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Black Angels	By : Provocateur Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 12725 -:- 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
- 19
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Chapter 20: The Two Sides of Paradise
A/N: I am so sorry for the delay in updates! This is the longest I have ever gone without updating, but I had a ridiculously busy week last week. Once again, I apologize for my negligence, I am bad authoress. Anyways, I think you guys will like this one (it has a little bit of everything for everyone). Please let me know what you think, I love reading your comments. Thanks to all who have reviewed thus far, I heart you all!

On another note, I would like to dedicate this chapter to everyone who has lost their lives, loved ones, or feelings of safety in the London terrorist attacks today. My heart goes out to all of you.

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Men don’t change…

Meg’s ominous warning followed Christine through the crowded Parisian streets for what seemed like endless hours. Every step she made towards the tiny house she was learning to call home was strained.

It was not that she did not want to see Erik. In fact, she wanted nothing more than to look upon him sitting quietly, his face peaceful and content in the soft light of the afternoon sun. No longer would he be the omnipotent creature of darkness, a specter lurking in the shadows with malevolent intent. Now, with her friendship and affection he would be a man of great virtue.

Well, perhaps virtue was too strong a term. But at least his heart could beat with contentment knowing that she had seen each and every part of him and still let him hold her at night.

Yet her ecstatic reaction to his touch and soft caress were so ethereal and fantastical in nature that it seemed as though a mild change in the wind could tear him away from her.

The man whom she loved was also the man that she hated.

She hated the man Meg spoke of.

She loved the man that she saw buried beneath the anger and pain of years past.

She loved him…

Was it too naïve to accept the rush of emotions so powerful that they threatened to bring her to knees as love? It was almost too powerful to be given a name so simple, so often used in casual conversation and abused in frivolous poetry and misleading fairy tales.

Why did her heart scream love without due reprimand from her mind? She had become, through hardship and necessity, a logical and rational woman. She no longer believed in fantasy, she no longer dreamt of being swept off of her feet by a mighty and noble Prince.

The streets Paris were filled with a million faces, all of which ignored her with naught a second look. What would they think if they knew that she was the notorious diva who brought an opera house to ruin with her rejection of a legendary creature of doom?

Would their mild expressions turn to ones of pity and condemnation?

A startled holler sounded above her bowed head as a man threw his arms above his in head in indignation. A harsh snort brought her head upwards to glance into the frighteningly close face of a ruddy draft horse whose path she had crossed whilst lost in her reverie.

The large brown eyes seemed to narrow at her, leering into her traitorous and unfaithful soul.

It became clear to her that thinking too much proved a great danger to ones fragile sanity. Condemnation from a horse? She was beginning to worry herself!

Muttering an apology she stepped aside, the masculine grunts of bewilderment and irritation following her even as she walked from them as swiftly as her feet would carry her.

If the day were clear and her mind free, she surely would have shrunk away in embarrassment, mentally berating herself for her carelessness as she mumbled incoherent yet sincere apologies to the offended horseman. In the distance she could hear the slight crack of leather as he tugged the reins fiercely, urging the tired animal onwards to a destination unknown to her.

The day was warm and rather pleasant. She watched her shadow waver in front of her as she stepped forward. It was taller and skinnier than she, like a black beanpole slithering along the brown cobblestones, soundless and unobtrusive.

The bustle and excitement of a frenzied city dissipated into the distance as she walked closer and closer to the home of the infamous Phantom. No longer was he that Phantom to her. He ceased being that strange, surreal being the night he broke down in her arms and confessed to her the deeply buried secrets of his tragic past.

He had lost that stoic and stony visage that gave him the air of a forceful authority. No longer was his will the law, no longer were his words filled with threats and ominous warnings of tragedy to come.

No, the tragedies he spoke of were his own, and oh, how they had broken him! He was born brilliant, and he was also born ugly. His face obliterated all of his beauty, and he became a monster. Yet, in his weakest moments of truth, and in the calm moments of passion that followed, he was that brilliant, passionate man who stole her heart the first night he sang to her.

She should have been furious at Meg for insulting him, but she could not bring herself to fault her.

She could resent her, and she could feel her flesh burn with indignation at the implication that she was no more than a common whore. But Meg could never understand the heart-wrenching joy her soul felt when she uncovered the man who hid his heart beneath a porcelain fortress. Meg could not understand the passion.

Yet Meg had brought up Raoul.

What of Raoul?

The very thought of him caused her chest to nearly cave in on itself in agony. It was the agony of guilt. She was guilty because she loved him. She was guilty because she did not give his handsome face and good heart a second thought when Erik held her.

When Raoul and her sailed away on Erik’s gondola that fateful night, she had looked back at her Angel as he wept silently with heartbreak. She sang to Raoul a promise of love and never-ending devotion, and god knew she meant every word. Yet, when she sang she looked at Erik, her eyes never leaving his reddened and swollen cheeks as he wished her farewell for all eternity.

She knew then that she would forever exist in two worlds, the world of sun and the world of shadows. She had a darkness within her own soul, but a childlike disposition in her heart. She wanted a Prince. She wanted a daring, dangerous lover. What happened when the lines of fantasy blurred?

Confrontations with life-long friends and battles against the mind happened.

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When she returned to the house after a long walk of aching reflection, she was greeted with the man whom she was not in love with.

She could feel the coldness permeating through the air of the house, the chill stripping her bare and penetrating her skin. The air still bent to the will of the master, and it was in a most foul mood.

How could it be that she could feel his anger even before it came hurtling out of him with abandon? Some might call it a soulful connection of sorts, but at tense moments of horrendous suspense and ominous warning, it was a curse.

“Did you enjoy your day?” A harsh, clipped voice emanated from the library, the tone controlled yet fierce.

It was a seemingly innocent question, but a blackness seemed to colour the air as the words escaped the mahogany confines that caged his anger. Temporarily of course.

“It was fine.” She would not allow his foul mood to make her tremble, not after she had forsaken her friend for his sake.

“Oh?” The sound of book cover closing signaled his imminent emergence.

This was the man whom she did not love. This was the Phantom, the malevolent, embittered Hades.

“Yes, it was a most lovely afternoon.” She lied, standing her ground as emphatically as was possible.

“You were gone for much longer than you said you would be.” He finally appeared, his impeccable appearance making him look oddly handsome and debonair despite the fire waiting to explode beneath his eerily calm façade.

His navy blue waistcoat hugged his body tightly, drawing attention to his taut muscles and broad chest. His fine black jacket had not a wrinkle or speck of dust. His ebony wig was perfectly placed; the glistening strands slicked back expertly, shining in the pale afternoon light.

She found she much preferred the disheveled, open-shirted, loose haired Erik. The Erik not wound as tight as coiled snake awaiting a chance to strike out at its prey.

“Where did you go?” He circled her slowly, his eyes burning into hers, searching for a truth that was not there. His voice was low and dangerous.

“You know where I went.” She crossed her arms over her chest protectively and met his eyes, never allowing her gaze to falter.

“I know where you said you were going, that does not mean that I know where you went.”

She felt intense relief that he not trailed her on her outing, that lack of trust in her would tear into her heart like a knife. Yet his interrogation was no better.

“I don’t appreciate this.” She turned and walked away, her anger beginning to cloud her resolve to stand still in the face of his sneering arrogance.

“I do not appreciate being lied to.” He walked up behind her, his breath tickling the shell of her ear. The normally potent sensation made her cringe.

“I am not lying, but I will not fall to my knees and plead for your understanding.” Would this be how things would forever be? The nights of passionate longing and the days of unspoken questions and doubts?

Erik looked upon her as she stood, her breathing even and her face calm despite the frantic beating of her heart. He had been a ravaged wretch since she spent the afternoon away from him.

His mind had been reeling with questions. Had she gone to the gendarmes? Was her passionate response to him simply a coy farce to render him vulnerable and defenseless? Betrayal came when one least expected it, and it sometimes came from those who one was supposed to trust the most.

Why, he had seen such things unfold before his very eyes, and surely the tales of treachery and deceit that marred literature and history could not be so wrong. Lovers betrayed lovers, family exposed family, and friends destroyed friends. The heart had its secrets, and no doubt hers was no different. His most certainly was not.

But something about her eyes disarmed him; there was an honesty in them, but also a deep coldness that worked to mask something deeper. Perhaps it was hurt. Still, he was not satisfied. He granted her freedom without dissent, and the hours that dragged on in insufferable silence took his mind careening down dark and dangerous roads. He was assaulted with doubts, he was overcome with fear.

“You will not tell me where you went?” He stepped in front of her, his eyes blazing blue-green fire.

“No, for you already know.” She stepped to the side in an attempt to pass him.

“I do not, I can only guess.” He stepped in front of her once more.

“You…you are being silly, Erik!” She sidestepped him once more. She inwardly grimaced at how juvenile her retort sounded.

“I am never silly.” He blocked her path once more.

“You would be a happier person if you were, dare I say!” She moved again, he moved as well. This was a futile game that she was most certainly going to lose, and she was fuming with rage.

“I am unhappy when you are not nearby.” His cold countenance turned to a smirk as his words pierced her soul. It seemed a romantic endearment to her, but it was frightening still.

Men don’t change…

“Erik!” She screamed his name with such ferocity that he was taken aback. “Erik! STOP IT!” With a force she never knew she possessed she shoved against his chest, her forearms crashing against the hard expanse of his abdomen as she frantically pushed away from him.

Who was this man with so many faces? Why did he demand her subservience after receiving her unspoken devotion and passionate caresses? She gave him everything when he touched her. That night on the grass, the moonlight illuminating their glistening flesh, she had given him her soul. She had broken her marriage vows as she exposed her body to his gaze and begged him to touch her, taste her, enter her. They had not made love, but they had shared something earth shattering.

Their entangled bodies shared a promise with one another’s, and in one instant he could forget her sacrifice and her pleasure and look upon her with detached accusation of a detective.

She pushed at him even as he easily lifted her off of her feet and grasped her firmly by the shoulders, holding her back from his body as she raged at him.

“Jesus Christ, Erik! Why? Why do you do this?” Her voice was almost hoarse now, her screams lacking the ethereal, musical quality that her singing possessed. In this moment, she was but a frightened animal, desperately fighting against her captor.

He was most surprised to hear her curse so blatantly. She was definitely not lying to him, and he was most surprised to feel ashamed and deeply embarrassed.

Holding her shoulders tightly, he reached down to grasp her wrists and held them to her sides, stilling her movements.

“Let go!” She pushed against him, but to no avail. He was far stronger than she, and the vice like grip on her wrists kept her immobile, unable to lash out against him in a flurry of violent indignation at his wretched insult.

“Stop fighting and I will let you go!” He roared back, pushing her into the far wall and pinning her in place with his body. He had no intention of frightening her, but he also had no wish to obtain injuries.

“You’re horrid!” Her gasp was riddled with both shock and amusement; her eyes wide with surprise as she dangled above the ground with his thigh nestled snuggly between her thighs and his arms hold hers high above her head. She was effectively restrained with little effort on his part.

It was exciting.

It was infuriating!

“Erik…” She struggled once more, her wrists straining beneath his hands, “Erik, put me down.”

“When you are calm, I shall release you, but not a moment sooner.” He propped his leg up higher, lifting her feet another inch above the ground.

“I am calm!” Another pitiful strain.

“You’re lying.”

She grimaced, that was the second time he accused her of lying that day.

“You’re being unreasonable. Put me down!”

“I’d rather not.”

Now he was smirking at her, his angry outburst fading into mild teasing. It was strange. To say he was moody would be a vast understatement. He went from a stalking tiger to rambunctious puppy in less than 10 minutes. It was unnerving. It was unsettling. It was so very…Erik.

“You had best do it, you will grow tired of holding me up eventually.”

“I will never tire of holding you.”

“I am not in the mood for your affection. I want down!”

“You want down?” His tongue darted out and licked his lips before they lifted in a mischievous, boyish smirk. Perhaps this playfulness was his apology for his behavior earlier, but she was not ready to forgive him. God, it had hurt to feel that coldness in the air and see that distrust in his eyes…

How could a man so strong be so weak at the same time?

“Yes, I want down!” She sounded childish, she knew, but her anger was rising once more. She did not want to be teased or played with, in fact, the more he smiled the more she wanted to slap him.

“What will you do if I put you down?” He raised his visible brow questioningly.

“I will go outside to spend some time away from you.”

“Away from me? You have been away from me all day.” He was still teasing, but his eyes no longer twinkled with boyish delight at her predicament.

“Yes, and when I returned you were…you were…you were…” Her voice faded as she searched for a word to describe his coldness.

“I was what?” He raised his brow once more, his forehead wrinkling.

“You were mean to me!” She grimaced as soon the words escaped her mouth. It sounded so silly; people accused one another of meanness when they were children, put off by trivial happenings that made most adults scoff.

Mean? Meanness was simple, coldness was not. Coldness was the calm before the storm; meanness was an act of disregard and selfishness. He was a selfish man who disregarded others often, but he had a danger inside of him that went deeper than anyone could imagine.

“You worried me.” His expression was stern once more, his arms beginning to tremble as they held her.

“If you don’t have trust in anyone you will be a very unhappy man, Erik.”

“You are preaching to the converted, my dear.” He began to lower her slowly, his body growing weaker as his face aged right before her eyes.

“I think you too often allow your doubts to punish you, and then you hurt others to avoid dealing with your own demons.” Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper as she lowered her eyes and brushed at her skirts nervously.

She understood him, but she could not live forever knowing he did not understand her. Or himself, for that matter.

“A prolific statement my dear, but the demons you speak of you have no knowledge of.” He stepped away from her and ran his hands through his hair, a troubled exhale exiting his lips. He sounded old and tired.

“I know more about them then you would think.”

“No, you really do not.”

She answered with an audible sigh.

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Darkness descended quickly, the night air turning cold with the disappearance of the sun. She could feel it coming through the walls as it whistled outside, blowing the trees this way and that. She could see the shadows of the leaves dancing upon the windows.

Pressing her forehead to the glass she let out a harsh sigh, her eyes closing and her fingers rising to knead the taut skin of her face in frustration.

He was a walking, breathing paradox. A two-faced genius. A double-sided wild card.

A protector.

A friend.

A Phantom.

A lover.

And he was standing at the door, his wig removed, his shirt open and his jacket long since forsaken. He still wore the mask though. It was his armor; he was never seen without it.

“Are you still angry?” His voice was sheepish; his body was leaning against the doorframe absently as he casually examined his fingers.

“Erik, let us pretend for one moment I am you and you are me.” He looked at her quizzically and folded his arms across his chest.

“Let us pretend that you went about your day as you normally do, and you came home to me silently raging and roaring about you doing something traitorous. Would that not upset you? Would you not feel like an untrustworthy child, or reluctant prisoner?”

He sighed, but did not reply.

“I never want to feel like I must remain by you at all times, I want to long to be beside you. I want to miss you when are you gone, and I want you to miss me without fearing that I have betrayed you or forsaken you. I do not want to be watched and stalked and confronted unfairly!”

She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself as she faced the window. Raoul and her would never have these kinds of tense confrontations. They would never need to spend long hours apart to fume over the others perceived transgressions.

They also would never cry out in need, or feel the power of the soul-born connection that drove them together. She was so drawn to that strange, difficult man who hid behind the mask…

She hated herself for it, but she no longer fought against his hold on her.

“I am simply taking precautions.”

“No, you are keeping me in chains.”

“How odd, I would think you might learn to like chains…” His voice drifted off as his lips curled into the most vile, suggestive stare she had ever seen. She gasped at his horrid implication, her face burning with shame that she was able to understand his provocative and sinful insinuation.

“Stop being such a beast.”

“If I were not a beast, you would not be back here.” His words rang true; his dark, unpredictable nature excited her even as it repelled her.

He walked up behind her, his steps light as he put his hands on her slim shoulders, his fingers gently kneading the soft skin beneath the satin material.

She sighed lightly, but did not lean into his chest.

“See how you do not run from your monster?” He pressed his lips to the tender skin just below her ear and ran his hands down her arms, the strong hands nearly enveloping her forearms completely.

“Do not refer to yourself that way, Erik.” Her tone was serious even as her frown broke to allow a soft, subtle grin to show.

“I am a monster, and I am sorry.” He linked his fingers through hers and curled his hands around hers, his thumb stroking the silky softness of her palm.

“You are not a monster, you are simply a difficult and impudent man.”

“Do you forgive me?” His lips went lower on her neck as shivers ran up her spine, gently lulling her into sweet submission.

“Perhaps I will tomorrow.” She laughed as his teeth nipped against her skin as he wrapped her arms around her body with his own resting atop. She could smell the sweet scent of his breath and feel the strong expanse of his chest covering her back. In his arms she was forever safe, he would never let her go, he would never let anything take her from him.

It was frightening.

It was exhilarating.

He groaned as she pressed into him, her behind rubbing against his pelvis tauntingly.

He had a mind to lift her skirts and have her against the wall, her sweaty palms leaving hot streaks against the glass of the window as filled her and thrusted into her over and over again.

He wanted to hear her scream his name and moan in release. He wanted to feel her clench around him and throw her head back into his shoulder as her body shook with intense pleasure.

He wanted to hold her afterwards, never letting her go as they caught their breath and held fast to each other. Like mates on ravaged ship in a storm they would cling to one another fiercely. If one fell into the black depths of the water, the other would plunge in afterwards.

“You have such a wonderful book collection, Erik.” She gently pushed away from him. Now was not the time to fall into his arms. Now was not the time to forget the Phantom lurking beneath the heated, passionate surface of the man who she loved.

The tortured genius that she fell in love with was the man who held her, but the angry and possessive madman was still there. There was a journey to be made, and he had only come half way.

He stared after her blankly, his smile disingenuous and shallow. Perhaps this was retaliation for his gentle refusal to make love to her when she begged and pleaded for him to enter her. Perhaps she was not truly ready to come to him willingly. Perhaps she was still angry.

Perhaps he would never know.

“I take good care of it.” He grumbled silently as he waited for his throbbing arousal to quiet.

“I can see that.” She scanned the titles with interest, her eyes moving back and forth upon the various covers as her fingers trailed gently over the spines, her fine nails making soft scratching noises against the leather.

“Why must all of it be so morbid?” She reached in and pulled out his volume of Edgar Allan Poe poems and stories. Each and every page was painted with anguish, the black feelings of a black soul laid bare in a series of poetic and meaningful words and metaphors.

Stories of madness, betrayal, and macabre occurrences leapt out of the soft black leather cover. All ended in the hero slowly descending into an endless pit of doom. It sounded dramatic, but there was no other way to describe it.

These stories were the embodiment of Erik. They were he at his weakest, darkest moments.

He had been places she would never dare go.

“I prefer to think of it as realism in its finest form.”

“Does your cynicism not become haunting?” She asked.

“Not every story has a happy ending, Christine.” His voice sounded far away, as though it were no longer he who was speaking, but a deeply buried part of him.

“But some do.” She answered back quietly, her eyes scanning the tales as she flipped through the crisp white pages that were bent in the corners where he had marked his place.

“Those are what we call fairytales.” He placed his hand lightly on her hip, reading over her shoulder as she scanned the book.

“Can people not make their own fairytales, Erik?”

“I once thought so.”

“If you remain so dark you will surely go mad.” She chuckled and then froze, the full realization of what she had said crashing against her like a tidal wave against the shore.

“Ah, madness.” He plucked the book from her hands and placed it back on the shelf, making sure not to bend or mark the leather. “Madness, you see, is a place I visited long ago, and it is a place I have long since escaped from.”

“Perhaps we are all a little mad.” She joked quietly. She prayed his dark, cold reserve did not return at the mention of a history best left forgotten.

“I suppose we are.” He seemed distant, yet thoughtful. “I suppose that once we realize that our fantastical illusions can be shattered and know that we are no better than any other mortals, only then can we ascend from madness and accept life as it comes.”

“Why do you torture yourself with stories of such grief then, Erik?”

“They remind me of my mortality.”

“But they will never give you hope.”

“You being here right now gives me hope.”

She paused for a moment, the only sound the quiet rustle of the leaves. The only sight the shadows of flickering candlelight on the walls.

“You have so much to give the world, Erik. You do not need me to make you who you long to be.”

“Without you Christine, the music never would have soared so brilliantly.” His face was close to hers, his eyes seeing into her very soul as his lips nearly brushed against her own. “Yes Christine, I need you to make my other great love thrive. You are my music, no one else but you makes it what it is, no one else lets me know what it can be.”

“Oh…oh Erik…” She gasped silently, her eyes closing as she leaned back into him, his words bringing her excitement beyond her imagination. The raw need in his voice called to her, beckoned her to dive into his world. The world she once claimed she would never enter

“In Notre Dame de Paris, Quasimodo loved Esmeralda, but he also loved his bells. He abandoned his bells for her, and in the end he died alone. But you, you and the music are one and the same; I can never forsake one for the other. When I was mad, you saved me. You have kept me alive.”

She turned and crushed her lips to his.
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Black Angels