This chapter is a lot of dialogue because that's just how I could make words happen for it, so I hope nobody minds that! Chapter 5 shouldn't take me near as long to finish but...no promises, lol. I've been suffering a severe case of writer's block lately, but I'm glad to finally have a new chapter up for you all. :)

Please review. Thank you all for reading!

Chapter 4- Hushed Confessions

When rehearsals started up again, Christine embraced them like the welcome distraction they were to her aching heart.

With the absence of the opera ghost and, with him, his demands, the managers had decided to give La Carlotta the leading female role in the next production, and Christine would play a smaller, side role. Still, it was a step up from being in the chorus, and Christine had accepted the opportunity eagerly and put every ounce of focus and energy into it.

However, she still was not herself. The first days back had been the hardest, hardly leaving her room at all, crying and sleeping constantly. She had wanted privacy, yes, but had never felt so completely alone holed up in her dressing room—having been granted permission by the managers some time ago to sleep there instead of the crowded ballet quarters. Christine had gotten so used to the days when she had her angel's voice to keep her company. No matter where she had gone, he had always been there, whispering lovely songs or words of encouragement and comfort into her ear, constantly making her feel safe and loved and protected.

She wondered why she so stupidly longed for those days again. The angel did not exist. He never had. So…why did she still long for his voice, for his mere presence? It was terrible of her, she knew, but for some reason she had almost hoped that he would still be near, watching her, caring for her. She wanted him to somehow see her dejection, hear her lamentation, but there had been nothing. No concern, no sweet words, no soothing music, no profound presence.

Was he truly gone?

And why had that single, terrifying thought make her weep all the more? Oh, what a mess…

She supposed she was quite fortunate to have cried herself out completely during those few days of solitude, so she was mostly able to get her emotions under control in time for rehearsals. She refused to think about Raoul, Sorelli, Philippe...refused to remember what overwhelming pleasure she had experienced…refused to acknowledge the gaping hole in her chest, nor the persistent, longing ache in her belly for more. She had vowed to put on a mask of apathy and focus entirely on her acting and singing, hoping no one would be able to see her pain, figure out her secrets, her desires…

Carlotta was being particularly nasty one day at rehearsal, snapping at everyone for every little thing and complaining endlessly. Christine had attempted to tune everything out around her and think about how her scenes had gone and how she could improve for next time, and it proved to be somewhat effective. She had snuck off during one of Carlotta's tantrums to get a drink of water, and was stopped when a dainty hand grabbed one of hers.

"Christine!" the high-pitched voice of her best friend hissed, and Christine turned expectantly, attempting to fix a smile to her lips. Strands of Meg's blonde hair stuck to her perspiring forehead, and her pale face was flushed. "Dear God! I have been trying to get your attention all day."

"Have you?" Christine's head tilted in confusion. Surely she would have noticed…

Meg's pale green eyes looked on her with frustration as she nodded.

Christine squeezed Meg's hand in hers, smiling sheepishly. "Oh, I am so sorry, Meg. I, ah, suppose I have been distracted lately."

"Are you upset that Carlotta got the lead?" Meg asked, softening.

She shook her head. "No, not at all."

Meg pondered this, assessing Christine with a long sweep of eyes. "Hmm. You seem different, Christine, stranger than usual. I do not know what it is. I am worried about you."

Christine chewed on her lip, avoiding Meg's questioning gaze.

"Did something happen last weekend? With the Vicomte?" Meg's hushed, innocently intended words did not fail to make Christine's stomach twist, a heavy breath leaving her as if she had been punched in the gut. Her lips trembled as she looked to her best friend, watched those green eyes widening when they saw the hurt reflected in Christine's blue.

"Meg Giry!" They both jumped at the sound of Madame's impatient summon from the stage, and Meg seemed to internally struggle with returning to her work or staying with Christine.

"Go, Meg," Christine rasped, and then did her best to swallow the lump in her throat. "We can talk this evening, if you like. Just come to my dressing room."

Meg bobbed a quick nod and hugged Christine briefly, and then turned to make her way back to the stage with haste.

The room was chilly and dim and quiet, illuminated only by a few candles she had lit, but she still infinitely preferred it to the dormitories, recalling how she had found them nearly suffocating. She briefly wondered if the managers would kick her out soon, since she was not the current prima donna, but it was not as if La Carlotta did not have a massive dressing room of her own; and much lavisher than this one. Plus, they likely would not want to upset the woman their welcome patron had so obviously set his affections on.

The thought made her eyes sting.

Christine was already dressed for bed and mechanically brushing through her curls when Meg finally arrived at her dressing room door, knocking softly. The blonde was also in her bedclothes, a blanket held tightly around her to stay covered and warm on her journey to Christine's room.

"Sorry," Meg whispered as Christine let her in. "I know it is late. Mama would not stop pestering me about my stretches."

Christine actually laughed a little at the roll of Meg's eyes and huff of frustration, thankful for the first genuine smile on her face in days. She found she had missed her best friend dearly, and almost felt the tiniest bubble of excitement for a late night conversation like they used to have all the time in their shared dormitory. But then she remembered what they would be discussing…

Taking a deep breath, Christine took Meg's hand and led her to the chaise lounge, sitting and pulling Meg down next to her. "I have so much to tell you, Meg," she began hesitantly, watching blonde brows rise slightly. "Though I fear it will change your opinion of me…" She pressed her lips together to stop their trembling, avoiding Meg's concerned eyes.

"What? Christine, you know I could never think ill of you."

"Oh, Meg…I do hope that is true."

And then, Christine told Meg everything, barely giving a second thought as it all poured out of her. Omitting nothing, Christine recounted the events of the weekend in hushed tones, prefacing the story with how she had felt- well, different ever since meeting the Phantom face to face, and ending with her lie to Raoul and their decision to take some time apart. Meg—the dear girl—had stayed silent and attentive throughout the divulgence, only reacting every so often with a shocked gasp or disbelieving giggle, or an embarrassed squeak at the intimacy of the conversation.

Still, Meg showed no signs of disgust or judgment toward Christine, and it made her all the more comfortable to share. And it felt so nice to let it all out.

By the end of Christine's story and once Meg got the chance to absorb it all, she looked shocked but genuinely sympathetic. Christine wondered why. It was not as if she deserved even an ounce sympathy. "Is it over with Raoul, then?"

Christine shrugged, her face scrunched slightly in pain. "I am not sure. It feels like it, for me, but…I am unsure if he will give up so easily."

"And that is a bad thing?"

Trying not to flinch at the memory of their rough joining and the secrets Raoul still did not know, Christine nodded quick. "I just do not think we are right for one another anymore. Not after what I did…not after that night. Oh, Meg, is that terrible of me?"

Meg took one of Christine's trembling hands in hers, squeezing gently. "No, it is not," she said firmly. Christine's eyes swam, wondering what she did to deserve such a wonderful friend. "You made mistakes Christine, I will not deny that, but he should have had a little more self control, too. I shudder to think about how much pain you must have been in-" At this, Christine did flinch, and Meg smiled apologetically. "Sorry."

"It is alright, Meg. Thank you so much for listening to me; it felt awful holding everything in, not speaking to anyone the past few days..."

Meg nodded in agreement. "I can imagine." She paused, her cheeks going pink, and she looked away from Christine's eyes shyly. "Christine, may I ask- oh dear…"

"Of course, Meg. Anything. What is it?"

"I just- well, the other ballet girls never shut up about the act between a man and woman, but…what was it like, with…with Sorelli?" Meg's eyes met Christine's again, curious and excited, but with the slightest hint of fear as well. The grip on Christine's hand tightened.

Christine swallowed, remembering, her own cheeks heating now. "Ah, it was…very nice. There was no pain at any point, only softness and pleasure. I had never considered women in that way, before. But it was- well, wonderful, really." Meg nodded along to Christine's words, deeply intrigued. "Why? Have...have you thought about it before, Meg?"

Meg's face reddened further, and she looked as if she wanted to bolt from the room. Biting her plump lower lip, she pulled her hand from Christine's, shifting uncomfortably where she sat.

"Oh," Christine said quietly. "Forgive me, Meg. I did not mean to ask something so personal. I only thought since- oh, forget I asked!"

They each were silent for a moment, cheeks on fire, until Meg finally mumbled so quietly that Christine struggled to make out the words: "I have thought about it before."

"Really?" Christine breathed, eyes brightening at the knowledge. "Anyone…specific?"

Meg only nodded, pressing her pink lips together in a nervous line.

"Oh, Meg! Who?" Her whisper was eager, eyes wide. "You know I would not tell a soul. You can trust me, just as I trusted you with my secrets."

Meg hesitated, of course, but Christine only waited patiently, nodding in encouragement. Finally, Meg shakily breathed the name, "Catherine."

"Catherine?" Christine gasped. "The new ballet girl? With the black hair?"

"She is not new. She has been here for almost a year now, Christine. Goodness, I do wonder where your head is sometimes." Meg rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"Oh, do not change the subject! Have you tried anything? Tell me!"

Meg sighed. "No, of course not. I find it difficult to even have a simple conversation with her. It is like…I do not know. Like my stomach is sick whenever I am around her. And I cannot remember how to speak normally. It is rather pathetic." She laughed a little without humor.

Christine took her hand again. "We have all been there before, Meg. I wish you could have seen my face when I first saw…him, the Phantom…I could only gape at him like an imbecile for well over a full minute."

She laughed, but Meg went quiet, staring at her briefly in fascination. And then, she hesitantly asked, "What was he like, Christine? Was he truly terrifying?"

Startled by the unexpected question, Christine thought hard for a moment. "No, not at all- at first." Her voice was low, distant. "I felt as if I were in a trance when I first laid eyes on him. He was so tall, so well dressed and dark and different…and of course, the mask. He was like something you knew was forbidden but did not care; you knew your curiosity would win anyway." She smiled dreamily, remembering. "And his voice was so beautiful, so powerful. I'd never heard anything like it, the song he sang for me. It made me feel…he made me feel things I cannot even begin to explain."

"So what happened, then? The notes, the chandelier crash…it's so hard to understand it all."

Her voice dropped to a mere whisper. "I took off his mask, saw his malformed face. He was so angry, but more hurt than anything, I think. I betrayed his trust, and in turn he frightened me. And then, later when… I, ah, think he saw Raoul and I, on the roof after Buquet…" Her hands began to tremble, until soft, warm fingers brushed them hesitantly, as if to say I am here. It is all right. Christine swallowed, continuing. "It is the only thing I can think of that would explain the chandelier falling. Raoul and I kissed on the roof that night, and its now so obvious to me that he had been watching. He must have been so…" she paused, struggling to find the right word.

"Hurt," Meg said, looking on Christine's face with understanding. Christine's brow furrowed at the offered word, however, which had Meg sighing. "Christine, the man obviously has feelings for you. And, no, I am in no way excusing his behavior, but from what you have told me…he must not know how to express himself very well. He is in no way a normal man. Who knows what he has been through in his life with a face such as his."

Deliberating, Christine chewed on her lip.

Meg went on softly. "It is your choice what to do, Christine. You could either move on as if none of this had ever happened, or find him and demand an explanation for his behavior. And maybe…once you both have the answers you seek, maybe both of you can heal from that, in the end."

After a long while of silence, of deliberating, Christine nodded slowly. Meg was right. She needed to find him, to see him as nothing more and nothing less than a damaged man with strong emotions and a past she could not even begin to comprehend, and receive the answers she sought.

But…what if he truly was gone? Left without a second thought for her? The possibility was so strangely painful that Christine's eyes flooded with moisture. "I am afraid, Meg," she breathed thickly. "I…I do not feel him near, anymore. I would not know how to look for him, even if he still is here."

"Well, have you tried speaking with the Persian?"

Christine blinked. "Who?"

Meg groaned. "Christine! You've never heard of the Persian? Dear God, girl…how can you- I mean, the other ballet girls are always talking about how…oh, never mind! He is always lurking around the opera house, never misses a single performance. He knows all its secrets. There are even rumors that he knows the Phantom; is friends with him! You need to ask him, if anyone."

Her words—though making her flush with embarrassment for never having noticed such a well known person at the opera house—filled Christine with hope and excitement, and she inhaled sharply, sitting up straighter and leaning closer to Meg. "Will you point him out to me? Tomorrow? Will he even be around?" she asked quickly.

"Possibly. Yes, the next time he is around, I will fetch you. I promise."

"Oh, Meg!" Christine squealed, launching herself forward to embrace the dear girl. "Thank you, thank you so much! You are the most wonderful friend anyone could ever ask for!"

Meg giggled, returning Christine's hug tightly. "I know, I know," she teased. "I am the best. What would you do without me?"

"I have no idea."

They both laughed, still holding each other close, until the air about them seemed to change, grow quiet, different…thicker. Christine breathed in Meg's familiar, clean scent, running hands along her soft back, only covered by her thin bedclothes. Oh…

Meg was the first to pull away slowly, lovely face flushed slightly and pink lips parted, the pale green of her eyes seeming to have darkened. Christine flicked her tongue across her lips, wetting them quickly as she leaned in without making the conscious decision to do so.

She did not even realize she had actually kissed her best friend until she heard the girl's little whimper of surprise. Immediately, Christine drew back, shocked at her own behavior and apologetic, terrified for Meg's reaction. However, she only got a fraction of a second to see the look of surprised delight on the blonde's face before Meg was bringing their lips back together eagerly, tangling her dainty fingers into Christine's curls.

She clutched at the fabric on Meg's back, moaning at the movement of their full lips together. Her lips parted, and Meg took advantage of the opening, tasting Christine with her warm tongue and humming softly. In turn, Christine quickened the pace of their mouths' dance, kissing her with more enthusiasm and running a hand down her waist and then thigh.

With a gasp, Meg broke their kiss, biting her wet lower lip. "Christine," she gasped, trailing a single finger down Christine's neck, making her shiver. "I…would not know what to do."

Her coquettish confession somehow only made her more alluring, and Christine smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair out of her face with thumb and forefinger. "You don't have to do anything," Christine assured her quietly. "Or…that is- if you would like, I could…only touch you? I would like to thank you…properly. For all you have done for me tonight."

After a long stretch of silence, Meg nodded slowly, and Christine kissed her mouth again, enthused.

She took her time kissing Meg, the slow, delicate slide of tongues around one another and the squelching of moist lips meeting again and again the only sounds in the darkness for a while. Soft shifts of movement followed- Christine's legs pressing together, Meg scooting closer still until chests met, her fingers brushing Christine's shoulders and arms.

Christine broke away to trail lips down the pale, pillow soft skin of Meg's neck and then shoulder, the sleeve of her nightgown having been pushed aside to allow access. Still, she wanted to see and taste more, and she gently gripped the sides of Meg's nightdress, pulling up only a little to make her intent clear. "May I?" she whispered in between kisses on Meg's collarbone, and she felt the blonde shudder before her.

When Meg's quiet permission came, Christine slowly made to undress her. "Wait," Meg stopped her, soft yet tense hands covering her own. "The light..."

Christine pulled back to look at her, finding her eyes wide with fright. In truth, it baffled Christine that Meg would be embarrassed to be exposed to her now, when she had seen her countless times in the past. Of course...these were vastly different circumstances, and she understood all too well the feeling of insecurity. Though frowning a little, Christine did not argue, blowing out each candle on the nearby end table until only one lone, amber flame perched on the vanity across the room was alight, casting the two of them in complete shadow. Meg relaxed, letting out a shuddering breath of relief, and Christine set to undressing her slowly once again.

She could not see as well as she would have liked, but she could feel, and after guiding her to lie back, Christine mapped Meg's bare body with the softest of caresses, light brushings of lip, little dips of tongue. Meg's back arched when Christine trapped one small nipple into her mouth, gently sucking, and the little surprised yet delighted whimper that escaped Meg's creamy throat caused Christine's busy lips to upturn slightly. She could feel Meg's legs begin to tremble as she dug her fingers into her inner thigh, kneading the soft flesh, and she wondered whether it were anticipation, fear, or pleasure that caused such quaking.

Releasing Meg's breast, she favored her lips again, kissing softly before pulling away to whisper, "Are you all right?"

Meg nodded wordlessly, her fingernails scratching lightly down Christine's nightgown-clad back.

"Would you still like for me to continue?" Christine checked quietly, moving her hand a trifle higher up Meg's thigh to clarify her intent.

"Yes," Meg breathed, her voice filled with need.

"You are so lovely," Christine cooed before kissing her full mouth again with fervor, teasingly taking her hand off Meg's thigh to massage her neglected breast instead. Meg whined a little against Christine's lips, her thighs clenching and squirming, and Christine hummed tunelessly, smug. She understood now why the others had so loved to tease her; for it gave her a sense of power, of being needed, wanted. And she was only all too eager to oblige to such sweet longings.

Meg's skin was warm and smooth as Christine trailed her hand down her torso, which rapidly rose and fell with her quick breaths. Christine broke their heated kiss and dipped her head back to her breast, swirling her tongue and sucking lightly on the erect peak. When her hand finally brushed against Meg's velvety, wet heat, she both felt and heard the sharp gasp it caused, intrigued. Ever gently, she moistened her fingers with Meg's arousal before finding that swollen little nub, very softly running her moistened fingers in circles around it.

The girl clutched Christine's upper arms for dear life, squirming and panting and unable to control the louder moans that escaped her lips. Christine did not relent even for a second, especially not when Meg nearly sobbed in desperate need for release. No, then she quickened her pace, rubbing quicker circles and pressing just the slightest bit harder, sucking more firmly on her nipple, moaning as Meg quivered and keened before her. She could very nearly feel the overwhelming pleasure that Meg felt as it finally found its peak, her body spasming and writhing until she, finally, ultimately relaxed, sinking deeper into the chaise as her breathing calmed.

Meg clutched Christine close to her long after she relaxed, neither of them saying a word for a very long time. Christine softly stroked her hair, content to simply lie in Meg's soft arms and relish their—very close—friendship.

Christine felt much more relaxed at rehearsal the next day, her evening with Meg having been exactly what she needed, and she felt eager to put the past behind her and move forward. Meg had promised to catch Christine's attention the second she saw the Persian around, and Christine, for once, was not holed-up inside her mind, instead actually consciously aware of what went on around her.

The ballet girls were waiting in the wings for their cue, and Christine could not help but grin when she spotted Meg talking with Catherine. The raven-haired female was tall and graceful, with olive toned skin and dark eyes that were intimidatingly beautiful. Christine could see the appeal, and her heart warmed when she saw Catherine laugh heartily at something Meg had said. The blonde girl looked confident and victorious, which made an almost hysterically happy giggle burst through Christine's lips.

Luckily no one had been close enough to hear her and think her insane.

After Christine's scenes were through and they had moved on to working one of Carlotta's big moments, she found a nice spot at the corner of the stage and sat, watching everything and everyone like a hawk. It was strange; especially since she was so used to being wrapped up in her own world all the time, but it was also very interesting seeing the people she was around nearly every day and actually studying them. Seeing who concentrated on their work the most, who chatted the most, who flirted the most, who complained the most—well, save for Carlotta, of course.

It was nearing the end of rehearsal when she heard the sharp whisper. "Christine," Meg hissed, and Christine's head immediately snapped to across the stage where she stood. Meg bobbed her head sharply to the right once, and Christine scrambled to her feet, frantically searching in the spot Meg had gestured to.

Her eyes swept with urgency until, finally, she saw him.

Very nearly hiding in the wings, he was casually leaning against a scenery change flat, seemingly content to just watch the frenetic rehearsal in front of him. She quietly walked closer to him, trying not to draw attention just yet, her mouth going dry as she got a better look. He was of average height, with strong, sturdy legs and broad shoulders and hands, one of which held his hat. Well-tailored but average class clothing hung from deep brown skin, a neatly trimmed beard adorning a very kind, very handsome face. His hair was thick and dark with little flecks of silver-grey throughout, much like his beard, and full, black lashes framed eyes of brilliant jade that, again, just seemed so kind.

He was likely the most beautiful man she had ever seen. How in the world had she not noticed him before? Perhaps she did recall the ballet girls squealing over the handsomeness of a foreigner…

Having been so deeply absorbed in studying the man, Christine accidentally collided with one of the younger tenors, apologizing profusely before turning her attention back to the Persian. He had turned his attention to her as well, likely having heard her collision, and his face paled slightly with recognition. Chewing on her lip, she approached him, trying not to let his nervous expression deter her. He obviously knew who she was, or else he would not be watching her approach him as if she were an actual ghost.

"H-hello," she murmured when she was just a couple feet away from him, clearing her throat quietly. For it was still dry.

He nodded in greeting, his voice deep and rough as he also said, "Hello."

"I am Christine Daaé."

"I…I know. I mean-that is… Ah, pleased to meet you, Miss Daaé," he struggled, offering his hand after a long moment of hesitation. She took it, and his large palm was warm and rough in hers. "I am Nadir Khan." He offered a kind, polite smile, though she still sensed his discomfort.

"Pleased to meet you as well, Monsieur Khan." She deliberated, but ultimately decided honesty and getting right to the point was best. Why waste time with pleasantries and small talk? She straightened her posture, taking a breath before holding her head high. "You obviously know exactly who I am, and I think it is time we discussed a mutual friend of ours."