Page 70 of Angel's Kiss
“Raoul, dear God, not here!” Christine pled, but Erik could not make out her face through the sudden fog in his vision. “I do not wish to speak with you!”
“I don’t believe that,” the boy said, even as Erik blinked and moisture slipped under his mask. He was crying. “Just tell me who it is that has so bound you to him that you are afraid to even speak his name. Such a man cannot be trusted.”
“You know nothing about him,” Christine admonished in a pitched whisper, trying to draw her hands away but unable to escape.
“I know you do not act of your own will, or else we would be together,” the sniveling fool continued. “I would see you unbound, my love. I would be the one to release you. I know what you felt for me once, what I know you could feel again—”
“Iamfree,” Christine insisted and it did not slake Erik’s rage. She wasn’t free. She was his, wasn’t she? “I am mistress of my own actions, Raoul; I am not subject to anyone, including you,” Christine declared, finally wresting her hands from the boy’s.
“Christine, I love you. Do you not care?” Again the boy took her hands, pulling her to him with an ardent look in his eyes. Dear God, he looked about ready to kiss her.
“No...” Erik breathed, and Christine sprang away from her insolent suitor and rushed away, leaving the boy staring at the walls in confusion. It would be wrong, to kill him right now. It would not endear him to Christine and would cause a scene, but oh how Erik’s hands itched to be around that perfect, pretty neck right now. How easy it would be...
You are more than an executioner.
Erik gasped, the memory so clear it was like hearing a ghost, but not the wretched shades of the cellars. A familiar one who had believed him more than a killer, more than a monster. Just as Christine did.
But she did not know what he had done. She would run like the rest or die like the speaker of those words if he dared tell her or touch her too long. Still, he would be damned if he let any other man come near her.
Erik stalked away from his hiding place, mind afire and heart aching. He had to find where she had gone. He had to find out why she had lied and deceived. He had to know that she was still his.
––––––––
Christine could notgo down to run away from Raoul and all the eyes of Paris watching her. She could not go to her dressing room, for Erik would find her there too easily. She couldn’t go to the flat, because Adèle was there tonight and would demand to know why Christine was sleeping in her own bed for the first time in weeks. So she went up, following the path to the roof that Erik had shown her the night before. It was easy to just keep climbing, racing away from the disappointment in Raoul’s eyes and Erik’s horrified whisper with every step.
The flies were cold and dark, heavy with the scent of hemp and oil and dust. A hundred thousand yards of rope stretched around Christine as she ascended the narrow metal steps, ever higher. Her breath was ragged from her pace, but if she stopped, she would have nothing but her thoughts and her crimes against the men who loved her. The fools.
She tripped on the hem of her ridiculous gown and grabbed the flimsy railing for support, making the mistake of looking down to the empty stage so many stories below. She swore, her heart racing in terror, and finally halted.
What did she think she was doing? There was no running from the mess she had made and the hearts she was sure to break. She could feel the air stirring, the sense of eyes upon her that she had felt when Raoul had tried to speak to her. She waited, holding back her tears and trying to think of what to say.
She looked up at a sound from in the flies, alarmed that whatever distress she had caused had made Erik reckless enough to be heard. But she didn’t see him approaching. She shivered again, anxiety and fear seeping further into her mind.
“Are you running away from me up here?” Christine spun to see Erik behind her on the narrow catwalk.
“I needed to think,” she half-lied. She could see the pain in his eyes.
“You lied to me.” His voice was weak as he said it. “You’ve been seeing that boy.”
“I didn’t lie, I just—”
“Forgot to tell me the truth. I have been reliably informed that’s the same as lying, if not worse.” Erik took a cautious step towards her, eyes alight. “How many times have you seen him? When?”
“A week ago, the night you were hurt. And once after that but – but that was Adèle, she ambushed me with him.” Christine swallowed. “I’ve tried to tell him to give up.”
“Not very effectively, he was about to propose!” Erik snapped back. “Do you think he would feel the same if he knew about you and me? Really knew?”
Christine’s face and heart hardened. “And would you be the one to tell him? That would require a certain amount of forthrightness from you that is not your forte.”
“This again? I have told you—”
“You’ve told me some things, but not everything. You won’t tell me about how you came back to the Opera. You won’t tell me about Persia.”
“Because if you knew what happened, you would run to that terrible boy and never come back!” Erik replied desperately and Christine threw up her hands.
“Is that what happened to your other lovers? Did they go running when they found out some terrible secret from your past?”
“They died!” Erik cried, and the words echoed into the emptiness of the flies. “All of them. They diedbecause of me. Do you not understand that I am cursed? That everyone I have loved or dared to touch has met a damnable end? Your pity cannot erase what I am.”
