Chapter Three

                                    

                                          
That voice. That voice echoed in her mind as she slowly turned to meet the gaze of the man she had known so long ago. His golden eyes bore into hers as she took a step towards him. 

"I... I came back," she murmured, taking another step toward the masked man. 
                          
As she took a step forward, he took one back, not fully understanding what she meant. "You came back?" He questioned, raising his brow that was not concealed by the mask. As the young soprano stood there, memories of the years the spent together rushed to his head. Of him teaching her at night before she went to bed, the time they had spent together the first night that he had brought her down here. But along with those memories, came the ones of him on the floor, begging her not to leave him as she ran from his sight. Of her returning her ring to him and then turning away from him, never to return. The pain he had felt had yet to dull but he had learned to suppress it for the most part, until now. Everything he hadn't let himself feel in the past year was flooding him in a furious wave of emotion. "Why? Why did you come back?" He asked her, still not breaking eye contact. 
                          
"I-I just did..." she trailed off, not ready yet to tell him about what she had gone through with Raoul. 
                          
"You just did?" He snarled. "I find that hard to believe." As he spoke, he took in her appearance. The cuts and bruises adorning her face, her bones protruding through her skin due to a lack of nourishment, the way her eyes scanned the room nervously as if she was ready to take off again in an instance. But the expression didn't seem new, he could see it in her face that it was etched into every line and curve of her permanently. Nervous and shaky, as if she was scared. "What happened to you, Christine?" He asked, his tone not as harsh, but not necessarily forgiving. 
                          
Christine looked at him for a brief moment before shaking her head and looking away from him. 
                          
"Christine..." he started, reaching his forefinger forward and tilting her chin up so she was forced to look at him. 
                          
"Raoul... he..." she started, already becoming overwhelmed at the thought of having to tell him what he did to her. "He hurt me, badly."
                          
Erik swallowed hard as he looked over her once more. Anger swelled inside of him towards Raoul but at the same time seeing her in such a condition nearly brought him to tears. But he pushed the tears back, swearing to himself that Christine would never see him act weak again. Not like she did the last time she saw him. "Christine," he whispered. He didn't know what to say or how to act. He wanted to show her some sort of compassion but he didn't know how. "I don't know what to say."
                          
By this point, tears had already begun to form in the soprano's doe-like eyes. She reached towards him and slowly put her hands on his chest, his body tensing under her touch. 
                          
"Say you'll let me come back. Please, please don't make me leave. Let me stay here, with you," she pleaded, her voice sincere. 
                          
"With me?" He asked, startled. He started to take a step back from her but he saw how hurt she truly was. He slowly put his hand on her shoulder, only to feel something wet and sticky.  Blood. 
                          
Christine gasped loudly in pain, squeezing her eyes shut. The glass, it was still lodged into her arm from when Raoul had thrown her against the wall. "My arm..." she whimpered. 
                          
"What... What's wrong with your arm?" He asked, moving slightly to get a better glimpse at it.
                          
"It's nothing," she whimpers, wiping tears out of her eyes. 
                          
"Christine, there's glass in your arm. Don't tell me it's nothing. What happened to you?" He asked, his tone a bit more harsh than he intended for it to sound.