Between Mirrors and Roses (A Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction) ✓

35: In Which Erik and Christine Brace Themselves

Erik

Christine lay on her side, facing away from me.

I hoped she was asleep but doubted it. I hadn't touched her since resting my hand on her stomach bump after she first told me her news. I wanted to reach out and offer her comfort, but I needed to tame my swirling thoughts before I did anything else.

Christine had been exhibiting all the signs of pregnancy I knew of, and the fact that she hadn't come to the conclusion sooner confirmed my suspicion that she was as scared of this reality as I was.

How had a human person come into being without encouragement? This was foolish; I had always known the consequences of taking Christine into my bed and proceeded regardless.

And why did she take all the pain and exertion? Why was Christine weighted down with this inconvenience and not I? It seemed to me like the fault was mine more than hers.

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. There it was again: the urge to run, to flee my thoughts and the consequences of my actions and pretend that I was alone and dutyless. Even dissolving for just the rest of the night in a sea of false euphoria...

No. Not again. I'd promised Christine that I would not turn to substance for temporary relief as I had done in the past. I had to be strong, especially since a child was now in the picture.

I was on my own.

I counted that half hour, sitting up in bed, wrestling with warring emotions, to be one of the most challenging trials I had ever faced. I felt somehow that this was a turning point, and my decision would shape the future in ways I couldn't foresee. The Erik from before wanted nothing more than to slip out of bed and distance myself from Christine and her burden—our burden. That part of me would not let me turn my head and look at her, knowing that if I did, it would be all over. If I looked at her, I could never abandon her.

I wanted to scream and thrash, to shut off the noise and the voices clashing in my mind. I did not. I could not risk waking Christine if she were asleep.

Oh, Christine! How patiently she had born my eternally trying personality. I was finicky and loathed commitment, a perfectionist with addictive tendencies—not to mention grossly deformed. Yet she loved me with the same ardor I felt for her.

I was a monster, a phantom; it was unthinkable that I should be bound to a woman in marriage with a baby on the way. I was a wreck of a person. The grip I had on my own sanity was tenuous, so how could I be a father to a child? What kind of family was it to be born into?

A series of images flashed through my consciousness: Christine cradling a bundle of cloth, staring lovingly into a tiny face; Christine holding little hands and helping a child to walk; Christine next to me at the piano, singing while I played, a child peering at the keys from her lap. I didn't know where these images came from and was shocked at how easily I could picture a child in our life.

I knew then that this was my future whether I liked it or not. A fraction of me was eager for the challenge of raising a child, though the rest of me was terrified. I knew with certainty that Christine could fill the gaps where I was lacking and that her endless love would cushion any mistakes I would make.

As slowly as I could, I eased myself back down beside her.

Her light brown waves of hair spread haphazardly around her head. Maybe she was beautiful enough to counteract my ugliness.

I shifted closer. I wrapped an arm around her, resting my hand on her growing abdomen, and breathed a sigh of contentment.

...