After the Lair

Goodbye

|| Christine Daae ||

Two months of torture. My own personal hell was here.

Raoul wansn't drunk for the first time since that night. It made a change, and I got hope that I could talk to him.

Ever since his first glass of whiskey, I doubted that he still loved me. Did I even love him? No. Yes. Maybe?

"Darling! I have dinner prepared!" he called from the kitchen. Him? Making dinner? I didn't know the Vicomte de Changy could cook. Who knew? I walked  in, timidly. I smelt chicken..and carrots...and potatoes and gravy. I sat myself down and he served the meal to me. We made small talk-things like the weather and compliments of the food and how the other looked. We both yearned to talk about that night at the lair, and the month and a half after that.

"Raoul?" I whispered.

"Yes Christine?"

"Why...why did you drink so much? This is the first night you've been sober since Don Juan and I...was curious to know why," I finally said, after carefully and cautiously choosing my words.

"Well, I was scared, Lotte. I was scared you chose him over me in your mind, because I loved you so much."

"Then, why?" I whispered.

"Why, why what, Christine?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"Why did you hurt me?"

|| Raoul Vicomte de Changy ||

"Why did you hurt me?" Her voice echoed in my head a million times over.

"What...What do you mean I hurt you?" I asked, disguested at myself for hurting her.

"When you got drunk, you would beat me and yell at me and call me things like worthless and unworthy. How did you not know?"

"Christine, the only thing I remember from this month is the pounding headache. I never knew I laid a finger on you... Oh, oh gosh..." I was being honest. There were large parts of my memory filled with a giant black hold. Did I really hurt Christine? Oh, no. What would her father think? Somewhere in heaven, he was breaking for his little Lotte and it was my fault.

Oh, her father, the one man who was there for me when my own father was off throwing himself around to other women and strong beverages...I abused his daughter; became the exact thing that I was so terrified of a a little boy.

How could I ever look in the mirror again? I clutched the table, and could feel myself go pale.

"Christine..I'm sorry. So very sorry."

"Raoul, I believe you and its quite alright."

"Christine, do you love the Phantom?" I muttered.

"I'm sorry, what?" She was rather taken aback by my question.

"Do you love the Phantom of the Opera?" I asked again, but with much more...well power I suppose it was. She stumbled with herself for a minute.

"I think...I don't know. Perhaps." She raised her eyes to mine with sorrow.

"Christine, go to him."

"What?"

"Go to him. I don't deserve you," I said. She rose from the table.

"Raoul, I can't-"

"I can't hurt you again!"

"But what are you to do?" she asked. I laughed drily. She cared. But so did I.

"I can do something, I'vealways wanted to write stories," I said, with a sad smile. It was true. Her eyes swam with tears.

"Oh, Raoul, but what if he won't let me stay with him? What if he's not there anymore?" Her fears lingered in the air.

"Then come back to me. I will always be your friend, Little Lotte."

"Friend. I like the sound of that," she whisered. I stood from the table and hugged her. We whispered our goodbyes.

"Raoul, I promise you'll be okay," she said through her tears. She tiptoed up and kissed my cheek. I felt nothing. I was over her before she was gone.

"I know. I will always love you, Little Lotte." We both laughed.

"And I will always love the memory of the boy who ran into the sea to fetch my scarf," Christine said, smiling. We hugged again, and I felt tears on my shirt.

"Christine, what's wrong?"

"I feel like I'm losing the last part of my childhood," she whispered. I smiled kindly at her, but didn't say a thing. "Raoul, I'm frightened. What if he-"

"Christine, I will always be here. I swear to it. I will always be waiting for the girl in the attic to be my friend."

"And I the boy in the opera box." I kissed he hand and heard her walk to her room and change. She emerged  looking like a queen in the wedding dress from that night.

"I understand why he called you an Angel, Christine," I said, smiling. She laughed and blew a kiss. Heels clicked down the hallway, and I felt weight being lifted of my shoulders.

There was a swish of a cloak and the slam of the door and I knew.

Christine Daae was gone.

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