Work Text:
Down Once More
“Christine, I love you.”
They were the last words she ever heard him speak. She was clasping his hands very tightly. Tears streamed down both of their cheeks.
His face was almost pitying. He watched as she placed the ring in his palm and folded his fingers around it. She bent forward and kissed his hand.
When they parted, he gave her a small nod. She looked back at him for a long moment, then headed back through the passageway. Raoul stood at the other side of it, waiting for her. The boat rocked gently at his feet. Their escape was courtesy of the one man that Christine thought would never let her go free.
She stared down the passage at Erik’s broken face for as long as she could. A small part of her wished she could leap out of the boat and swim back to him. Please Erik I’m sorry I love you too let’s leave together I forgive you.
But she was so, so afraid. Not just because of the people he’d murdered. Not just because he had been stalking her for years.
She was afraid that, in the end, their love wasn’t true. In the end, they didn’t belong together. In the end, she was engaged to Raoul and would never see the face of the crazed madman that terrorized her for such a long time.
Once Erik’s now-empty room finally drifted out of sight, she heard glass shattering. It was the final memory she would ever have of the Phantom. The sound of breaking glass, and his voice.
I’ll Always Be In Love With You
They could already hear Fred Waring on the gramophone when they arrived. The flask hidden under her dress kept pinching her skin and irritating her.
“It’s fine, Christine,” Meg said. She carried a flask of her own somewhere on her person, though Christine couldn’t quite recall where she’d hidden it.
The bar was a new joint for them. It had only popped up within the last month of two, and the cops hadn’t quite caught on to its presence yet.
Although she loved music, dancing wasn’t really Christine’s thing. She derived no pleasure from having bodies collide with her own. She detested the way men would look at her, eyes hungry, only seeing her body and not her mind.
A few years before, Christine had been promised to Raoul de Chagny. Then, the Great War had happened, and he’d been called away. He was sent home in a pine box, and buried on the de Chagny estate. So now, Christine was unbetrothed and alone. Meg had invited her to the speakeasy in the hopes that she might find herself a new man.
The place was really more of Meg’s thing. She loved to dance, and both women had taken ballet lessons with Meg’s mother when they were little girls.
But now they were reduced to flappers, as Mrs. Giry liked to say. She would scoff at their outfits as they dressed up to go out. She would tut at them and mutter things like “Improper” or “you’ll get arrested, the both of you.”
Meg was very good at paying her mother no mind. Christine, though, found she more easily absorbed the words and opinions of other people. Hence her current bad mood.
Less than fifteen minutes into their arrival, and a large man had tried to pull her into his lap. He pawed at her legs, exclaiming, “Hey, babydoll, share some with the rest of us!” She pulled away and all but threw her flask at his face.
Enraged and insulted, she managed to seek Meg out in the middle of the room. She all but yanked her friend away from a young man who had his hands around her middle.
“Hey!” Meg cried, indignant. Christine ignored her friend’s upset tone and asked, “Meg, who even owns this place? What if it’s the mob?”
Meg rolled her eyes. “It’s not the mob, Christine,” she smoothed out her dress and pulled Chistine towards the bar. This, at least, was an idea they could both agree on. “Some guy opened it up. He’s really rich I guess.”
“One man owns all this? How?” Christine was shoved closer to the bar by an unknown person and she whipped around to glare at them. They never even turned to acknowledge her presence.
Meg shrugged. “Moonshine, maybe? I don’t know. I’m sure he produces some of what we’re gonna be drinking tonight.”
The bartender eyed them both. Technically, at 19 and 18 respectively, Christine and Meg were too young to be drinking. But no one was asking any questions during Prohibition. As long as you had money, you could drink as you liked.
Christine was a little startled by the man’s face. A white mask covered about half of it. It was hard to see in the smoky air (another thing she hated about speakeasies was that everyone was always smoking something). When he noticed her studying him, he smiled indulgently at her. It was a look that said Yes, I can see that you see the mask. Don’t comment on it and I won’t kick you out of here for being too young to drink.
“What can I get you ladies?” His voice was deep and velvety. Christine found herself looking at his lips. The upper part of his mouth disappeared underneath the mask, and she could see that the lip curled a little in a way that was not natural. She wondered if he wore the mask to hide some sort of deformity.
Meg ordered for them both and removed her flask from some part of her clothing. She asked politely for a top-up, but the man shook his head at her. Disappointed, she tucked the bottle back beneath her outfit.
Once her drink was poured for her, Christine continued to stare at the bartender. Meg downed her own drink in one go and vanished back onto the dance floor. Christine was alone with the man, and he began to mop down the countertop and clean up a few bottles.
They ended up talking while he worked.
“A young lady like you does not belong in a place like this,” he said as he folded a few towels.
Christine felt herself turn red. Something about the man’s tone was more offensive to her than anything the other people at the bar had done to her that evening.
“If I have the money,” she said between gritted teeth, “then I have every right to be here. Just like everyone else. Or would you prefer the police visited as well?” She tried to make her voice as threatening as possible.
He didn’t buy it. “Many of the policemen in this area are good friends of mine,” he was pouring a drink for someone farther down the counter from them. He slid it expertly towards the customer.
Christine wanted to open her mouth to retort. Despite her aggravation, she found herself desperately wanting to talk to the man further. She wanted to learn more about it.
Before she had the chance, though, she heard a cacophony of sound by the entrance. Meg appeared from nowhere and grabbed her wrist.
“A raid,” she gasped, “we’ve got to go!”
Christine only looked behind her once at the masked man. He had his hands up in surrender, surrounded by drawn weapons.
He wasn’t looking at the cops, however. He was looking right into her eyes, even as someone fired a gun at him.
The bar burned down later that week. They went to a few more clubs after that, but they never talked about the mysterious man again.
Unchained Melody
Raoul couldn’t take it anymore.
“Christine,” he sighed, running a hand over his face. “You have got to get it together. The house is a mess! What would the neighbors think?”
Christine did not care what the neighbors thought. She did not care what the house looked like. She found that she did not even care what her own husband thought of her right now.
Apathy had always plagued her, even since girlhood. She could recall whole swaths of time where she could not bring herself to get out of bed or do her studies. Her father – who Raoul said had always been a little too indulgent – would allow her to remain home from school until she recovered.
Then she had graduated high school and married Raoul de Chagny. They had been gifted the house by his affluent parents and moved in as soon as he finished college. He spent long hours working for his father’s law firm. For her part, Christine was to be the perfect housewife.
Growing up without a mother meant that she had done all of the household chores herself. So while Raoul worked, she would cook and clean and make sure the place was perfect when he got home.
They were only a year into their marriage, though, when she felt the apathy strike her again. It started small, with a few hours here or there where she couldn’t find the energy to do the laundry or the dishes. Then it turned into a few days.
Now it had been weeks since she’d last cleaned. She managed to cook here and there, but Raoul found himself increasingly relying on the frozen dinners she picked up at the store.
She knew he probably resented her at this point. She was willing to bet that if he had known she was going to be such a layabout, he would have married someone else. She wondered, vaguely, if Raoul had a mistress at the firm. A darker part of her whispered that she hoped he would get a mistress, because then maybe he would stop berating her so much.
She was facing her husband, but wasn’t looking at him. She laid on her side in their shared bed, with Raoul standing over her angrily. She stared at a fixed point on the wallpaper just behind him. She was so tired she didn’t even have the desire to blink.
He was still speaking, but she paid him no attention. Finally, he seemed to give up. He sighed deeply and left the room. She barely noticed him going.
When he returned, he said, “Christine, darling, you’ve left me no choice. I’ve called the doctor again.”
Oh, no, she thought in horror. Now she found the strength to sit up, although she only made it halfway to rising on her elbows.
Dr. Jacobs recommended all kinds of awful treatment plans for her maladies. He first suggested they have a baby, something that Christine admittedly did want someday but just wasn’t ready for yet. Thankfully, Raoul had explained that he had not yet completed his bar exams and therefore couldn’t afford a new addition to their family.
Then the doctor recommended Christine be institutionalized. Again, Raoul shot the idea down. He asked the doctor, “Who would cook and clean for me?” and it made Dr. Jacobs laugh.
The doctor had finally advised on some medication. “Mother’s Little Helpers,” he said as he handed Raoul the bottle. Christine had been watching their conversation with disinterest. She followed the motion of the bottle from one man to the other.
Diazepam, read the label. Dr. Jacobs explained that it would help her get through the day. “Why, once you start taking these you won’t have a care in the world!” Then he had slapped her husband on the back and left.
The medication was losing its effectiveness. Christine also hated taking it. She hated the way it made her feel. She was drowsy and sometimes so dizzy that it just made her lay down again, defeating its whole purpose.
So she was back to square one, much to Raoul’s displeasure. She wanted to explain to him that she wasn’t doing it on purpose, that she loved him and didn’t want him to be upset with her. But talking exhausted her. Ge wouldn’t want to hear what she had to say, anyway.
Raoul re-entered the room sometime later. Behind him stood a man much taller than himself. The man wore a mask obscuring the majority of his face. Christine watched with as much interest as she could muster.
“This is Dr. Drestler,” Raoul seemed a little annoyed. “Dr. Jacobs wasn’t available. Mr. Drestler is covering for his practice in the meanwhile.”
“Please,” said the doctor, “you may call me Erik.”
“Well, Erik,” Raoul huffed, “this is my wife, Christine. Christine, get over here and greet the man. It’s the least you can do.”
To her own amazement, Christine found herself standing for the first time in days to cross the room and shake the doctor’s hand. Instead, the man took her hand and kissed it. He bowed slightly and said, “Dr. Jacobs said you have been suffering from apathy, is that correct?”
Raoul cut in immediately, used to being in charge. “Yes, he tried medication but I do not believe that it is working.”
Erik ignored him in favor of watching Christine’s face. “Tell me your symptoms, Mrs. de Chagny.”
Christine found it hard to speak, but was shocked to find it wasn’t because of the exhaustion. She was suddenly a bundle of nerves. “I’m tired,” she nearly whispered. “It’s very hard to clean house.”
“I see,” the doctor had still not let go of her hand. Raoul opened his mouth again, but Erik waved him off.
“I have heard of this malady in young women before,” he explained. He was treating Christine as though she were the only person in the room. “You have a few options. One is medication, which as you can see does not always help. We can try to go over the household tasks you need to do each day and find more efficient ways of doing them. This will keep you from being so overwhelmed.”
Raoul interrupted, “Dr. Jacobs had suggested a lobotomy. He said it would make her more obedient. I think that’s something I would like to try.”
Erik shook his head. “Absolutely not,” he finally turned to face the shorter man. “It will only take away her independence. She will need to rely on you for help. You may as well hire a maid for all a lobotomy will do.”
He had let go of Christine’s hand and was towering over her husband. Raoul was trying to lean away, unsure at the doctor’s sudden change in temper.
Christine watched the exchange in bewilderment. She had never seen anyone act the way Dr. Drestler was now. He almost seemed to stand up for her.
In the end, though, Raoul won the argument. He always did. It was what would make him a good lawyer someday.
“Thank you for your help, doctor,” he spat, “but I think you have overstayed your welcome. I will discuss this with Dr. Jacobs upon his return.”
Erik was unphased. “Certainly,” he replied smoothly. “I can refill the diazepam in the meantime. But Christine,” he faced her once more, “please do not hesitate to contact the office. I am more than happy to help you, without the need for surgery.”
She jumped when Raoul slammed the front door. Christine suspected he did so right in the man’s masked face.
She never saw Dr. Drestler again.
Lithium
“Will you go to prom with me?” Raoul asked. They were standing by his car, a group of their friends crowded around them.
He had actually gotten down on one knee, like he was proposing. Christine had been terribly afraid for a moment that he was. But it was just to invite her to junior prom.
Say yes, she thought. But she couldn’t bring herself to utter the words. She and Raoul had been dating since she was thirteen and he was fourteen. They had been each other’s firsts for everything. First boyfriend, first kiss, first time. She had never known anyone else’s lips but his, and she didn’t want anyone else’s, either.
She didn’t know why she was hesitating. It was just another dance. They had actually crashed the one last year. One of Raoul’s friends had even snuck in alcohol for them to try. Another first for her.
Lately, she felt as though something just wasn’t quite right with the world. She knew graduation was still two more years away (“WOO CLASS OF 2008!” Meg cheered to her nearly all the time). She knew she had to start picking out a college and figuring out where Raoul was going so she could be near him. She knew her father’s health was getting worse, and she’d have to find someone to care for him while she went off to school.
She just felt...trapped. She felt as though her entire life was set in stone before her. There was no room for adaptation. It was either succeed or don’t. Go out with Raoul, marry Raoul, graduate college, care for her dad, move in with Raoul, have babies. Watch her father die, then Raoul die, then her friends, then her. That was it. There was the script, right in front of her face. She just had to stick to it.
She didn’t want to do it. Any of it. “No,” she said, quietly. When she noticed that Raoul hadn’t heard her, she repeat herself.
Their friends were aghast. They shifted nervously and looked from her boyfriend to her. Back and forth.
“No?” Raoul’s whole face was a question mark. He didn’t look hurt just yet, but Christine sensed it was coming.
“No,” she said again. In spite of everyone’s reactions, she felt relieved. She felt as though she had grabbed ahold of her life’s script and was erasing some of her lines. Re-writing new ones. It felt good.
“Why not?” Now his face was crumbling. Christine didn’t hesitate this time.
“I just don’t want to.” It was amazing to say it. She was distantly aware that she may have been committing social suicide. Raoul de Chagny was the hottest guy in their high school. There was a list of girls desperate to go to prom with him a mile high.
She didn’t care. She didn’t want this.
He had finally stood up. He reached for her, but Christine found herself turning to walk home. She usually rode in his car and he would drop her off at her house, but she found she wanted the space away from him. Away from their gaggle of friends, who stared in abject horror at her retreating back.
As she walked past the school to head home, she passed a group of guys passing a joint to one another. She could smell the weed on their clothes already, but she paid them no mind.
Goth kids, Raoul would spit at them. Just about all guaranteed to be queer or dead sometime within the next ten years.
Christine found she didn’t share his sentiments, though. She didn’t think the way a person dressed necessarily indicated their future. Besides, she was very big on the changing of futures lately.
There was another student near them, staring at her. Like his compatriots, he was dressed all in black. He wore a mask across the top half of his face, but Christine could still see that he’d put on eyeliner underneath. She could appreciate the effort, even if it wasn’t her style.
Unlike his friends, though, the boy didn’t seem interested in the joint. He just kept watching her. In turn, she found herself stopping to watch him as well.
“Hi,” she said, surprising herself. She couldn’t see what his eyes were doing, but she imagined they were raised in disbelief.
“Hello,” he replied, a little stiffly. They stood maybe ten feet apart on the sidewalk. He was still leaning on the school building.
“Can I ask you something?” she blurted. Wow, Daae, you’re just full of surprises today, aren’t you? She thought to herself.
“Shoot,” he answered. The rest of his group were trying to pretend that they weren’t listening in on the conversation.
“Isn’t it kinda too hot to be wearing all those dark clothes? It’s almost summer.”
He laughed, long and hard. Christine colored a little and went to head home. She was only curious. She didn’t want to be laughed at.
He reached for her, shaking his head. “No, no, no,” he explained. “I’m not laughing at you. Promise. I just didn’t think you were going to ask me that.”
Christine didn’t really believe him, but she let it go. “I just wanted to know.”
“Yeah, no, I get it,” he answered, still smiling. She found she kind of liked his smile.
She really liked his eyes, though. They were a golden yellow. She didn’t think she’d ever met anyone with eyes like that before.
“To answer your question,” he gasped, “Yeah, it’s hot as fuck in this. But it’s the scene, you know? It’s what you’ve got to do to survive.”
Christine nodded at him. “I understand. I know what it’s like to have to blend in.”
“Then why did you just break up with your boyfriend?” he asked, voice taunting her. Christine blushed. She hadn’t been embarrassed earlier, but she also hadn’t realized how many people overheard her and Raoul’s conversation.
“We didn’t break up,” she said stubbornly. “At least, I don’t think so.”
“Yeah, about that,” the boy said through his teeth, “I don’t think anyone dumps de Chagny and lives to tell the tale.”
Christine found she was sick of talking to this boy. “Just who the hell are you, anyway?” she demanded. “What business is it of yours who I’m seeing?”
He answered the first question, but not the second. “Erik Drestler,” he replied. “Transfer student.”
Oh. So Christine did know him, just distantly. He was a supposed musical prodigy. He had been in line to go to Juliard right out of high school. There was a rumor going around that Raoul had told her about once. Something to do with Erik’s last school. There was a lot of bullying. A fire got started in one of the classrooms. “That’s why his face is all fucked up!” Raoul had explained gleefully.
“Well, Erik Drestler,” Christine didn’t let his teasing bother her. “I’m going to head home now. Enjoy your devil’s lettuce.”
She began to leave, but he caught up with her in three easy strides. “Wait,” he touched her arm lightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make fun of you. I just have Foot in Mouth disease, I swear it.”
She found herself smiling at him. He still smiled back.
“Do you want to hang out sometime?” he blurted. “Sorry, I just-“
He opened his mouth, clearly wanting to continue their conversation, but Raoul took her arm roughly.
“Christine,” he seethed, “how could you talk to me like that? In front of our friends? And what are you doing talking to this asshole?”
“I just wanted to talk to him, Raoul,” she snapped.
Now that she found herself between them, she was finding that she preferred Erik’s sarcasm to Raoul’s animosity. A part of her wanted desperately to spend five more minutes just talking to Erik. Getting to know him better. Just a few minutes more, that was all.
The universe said no.
“She’s into freaks now, didn’t she tell you?” Erik was definitely making fun of Raoul. Christine found herself pulled closer to her now (she supposed) ex-boyfriend.
“She is not,” Raoul snapped in the other student’s direction. Erik didn’t back down. Christine felt the need to de-escalate the situation before someone threw a punch.
“Shut up, both of you. I’m going home, Raoul. Alone. We’ll talk about this later. And Erik,” she rounded on him. In spite of his earlier bravado, Erik did seem a little uncertain as she faced him.
“I’ll see you in class tomorrow?”
He nodded, once. “See you then.”
My Love Mine All Mine
Meg had called her a “stubborn old jackass” when she refused to sign up for Tinder.
“You’re trying to pretend like it’s a hundred years ago or something and your Prince Charming is going to ride up to your apartment on a white horse.”
Christine chuckled and shook her head. She and Meg were video chatting while she folded laundry. “Those are romance novels, Meg,” she retorted. “And the 1920s definitely had automobiles. My Prince Charming probably would have driven a Rolls Royce or something.”
“Well, whatever,” Meg huffed. “You still gotta get out there and find yourself a man! You gotta let this thing with Raoul go. Spread your wings! Let some guy you met online fuck you until you cry!”
Christine had to pause her activity so she could double over with laughter. From her phone, she could hear her friend joining in.
Once they’d both calmed down, Meg continued. “Listen, babe, I know it was a messy break-up. I’ve done plenty of those myself. You have got to move on.”
Christine stared at a t-shirt she held in her hand. “I just don’t like it, Meg,” she resumed folding. “I don’t believe in hookup culture.”
Meg was quiet on the other end of the line for a moment. “I tell you what,” she said, “My mom knows some guy who teaches voice lessons on the weekends. He’s a little older than you, maybe forty-ish? But mom said he’s really, really hot. Like smoking. And he’s single, allegedly.”
When Christine didn’t reply right away, Meg continued. “I can get you a pictuuure. And his numbbeerrr.”
“Okay,” Christine waved at her vaguely. “Send me his details. But for the love of Christ, don’t ever talk to me in that sing-song tone of voice again.”
Meg ended their conversation with a “Bye byeeee Christine, I love yoouoo!” Christine cackled as her phone disconnected the call.
She was putting away her laundry when she got two texts from Meg, back to back. One was a screenshot from Snapchat. It showed a man’s face, half in profile. Christine could just barely make out something plastic or porcelain covering the unseen side. The photographer had clearly snapped the photo when the man wasn’t paying attention. He was wearing a button-up shirt that was open. Christine could see his bare chest, and found herself ogling his six-pack a little more than necessary.
The second text read: 555-XXX-4509. Erik Drestler.
Then a third text: You can thank me later 😊
Then a fourth: XOXO love you babe
It took her several days to build up the courage to send a message. She received a reply almost immediately.
Hello, Christine, it read. Madame Giry’s daughter has mentioned you a few times.
Oh? She texted back. Hopefully it was all good stuff lol
Certainly, came the reply. She said you were very beautiful.
I’ll bet, Christine though to herself. Before she could come up with a witty reply, Erik sent her another message.
Sorry, that was a little forward of me. May I interest you in a coffee sometime?
Christine considered the text. Her lack of response was clearly making him nervous. He sent another reply.
Sorry again. If you don’t want to go, that’s completely fine. I understand.
No, she finally replied, I would love a coffee. Thank you, Erik.
He sent her a Google maps link. The café was down the street from her apartment complex.
It’s a date, she replied.
Their first date was a little nerve-wracking for both of them. They planned to meet for 11 AM, but then Christine slept through her alarm. She awoke to find it blaring in her ear at exactly 10:58 AM.
She sent a frantic text to Erik apologizing. He replied quickly with a my car just broke down I’m so sorry too which actually made Christine feel much better about the whole situation.
They finally met up around noon. They both arrived at the café at the same time. They found a table and chairs in the back and waited for their orders.
“So,” she began. Neither of them seemed to know what to say. “You’re Erik Drestler.”
“And you’re Christine Daae,” he nodded at her. “Daughter of violinist Gustave Daae. Graduate of Penn state, according to your Facebook page.”
Christine nodded back. “And you’re the guy with his shirt unbuttoned on Snapchat. Oh, and you give singing lessons at Giry’s music school.”
Erik laughed. “That was a candid shot, as you would imagine. My friend Nadir took that while we were visiting Spain. Have you ever traveled, Miss Daae?”
“No,” she admitted, a little sad. “I wanted to go to Paris, and my boyfriend and I planned to go, someday. But then, you know,” she gestured at the table. “We broke up.”
“You should still go,” Erik replied, unperturbed. “I’ve been to Paris a few times. Absolutely lovely. Just brush up on your French. A lot of the non-touristy places have no use for brash Americans such as us.”
Christine smiled at him. He smiled back. They both started when they heard their order numbers.
She stood to grab them, but he beat her to it. “You stay her, I’ll get them for us.” She found herself a little charmed by the gesture.
Afterward, they stood awkwardly in front of the café. Neither felt ready to leave the other’s presence yet.
Erik took her hand by way of goodbye. He kissed the back of it, making her blush.
“Would you like to do this again next week?” he asked. She nodded enthusiastically.
Their second date was smoother. They met at a nearby park to go for a walk. They talked about animals and college and what kinds of movies they liked.
“Freaks,” Erik admitted.
“A horror movie from the 1930s?” she asked. He didn’t seem like a horror movie guy.
He shrugged. “I find it cathartic.”
Christine shrugged back. “Moulin Rouge,” she admitted. He grinned at her. “I can see it. You love pop music.”
She slapped at him, jokingly. He dodged her and poked her side with his finger, making her giggle.
Their third was even easier. Erik took her to an upscale restaurant closer to where he worked. He pulled her chair out for her and ordered them both a bottle of wine to share. When she tried to pay for her portion, he refused.
“I want to take care of you,” he explained as he poured her a glass. “Please, Christine, I want to get to know you further. I want a fourth date after this. And a fifth. And a sixth.”
He had alluded to this before, on their last date together. Erik had told her that he’d only ever been single. “I just could never find the right girl,” he confessed. “I thought I was going to die alone until I met you.”
Christine had called him a drama queen, making him tickle her again. But now she was thinking about his words more closely.
She thought about the past few weeks that they had been hanging out together. A few of her colleagues admitted they thought she was moving a little fast, but Meg had been happy for her.
Did she love him? She considered the idea. When they weren’t spending time together, they were texting each other nonstop. The day after their first date, he had sent her a Good morning, Miss Daae text that made her insides twist and her heart melt.
She loved being around him. She couldn’t get enough of his attention on her. She realized she had probably begun having feelings for him from the moment she had seen his photo.
He was watching her expression very carefully. She knew he could sometimes be very sensitive to her tone of voice. She knew she had to choose her words carefully.
“I love you,” she blurted suddenly.
He blinked at her. She stared at him.
“I love you, too, Christine,” he finally answered.