I would like to dedicate my entire book to Bella aka Hard_Working_Writer because shes so amazing! :)
"Wishing you were here, but it's becoming clear that the Earth's just not the place for an angel like you..."
Two Months After Erik's Death
|| Christine Daae ||
A lot can happen in two months. A lot.
You could get married, like I almost did.
You could buy a house with someone you loved, like I never did.
You could lost the love of your life, like I did.
I closed my eyes and sang the song I wrote just for him...Yes I had wrote a song.
You're in my arms
And all the world is calm
The music playing on for only two
So close together
And when I'm with you
So close to feeling alive
A life goes by
Romantic dreams must die
So I bid my goodbye
And never knew
So close, was waiting
Waiting here with you
And now, forever, I know
All that I wanted
To hold you so close
So close to reaching
That famous happy end
Almost believing
This one's not pretend
And now you're beside me
And look how far we've come
So far we are, so close
Oh how could I face the faceless days
If I should lose you now
We're so close to reaching
That famous happy end
Almost believing
This one's not pretend
Let's go on dreaming
For we know we are
So close, so close
And still so far
I was sobbing with the thought of Erik and I coming so close, but all of it being destroyed at the actual wedding. Dang it, I was so close! I missed him so much.
I missed his smell, the way it consumed my very senses.
I miss his hands, the way they played the piano and held me when I cried.
I miss his eyes, and how the shimmered like specks of gold under candlelight.
I missed his voice, and how it could easily put me under a trance.
I missed his lips, and how gently they would kiss me.
I missed Erik, and the way he loved me.
I heard a knock on the door.
"Good afternoon, Monsieur," I said to the paper boy, in French. He looked at me like the foreigner I was.
"Howdy," he said, handing me the paper, taking the money and leaving.
"Americans," I said, scoffing.
I threw the paper across the room, I didn't need to read about the rest of the world's problems when I had so many of my own.
What I did need, however, was groceries. I walked to the nearby store, the sun blazing on my neck. I soaked it up. I didn't go outside often, and I was accustomed to darkness. Just like Erik.
I had practically become The Phantom actually. Composing, singing, screaming and crying, breaking things, and sulking in self pity.
I walked in and walked around, putting the food in a basket u had grabbed upon entering. Fruit, vegetables, chicken and some flour and cream.
I stood in line for what felt like an eternity, and the cashier started talking up a storm.
"You're French, ain't ya?" The woman asked. I nodded.
"Did you read the papes?" she asked me.
"I beg your pardon," I said, in French again.
"Oh, right, French. Have you read the newspaper yet?" She said, slowly and more defied. I rolled my eyes.
"No, what was in it?" I asked, in English, only talking to pass the time.
"In France, there was this whole problem at an Opera House with a Phantom. Well, he disappeared for 6 months, and they reopened the house and he's back," she said.
It took a minute for the words to reach my brain.
He was there?
Oh, oh my gosh!
He could be alive!
But he wasn't, he couldn't.
I turned and ran out of the store, the lady yelling behind me that I had forgotten the food, but I didn't care.
I needed to read the paper.
