrophobia and the stuffed dead animals that were grotesque to her yet it seemed to be Raoul’s greatest pride to butcher a stag and see the poor creature’s head mounted on the wall. The only room that Christine had been allowed to show her personality in was the joint library and music room: her sanctuary.

Erik allowed himself to glance surreptitiously at Christine as they walked; she has been very much changed by marriage he could tell. She looked older. Her face appeared un-aged but her expression, always serious, looked now to be exceptionally sad. He worried instantly that she was not happy in her marriage but immediately pushed the doubt from his mind: she had married her charming, handsome Vicomte and been allowed to leave the monster in the darkness unscathed, of course she would be happy.

“What are you doing here?” she burst out.

They both stopped walking, she appeared just as shocked as he at her outburst.

“I’m sorry Ange- Erik, I do not mean to be rude I just… I have never seen you in town before.”

“I was born here,” he replied quietly. “After the Opera, I saw no reason not to return.”

“You were born here?” she asked incredulously.

Annoyed at her surprise he snapped, “Yes I was born here, what, did you think that a monster like me would be spat out of hell rather than born a helpless babe like everyone else?”

“Erik why do you always do that?” she exploded. He gazed at her in shock, this was not the meek, frightened, agreeable Christine that had followed him to his lair, sung his opera and offered to sacrifice herself to him for the sake of her fiancé, this was an angry, forceful young woman. “You always take everything so personally, as if I were seeking to insult you. All I meant was that I rather though you would have been born in a city, most people with such talent and culture are not born in the provinces!”

With that she turned on her heel and continued to walk quickly up the long drive towards the front door. Erik stared dumbfounded after her before coming to his senses and catching up with her in a few long strides, “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s quite alright, “she said distractedly. “Wait here,” she instructed. Erik stood awkwardly in the massive foyer as Christine disappeared down one of the numerous corridors. In her absence he took the time to look with a critical eye over the de Chagny house. The building was ugly enough in itself, the design made his architects instincts repel and long to tear the building down brick by brick. The furnishing, even just in the foyer, was ostentatious and had more than a hint of a museum about it, clearly this was a house intended to show the enormous wealth of the family rather than make the occupants feel comfortable.

Erik sighed deeply, it had been a mistake to come here, he didn’t want to see Christine here. She didn’t belong here, not here among the ugly mounted carcasses of stags and owls. God how he hated the aristocracy, they hunted, they guzzled wine and rich foods, they smoked cigars and complemented each other on their pretty young wives. Not one of them had a soul as far as he was concerned, but for Christine to become one of them… that was unthinkable. He had not freed her from the prison that was himself to see her imprisoned in a cold, empty house.

During his musing she had returned, “Follow me quickly,” she ordered. He did so, only to be lead through room after hideous room until finally coming upon a door that she practically pushed him through. Once inside he could not repress a smile, so, his Christine was not dead and buried beneath the façade of a respectable Vicomtess after all. The room was a mixture of music room and library, and she kept it in the same appalling state of mess that she had kept her dressing room at the opera house in. Music scattered the floor and the surface of the piano whilst books lay open on the sofa and desk. It differed so much from the gloomy, dark rooms of the rest of the house that he was in no doubt that she had personally instructed how it was to be decorated: the walls were a rich blood red, he felt slightly plagiarised as he looked at the dark, stained wood furniture that had clearly been inspired by his own. In the corner was one of the most beautiful pianos he had ever seen, the instrument was a full grand piano, sleek, black and covered in sheet music. The furnishings here were soft and plush, obviously designed for comfort. He wondered briefly is she did indeed sleep here for a number of cashmere blankets were thrown over the sofa carelessly, but then he thought of the idiot boy.

If Christine were my wife, she would spend every night in my bed, in my arms, I would make sure of it. The boy may be an idiot but I‘m sure he does not deny himself her. As he took in the heavy velvet drapes that were tightly drawn across the windows, blocking out all light, he remembered where the place reminded him of.

“You seem to have created your very own lair,” he laughed mirthlessly.

“Do you like it,” Christine asked softly.

“Why does it matter if I like it?” Erik replied bluntly.

He saw hurt in her eyes and ignored it. Instead he shed himself of his cloak and gloves and moved to the piano, he struck a chord and winced slightly. It was indeed a beautifully crafted instrument, but she was correct in her request for a tuner. He set to work instantly, raising the lid carefully and examining the insides.

Christine watched silently. What did I expect? A hug and a kiss? It has been so long, I have changed so much. So has he. Three years ago his lack of attention towards me would be unimaginable. Not that I am seeking his attention, it’s just the done thing, the polite thing. How dare he make me feel so insignificant in my own house, my own hated house. Would it kill him to make conversation with me, I want him to talk to me.

“Erik.”

For God’s sake woman why can’t you leave well enough alone, he screamed silently. I have done my best to forget you for three torturous years and then I turn around and here you are with your bloody husband right in front of my oh so beautiful face.

“Why won’t you be nice to me?” came her small voice.

Furiously Erik spun around from his work, “Be nice to you? Bloody hell Christine I haven’t seen you in three years, I have fought with myself everyday to keep from tracking you down, stealing you from under your ignorant husband’s nose and murdering him in front of you! I have had the only true home I’ve ever known destroyed by the mob you brought down with you that night at the opera, I gave up the only woman I ever…” he trailed off as if exhausted by his own sudden anger. “And now you want me to be nice to you? Well what do you want me to say, I am doing what you want am I not? I believe you brought me here to tune your piano not to comment on your husband’s abysmal taste in soft furnishings.”

He turned his back on Christine and quickly finished tuning the piano. Closing the hood he tried the same chord again and was pleased to hear the perfect harmony fill the room. He turned around and immediately wished he hadn’t. Christine stood before him, her eyes filled with tears that she desperately ignored as she spoke to him, “Please Erik… I’m truly sorry you know I am, just please, stay and have tea with me, talk to me. Please.”

Author is begging you to review. I’m sorry if it is leaning towards crapness but I truly promise it will improve. Love Pasque XXX
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Save Me From My Solitude