Phantom of the Opera A Simple Understanding

_Hey guys, I know my other story isn't done yet, and far from it, but I'm just gonna switch gears really quick. I will update both equally as best I can, and not abandon either, also, If Kay104 is reading this, I have a message. GET YOUR BUTT IN GEAR! You should update Duty Bound soon, or I will go insane!- Ahem* Back to the story now._

Christine watched in horror as the man was cut from the rafters. She had to get out, to breathe! They all expected _her_ to perform the main roll. Of course, she knew all the lines, but she needed to breathe _now_!

The young woman ran from the stage, and turned a corner, only to see Raoul standing there. She didn't need this now- didn't need him. He was quite full of himself, and though she did miss her childhood friend, she didn't quite like the man he had become. He was arrogant, and she was sure that he had seen her when he had made his speech as a new patron. Though he ignored her.

She waited until he passed, and ran for the roof. Each stair she climbed was like stabbing a dagger into her side from the tight corset. She hated corsets, but the dress required it. By her counting she had at least fifteen minutes before they would be looking for her. That was fifteen minutes that she could just _breath_e .

When Christine burst through the last door, she took in a deep breath of cold air...and promptly started to cough. It was snowing, and the air was icy cold. If her maestro saw her now, he would be quite angry; reprimanding her for trying to damage her throat. She shivered from both the cold and the thought of her -dare she call him that?- angel. She still couldn't wrap her mind around that fact that he had _killed_ someone, especially right in the middle of a performance. Carlotta, she had no doubt, had been sabotaged as well. Though, she couldn't really find any bad feelings at her being laughed at.

She knew she was in shock. She knew she should not be alone, but as soon as she remembered the anguish on that face...Christine abruptly started to sob. Dainty hands came up to cover her large eyes. However, Christine was not aware of another set of slightly mismatched blue eyes that peered out from behind a statue; watching her.

A darkly clad figure eased his way out of the shadow. He knew he caused her tears, but for the life of him, he didn't know _why_! Slowly, and as silently as death, the Phantom came to Christine's side. A leather clad gaunt hand reached out to touch her shoulder. The young woman gasped and stood quickly as she turned to see who was there. But she had known who it was. Only _he_ had hands that were so bony, yet so...enticingly beautiful on the piano.

The Phantom took off his cloak of heavy black silk and wool, and placed it over her shoulders. He was used to being cold. "You should not be out here Christine." His voice was gentle, yet strong, his eyes were confused and pleading.

"Why?" Christine said more than asked. Oh, she wanted answers, but just the way she said it made it more like a command. The Phantom just stared at her with the same confused look. "Angel..."

Christine sucked in a breath and said what she needed to say, "You can't kill! Not for me, not for anyone!" she begged him with her eyes to understand. "It is a horrible sin. God doesn't want his children to kill one another."

He tried to hold his neutral look, he did! However, just the way she spoke confused him. Why should he care what God thought? He wasn't one of _His_ children, he was the exact opposite: _The Devil's Child_

Christine saw his look of loss and moved a shaking hand to his gloved one. "You are more sheltered from the world than I thought."

He jerked back his and took a step back. "You know _nothing _of the things I _know." _his voice was hard and cold, no mercy would come from him at this point. "Do not patronize me Christine. I am _not_ a _child_."

Christine had lost her earlier anger, and some of her fear. She knew that her angel must have been mistreated. She had seen his face and the scares across his neck, even though he wore high collars to hide most of them. Disturbed was all she felt now, and sad. How could no one have taught him this was wrong? "No...but you have the morals of one." Before he could flee altogether, she caught his hand and made him stay put with her eyes. "It is _wrong _Angel. Do you think nothing of death? What of God? Are you saved?"

His lost look unsettled her. He really thought it was fine for him to kill. Then, his face contorted with anger. "Think of Death? I think of death every second of my life, and God? I curse the being. I have wished for God to _mercifully_ take my life. I have wanted to die for _decades_." He pointed roughly to the masked portion of his face. "Do not think that I don't let death occupy my mind every second I am away from you."

Christine's eyes grew. She realized that he hadn't noticed what he had told her. "Do you know what I think?" she placed a hand on his mask, and before he could rush away, she pulled him close with her other hand. "I think you are only lonely. How long have you lived without compassion? Companionship?" The phantom like being was breathing a little harder now, like it was hard to suck the air from his nose alone.

Seeing that he was in distress, she tried to console him, "Angel-"

"Erik"

Christine furrowed her brows. "What?"

He sighed and pulled away completely from her; isolating himself yet again. "I am no Angel...I am not even a man. I am just a monster...a monster named Erik." He started to move away from her; back into the shadows, when something caught his shoulder.

"Erik," a small smile boasted at her lips. "You are right you are not an angel." Erik let a tear slip from the masked eye. It was not see-able. He turned his face in shame. "But you are also wrong. You are not a monster, not a beast, and not a devil. You are a human; a _man_." Erik ventured to look at her small smile. But the next thing she said, made it even worse than it had started. "All men have flaws."

Erik shook her arm from him roughly and stalked away, but he didn't get far. "Erik stop, wait." He stopped so abruptly, she stumbled into his back.

Quick as lightening, he turned and covered the right portion of his face. " Flaws." He chuckled self-mockingly, "I have more than most."

Christine pulled his hand away and replaced it with her own. She had been frightened of him. He and his 'evilness', but was he really evil? He had been abused, mistreated, forgotten, loathed, hated, spited, scorned at, and countless more. Maybe, just maybe, he had a heart. It was just somewhere deep down inside of him, and covered in ice. She hoped to melt that ice.

"Flaws of the flesh, are but mere specks in the comparison to your heart." She placed her fingers on the top of his mask. "Trust me..." she whispered.

She could see his chest heaving again. He tried to hide his emotions, but she could read him easily now. Slowly, she peeled the mask back. She kept their eyes locked, even after Erik had closed his in fear. She dropped the mask, and studied his face. It was bad, there was no doubt about that, but it was bearable. The tissue was rough looking and it looked as if no hair grew on that side of his face, for he had no eyebrow. In fact, it looked like he didn't grow any facial hair at all besides his left brow and eyelashes. His right bottom eyelid droped, his upper lip was twisted at an odd angle. His nose meshed with is face, leaving his with only one open nostril. His ear, she realized, was also malformed. And whenever he cried his face became red and inflamed. She knew his mask could not be comfortable, and true to that thought, she could see spots where the mask rubbed.

Erik was heaving, and letting tears roll down his face. Christine touched his marred skin, and he let out a sob. "What is it Erik?" She said softly. She lightly traced his cheek. She had never seen him so small, so submissive. He was acting like groveling dog.

Erik burst into his first sob. He dropped to his knees and kissed the hem of her skirt. He was not worthy of such beautiful touching his repulsive skin. He loathed to make her ill, yet he knew she must hate him. "Christine you angel, you angel...angle." he muttered over and over.

She dropped down to take his thin bony shoulders in a hug. His frame was thin and tall. She bet she could feel every bone in his body. "Shhh." She hugged him. "What kind of life have you known?" Gone completely was her fear. She only felt pity for this lonely man. He must have been rejected his whole life.

She sighed after his sobs had ended. He had dared not touch her once when he hugged her, but he did lean in and nuzzle her shoulder with his cheek. "They will be missing me..."

He sighed, and kissed her hem once more. Christine kissed his forehead, causing him to let out another strangled sob, before composing himself. "I know..."

They sat there for another five minutes before Christine finally stood up. "Erik...I must go back to them..." she touched his face once more, and handed him his mask. "Let me show you the path to God, Erik. Let me trust you, let yourself trust me...Come for me in a week's time. I wish to visit with you Erik. Let me know you."

He could only nod, not trusting his voice not to crack again. He wiped his eyes hurriedly and cleared his throat. "In a week's time then..."

_I will continue this if you guys want, if not, I'll just leave it how it is and let it go one-shot._


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Phantom of the Opera, Hurt-Comfort, Romance