Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera
Hey everyone! Sorry I haven't updated anything in awhile, but the reason for that is due to the fact that I usually write myself in a corner.
Anyways, I hope you like the one shot, and sorry if there is any grammar mistakes I missed. :) God bless. -Liane Velasco
I could feel him staring at me.
We were sitting in the parlor, having our afternoon tea. If it was even afternoon in the first place. I wouldn't know, being down here for the last four months. But Erik insists that keeping a, "loud, obnoxious object that people call grandfather clocks," would ruin the peaceful ambience of his underground home.
I sigh and set my novel down, and sure enough, I catch him turning away. I wait for him to look back; he refuses. Honestly, if the man intends to marry me in a week, the least he can do is extend a little piece of affection towards me.
"Erik?" I try to smile. He glances up at me, startled. I cannot read his eyes however, they are too hidden behind the dark contours of his mask. "Could we have our lesson now?"
Erik immediately sets down his cup. It's a lovely cup, made with fine china and adorned with pictures of exotic flowers. I ask him where he obtained it in an attempt at conversation.
"Persia," he said shortly. His eyes glazed over then, as if he was lost in a time that he couldn't be awakened from. I fidget with my blue skirt, realizing I had treaded on unwanted memories.
He speaks my name hesitantly. "Christine...what do you think of a man who could not change the unspeakable things he has done, but still yearned to wash the blood from his hands? To have a normal life? Do you think he is asking for too much?" His golden eyes are now shining like two beams of light. I think it is hope that is causing them to shine that way. Either way, it is very beautiful, and I find myself transfixed.
As a devout Christian, I knew the answer to this question immediately. "No. No, not if he is sorry and willing to repent."
"Even a murderer?" I could hear the darkness in his voice and my heart drops. Erik, unlike Raoul, is much more difficult to handle. Sometimes I wonder if the reason for this is more than just his face, but a psychological problem that he has. Either way, I find myself being the object of his worship, as if I were an angel of mercy sent from God. I know this is not true. I have had my ugly moments, my cruel intentions, and devious thoughts.
I wish he would stop treating me like a saint.
"Yes, Erik. Even a murderer." I run my hands against his pale skin. He shivers under my touch, and lets out a little moan.
"My beautiful child," He murmurs reverently. "Must you keep up with tempting your poor Erik? We are to be married in less than a week."
When I caress his cheek with my palm, he kisses it, and my heart starts to beat to life. Ah, his lips are so soft! Maybe there is some hope for a life between us yet.
I settle myself onto his lap, savoring the feeling of my cheek against his crisp, white shirt. Our embrace is so simple, so innocent; I want to stay there forever. But Erik cannot seem to stop breathing harshly however, and I decide to reposition myself by his side instead.
I cannot remember being in love like this. I used to think that I did, with Raoul. I do admit, the memory of his blue eyes and witty smile does bring a skip to my heart ever now and again. But with my maestro, the sensation becomes entirely different. When he leaves my side, I find myself without breath. When he returns, I am gulping down oxygen like a man who had went for far too long underwater.
From the way Erik treats me, I would assume that the sensation for him is even worse. His deformed face is buried in my curls now. I don't know how the mask came off, but I am certain I had something to do with it.
"Christine," He says my name again. "Christine I-"
"Don't start," I laugh softly. "I already know."
He gets up from the satin-adorned duvet, ignoring my protests, and kneels humbly at my feet. My cheeks begin to burn. No matter how many times he handles me like royalty, I can never seem to get used to the sensation.
"Christine," He says a little more firmly. "I need to say this. I know that our engagement wasn't exactly a...traditional one..."
I remember his insane laugh from that fateful night. I can hear my constant screaming.
Yet I push it away from my thoughts.
"But you must know that I would never hurt you. And I regret that my temper is not as it should be. Oh Christine, if you only knew the depths of Erik's feelings for you!" He seems to become sidetracked until I lay a hand on his shoulder. Then it all comes out in a rush.
"What I'm trying to say is, would you marry me?"
I can see the fear in his eyes. He thinks I'm going to reject him. My poor angel! I would have proved him otherwise, but he still will not let me speak.
"Just a yes or a no, Christine." His voice is starting to shake. "No threats, no chains. If you say yes, you will make me the most happiest man in the world. If not...if not, then you are free to go."
I look down at his huddled form, dumbstruck. Four months ago, I would have happily chosen my freedom, and left without a thought. Even if Erik were to die out of a broken heart, there would be no question about it. Raoul and I would have been married by now, with a baby on the way, and Erik...
Erik would have been just a dark chapter in my young life.
Instead of doing those things, I decide to lower myself to his level and draw him closer to my face. His golden eyes light up again, and I know I have made my decision.
"Yes," I answer dutifully against his lips. He is crying now, and I think I am as well. "Yes, yes, and yes!" His arms press me to his form, and we kiss for five minutes, ten minutes, thirty minutes possibly.
Who knows. We do not have a grandfather clock in the house.