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Do I Dream Again?	By : LaurieBaker Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 10050 -:- 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.

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Just one quick update before I got out of town for a week or so. I know this chapter will upset some of you so I apologize in advance for being such a cruel author.

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After a stormy night of tossing and turning, Christine awoke only to find herself in intense agony with cramps in her womb. Before she had even made her way to the chamber pot, she recognized the signs. She was not pregnant after all. The tell-tale stream of blood running down her thighs was the confirmation of that fact.

Christine cursed herself for being such a fool. If only her mother had been alive to counsel her, perhaps she would not have been so horribly ignorant about feminine matters such as this. She could have sworn that having skipped a month that there would be a child. And she had even felt differently somehow. But it all must have been wishful thinking...a pipe dream...

Having cleaned herself up, she sobbed and threw herself back onto the bed, burying herself under the bedsheets.

Even though the baby had never really existed at all, Christine could not help but mourn for her lost dream. But it was more than that. She was also grieving over Erik and the loss of her illusions. She had been living in a fool’s paradise these past two months in her ‘marriage’ to him. Never had she felt so happy and content. But now she was beginning to see the harsh reality of the future before her eyes. And she did not like what she saw.

When Christine spoke to Erik of how much she wanted a family of her own, she had meant every word of what she had said. She was not willing to spend the rest of her life without any children. As much as she loved Erik, she had to admit to herself that he was much older than she was. Eventually, he would die first. And then she would be all alone once again. How wonderful it would be to have a child with his angel’s voice to comfort her in her grief. How wonderful it would be to be part of a family. She saw a baby as a celebration of their love, as a combination of the both of them, and as a fresh start. And she indeed had thought that perhaps they should even have more than the one baby.

But Erik saw having children as something else all together. He was so consumed by the fears of his own past that he could not fathom the idea of a child. He was so frightened that the child might inherit his cursed face that he had even wanted to poison it out of her.

Christine covered her ears with her hands, trying to block out the cruel memory. She could not bear to even think of such a thing.

Yet after the initial storm of disappointed tears, she sat still upon the bed, tightening her jaw with resolve. She had been in this place before. Back in those dark days when her father had died. As much as she sometimes yearned to jump into the Seine and end her misery, she continued to survive. She did what she had to do. And now she would do so again.

There was no solution. She would have to end this farce of a marriage.

Just the thought of it made her moan in despair. Yet she knew that there was no other path to take. How much had she sacrificed for him? She had been living here in this remote forest, not even knowing or caring where she was. She could not go through with her marriage to Raoul because Erik had always had her heart. Her career was now shattered because of his crimes. And now she was destined to be childless. No, it was the last sacrifice...and one she would not make.

But how would she escape this fairytale prison? How would she ever escape him?

There was only one way that she could think of to enable her to leave.

Wuthering Heights.

Erik could not put on an opera without an audience. That meant a trip to London, at least. She was not sure exactly what she would do at that point. Perhaps if she could get word to one of her students. Someone like Geraldine. Then she would leave Erik and find freedom.

Yet even the idea of freedom seemed like a prison if it meant a life without the man she had grown to love so passionately. Perhaps she should just be content to have him as her husband and find a way to be happy without her dream of a family.

After all, to have children, she would have to marry another man. And the thought of being with anyone else now left her cold.

And yet she was haunted by the face of the baby that she had imagined inside of her. The infant had no name, but she had dark hair and trusting innocent eyes.

Christine sobbed anew.

There were no easy choices.

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Erik tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep.

Without his fragile wife as his protector in the night, the demon of a gypsy barker tortured him.

Come, come see the Devil’s child...

Deciding that any more attempt at sleep served as the most useless sort of folly, Erik went into the kitchen and made himself a pot of strong spiced coffee. It would be a long day indeed which yawned before him. His eyes felt as dry as shriveled up onion peels and his head throbbed with a relentless tympanic rhythm. But the coffee gave him the necessary jolt to at least bear being alive.

As he sat down in the kitchen and sipped at the hot brew, Erik felt that he was a bit more calm now, more recovered from the shock of Christine’s revelation. Now he could at least bear to think of his prospective offspring without cowering in complete panic.

He had reached the definite conclusion that his wife would refuse to see reason. They were going to be cursed with this baby, no matter what. Even if the child was condemned to bear his looks and temperament, she would not be swayed, sure with all of the headstrong youth inside of her that she would be able to love the demon unconditionally. Unfortunately, she would have to learn the folly of her thinking the hard way.

However, there was one thing he knew as a certainty.

He would not allow this intruder to wrest him away from Christine!

No, he had come too far to lose her again. And what an irony to lose her not over a handsome man like the Viscount, but over an unformed baby in her womb. Such a thing would not come to pass, not while he still had breath in his ugly carcass.

Never again would he spend another night like the previous one, sleeping alone and yearning for Christine. He had his fill of such nights long ago. While he was disappointed that she would not be able to sing in his opera, he would rather have her silent and by his side than lose her all together. He would rather his composition be interrupted by a squalling brat than the alternative.

For without Christine, there was no inspiration. There was no music.

Did he have any choice but to accept this child for better or worse?

He was not happy about the prospect of a mewling little monster wrecking his life. Yet it was his own damned fault. He had not planned and taken the proper precautions out of sheer recklessness and inexperience. And Christine, being an innocent young lady, would have had no inkling of how to take the proper measures to prevent conception. So now he was destined to pay a lifetime’s price for his stupidity. And he deserved it. He never could suffer fools easily. Since he had proven to be a fool of the greatest magnitude, he would simply have to endure whatever hell awaited him.

An hour or so later, Christine left the bedchamber, dressed in a simple robe of blue silk. While she was always beautiful in his eyes, he had to admit that she looked the worse for wear. She had circles under her eyes. Her hair was mussed in snarled tangles. She even looked a bit thin for all her swearing that she was getting fat. She had to take care of herself lest the child kill them both. That he truly would not be able to survive.

“Good morning, dear wife,” he called out, thinking that taking the offensive was the best policy considering their harrowing argument the night before. “How are you feeling?”

She did not answer but rather let out a petulant sniffle.

“Have some breakfast, sweetheart,” he coaxed, pushing a plate of omelet before her. “You need to eat for the baby. I made you some tea with ginger and lemon in it. Such a concoction aids in preventing nausea and may be helpful for you right now.”

She looked at him dumbly, seeming to be a bit in shock. Then she stared rather nervously at the cup of tea that he had placed before her.

“You may drink the tea, Christine,” he snapped with a trace of bitterness. “I assure you that it is quite safe.”

She sipped at the cup obediently, although she seemed to shiver with trepidation as doing so.

Erik hated seeing her this way. Apparently, his rage and distress last night had worn on her. She now seemed as cowed as she had ever been in his presence. In the days of old, just having her with him was satisfactory enough. But now he knew better. He knew what she was like when she was relaxed and happy, laughing at some joke of his or smiling sweetly when he would stroke her cheek. The fearful Christine was no longer welcome in his heart.

“I have been doing some thinking regarding our child, Christine,” Erik suggested, hoping that perhaps some chatter about the little beast would raise her spirits. “I suppose I could convert the guest bedroom into a sort of nursery for the baby. I have no idea what sort of things an infant requires but I shall leave it up to you to...”

Christine let out a sudden wail, causing Erik to jump out of his skin like a nervous cat. He sat there awkwardly as she collapsed in tears.

“I suppose we could convert the sitting room into the nursery if you prefer...” he suggested feebly.

Never had he seen her so distraught.

“My dear,” he pleaded, kneeling beside her and taking her hand. “You mustn’t upset yourself so. You’ll make yourself sick. Please...Christine...think of the child...”

“There...is...no...child...” she stammered out in between sobs.

“No child?” Erik repeated dumbly.

She shook her head in the negative.

“I’m afraid I do not understand.”

“I started...my monthly...today,” she explained with small little halting breaths.

“Oh.”

Why wasn’t he relieved? Was this not the best of all possible scenarios? Now they could go back with their marriage the way that it had been before with no intruders. Now they could proceed with their opera and soar away with their dreams of love and music. And yet he had a nagging feeling that things would not be the same again.

Odd that he should feel that way...

“Erik?”

“Yes, my sweet?”

“I am so upset. Could we not work on Wuthering Heights for a while? Just to get my mind off of it?”

“Of course, my dear,” Erik answered quickly, trying to hide the relief in his voice. Yes, everything would be back to normal soon enough. “I must tune up the organ a bit and then we shall get started.”

She did not acknowledge him but rather listlessly sipped at the tea.

“I hate to see you so upset, Christine,” he said, stroking her hair. “But I am certain that it was for the best...”

Christine flinched from his touch, shifting a bit in her seat as she moved away from his stroking hand. She had not done that before, he noted with dismay. Not since those days at the Paris Opera House.

A stabbing pain wrenched through his gut as he began to feel on the verge of panic.

No, he assured himself. She was just upset. That was all. Any woman would be upset after losing a baby that she wanted. Even if the baby never really was in the first place, he noted wryly. Once he began to sing for her, once they worked on their opera again, things would set themselves right again.

With that, he left the kitchen and proceeded towards the music room.

If only he could rid himself of the sense of dark foreboding that had overwhelmed his heart...
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Do I Dream Again?