This is a sequel to Christine's Apartment! You should be fine if you haven't read that beforehand, but it provides some background context that may be helpful.
I meant to get this out by Halloween, but life happened, anddd here we are.
XXxxXX
Christine's hand was wrapped tightly around his arm. Painfully, almost, but he did not mind. If he tried hard enough, he could almost feel her warmth through their layers of coats, the way she was pressed against his side.
Erik thought his mind very wicked sometimes. He felt a flash of guilt every time Christine and her delicious softness entered his mind.
And with the way she was clinging to him, it entered often.
"Erik!" she squeaked, jerking him from his dark pit of a conscience. "Of all places, why did you choose a haunted house?"
"I thought you would enjoy it," he replied, his brow furrowing beneath his mask. "You said you worked at a haunted house in the past."
"That one was a kid-friendly haunted house," her hand tightened on his arm. "This is different."
He apologized earnestly, now his guilt being directed at another subject. "Do you want to go? I-I can drive you home"
Christine paused, staring up at the dark building before them.
"No, I don't want to go. But I'm going to scream a lot!" she warned teasingly. He felt a little less bad.
"That's a risk I'm willing to take," he waved the two tickets in his free hand.
XXxxXX
When Erik had heard the town's local theater was hosting a 'Fright Night," he had immediately rushed to get tickets. It had seemed like the perfect idea for a third date with Christine. That is- if she accepted.
After rehearsal, when she'd been packing up to leave, he'd stopped her with a hand.
"Christine?"
She'd looked up at him curiously. "Yeah?"
"I, uh, bought these tickets… and I was wondering if you'd- go with me on Saturday?"
He felt dreadfully nervous. Their past two dates had been initiated by her, he was horribly inexperienced with the ways of dating.
His question had come out in bits and pieces, and he'd even neglected to mention what they were even going to. Yet for some inexplicable reason- bless her heart- she accepted.
"I'd love to!" Her face had broken out into a wide grin.
Anxious still, but now with a tinge of excitement, he told her where to meet. That had been two days ago.
Now they stood together, her clinging to his arm, and they entered the theater.
XXxxXX
Erik realized one thing fairly quickly as they made their way through the haunted house. Christine hadn't been kidding when she said she screamed.
His right ear was currently ringing, and he was relatively sure she had begun to cut off blood flow in his arm. Her grip had not relaxed at all.
At one section a rather convincing zombie leaped out at them, causing Christine to shriek and jerk away so hard he was nearly pulled with.
As she recovered, he gently pulled her in for a hug.
"My dear," he sighed, an endearment that he knew always caught her attention. "Are you sure you wish to continue? We do not have to if you do not want it."
Christine had not moved from his embrace. He could feel her breath on his neck as she buried her face in his coat.
"No," her voice was muffled. "I want to keep going- I do."
He pursed his lips but did not argue further. Gently, he extracted her from his arms and led her by the hand down a dark corridor.
It was a well-done setup, he admitted to himself. His keen night sight ruined the effect a little bit, but he still couldn't help but admire the decorations. The smoke machines and cobwebs were a nice touch, though he could do without the strobe lights. They gave him a headache.
He was shaken from his thoughts as Christine jumped, a hand had reached to her through the wall. She broke into a run, pulling him farther down the hallway. They turned a corner, going into a small room lightly dimly with a yellow light.
Erik immediately spotted the 'corpse' that lay on the floor, a pool of fake blood around him. Christine gasped.
"It's okay," he comforted, "It's just fake, not real. There's nothing really to be scared of."
In fact, he was probably the scariest thing in the entire haunted house.
Christine's face was still pale as she stared at the man on the floor.
"Are you sure?" she whispered, inching him away from the spot. "It looks… really realistic."
"The blood is just a mixture of food coloring and corn syrup. It can't harm you."
Of course, the 'corpse' chose that moment to reanimate, jerking up to half-stumble half-run towards them. Christine screamed even louder than before (if that was possible) and raced from the room.
"Christine!" he cried out. A distant part of his mind remembered the man chasing him, but he could hardly care as he pursued his date.
Damnit, where'd she gone?
The door closed behind him as he left the room behind. Now Erik stood in the middle of another dark hallway, his eyes scanning the corridor for any sign of familiar life.
The white noise machine running in the background had begun to give him a pounding headache. This entire date was a disaster- what had he been thinking to take Christine to a haunted house? Now she was lost somewhere in this wretched building and he had a migraine.
He pinched the bridge of the mask's nose- as if that would help him any.
Eventually, after turning a few corners, he spotted her. She was leaning against a wall, hands pressed over her eyes. Erik walked forward, sighing with relief. He had been half-worried she had left the theater altogether.
He reached out to lay a hand gently on her shoulder. It was a light touch, and he opened his mouth to speak-
Christine, too caught up in her panic to recognize him, yelped and jerked away, elbowing him in the face in the process. She tumbled back, falling on her behind.
Erik felt the cold air meet his face as her arm knocked away his mask. The plaster skidded onto the floor, unharmed, a few feet away.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion, time freezing as his eyes centered on her. She still sat on the floor, staring up at him with a pale expression on her face. Her mouth was wide in an O shape.
Erik found it rather difficult to breathe. His chest was tight, seizing up, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears.
This was it. After this, Christine would leave, and find some excuse to discontinue their lessons. He'd never see her again. Those four kisses they'd shared would be nothing more than a distant memory.
A small sound escaped Christine. A sob, perhaps? A scream? She hadn't moved on the floor, her hands were still planted on the ground behind her. She was going through shock, he distantly realized.
His own mind was too scrambled to process anything else. All Erik knew was that he had to retrieve his mask and leave now.
His hand reached up to cover his gaping hole of a nose, turning away to grab his mask and put it on tightly. For a moment he stood there, still leaning over her, his breath rushed.
Then she began to cry. Soft little cries, and the tears he saw running down her face seared through his heart.
Monster. He was a monster. An ugly one who had never deserved her in the first place.
"Come," he rasped, his voice trembling, but did not offer a hand. He did not want to see the look of revulsion in her eyes as she pulled away. "I shall show you the exit."
Still, she did not reply; and when he led her to her car, the only sounds were her quiet sobs.
Erik turned away.
XXxxXX
Erik, if you don't call me back one of these days, I'm going to assume you dead, break into your house and steal all your shit. Reply, goddammit!
There was a slight buzz as the Daroga's message ended. Erik lay on the floor, phone in hand, watching the screen of his device. He scrolled down farther on his missed-calls list, most of which were from the meddlesome Iranian.
A few, he realized to his surprise, were from Christine. He deleted those as soon as he saw them.
Erik didn't want to listen to her break-up calls. Reasons as to why she should never lay eyes on his hideous face again.
Not that he blamed her- Erik completely understood. He'd leap at the chance to break up with his own face if possible. Kudos to her for taking the opening as soon as she saw it.
The screen buzzed again, lighting up. And then his phone was vibrating; she was calling him. Inwardly, he congratulated her for her efforts. Most girls (or at least, what movies and books suggested) would simply 'ghost' him without a second thought. 'Ghost' him. What an awfully ironic term. He wished she would ghost her, simply to rid him of the constant reminds that she was gone.
Or he wished it could be vice-versa. Erik wished he could turn into a ghost. And soar into the sun, never to bother his beloved Christine ever again.
The buzzing ended, and her voice began to fill the room.
He had only given her his phone number months ago, in case she needed to keep in touch with him outside of lessons. Clearly, that had been a mistake. Wouldn't an email have been just as sufficient? At least with an email, he wouldn't be forced to automatically delete her voicemail as soon as it began.
Erik, it's me, Christine, and- a soft press of his thumb and her lovely voice was shut off.
The phone made a delightful beep when he sent the recording into the void, as well. Yet he only felt even more hollow inside.
Feeling another meddlesome headache begin to spring upon him, he pressed his hand to his ugly, unmasked mug.
An entire week had flown by since the disastrous date, and he realized with a heavy heart that they had a rehearsal scheduled the next day.
What was he supposed to do? Show up to an empty room, waiting for her to never show up?
Or, what if she showed up simply to leave him in person? That suggestion left his stomach reeling, and his headache returning at full force. It felt as if a bus had run over his head.
A drink. That's what he needed. A drink. Tossing his phone across the room, Erik stumbled to his feet and shuffled over to the unusually-messy kitchen. Typically he took great pride in maintaining his house pristine and worthy of the front cover of Better Homes and Gardens, but lately, he could not muster the energy.
Fishing a cup out of the sink, he quickly rinsed it out to see what strong alcohols were located in his fridge. He needed something strong to drink.
XXxxXX
Four hours later found him lying on the linoleum floor, a bottle of half-scotch in one hand. He stared up at the ceiling. Why was it spinning? The small chandelier above his head appeared to circle over and over and over. He was nauseous again. Dreadfully so.
Three quick knocks at the door felt like a battering ram against his ears. Groaning, he rolled on his side. The bottle slipped from his hand, spilling on the floor and most likely onto his clothes. Not that it would bother him- the pair of sweatpants and old black hoodie was disposable enough.
There were more knocks, and Nadir's voice echoed from outside.
"Erik! Let me in," he said.
Erik cast the most venomous glare his intoxicated self could manage. He did not even attempt to stand.
Maybe if he pretended to be dead, the antagonizing man would give up and leave.
The doorknob rattled.
"Erik! I'm going to break down your door."
Erik glanced over to his other side. His mask sat, on the floor, a good few feet away.
Go away, he willed.
A click sounded from the front room, and Erik knew Nadir had fished out his extra key. There was the sound of footsteps on wood flooring, and a low swear as Erik was spotted.
"What the fuck happened?" The Iranian's eyes were wide open, taking in the spilled scotch to his unmasked face. "What the hell drove you to vanish for over a week? You worried me, you stupid man."
Erik scowled at him. "It's none of your business," he drawled. "I d-didn't ask for you to break into m-my apartment. You're not my fucking mom."
"Praise Allah," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Come on, let's get you up and cleaned off. Then maybe you can explain why you're lying in a puddle of liquor, drunk out of your mind."
Reaching down, Nadir pulled Erik up with a hand. The latter of which fell against him as he struggled for balance.
"It's c-complicated," he growled. Hobbling like an old man to his bedroom, he distantly felt a wave of embarrassment over being seen in such an awful state.
"Oh, I bet," Nadir exhaled.
An hour later Erik was more presentable, slouched down on the couch as he was. He rubbed his now-masked face.
"It's- Christine," he muttered through his hands. "I… she…"
Unable to continue, he pressed his palms into his eyes. There was a painful tightness in his throat that he fought to overcome. He wouldn't cry! Not in front of the Daroga, at least. Maybe later, after the endlessly annoying man left.
Across from him, Nadir's face fell into a deep frown. "I had a sneaking suspicion this had something to do with her."
"Oh, Daroga, she saw my face."
"I- ah," he replied meekly, leaning back. "I take it that things did not go well?"
"She was in shock, she couldn't move," his voice was muffled. He inhaled shakily. "I made her cry."
"I'm so sorry."
There was another buzzing from across the room. Erik looked up from between his fingers, shaking his head.
"That's probably her."
Nadir had turned at the sound, peering over the back of the armchair. "Probably her?" he echoed. "What does that mean?"
"Christine's been calling and texting me every day since that night. And she won't stop." he huffed. "I miss her to death, but Gods, I wish she'd just silently leave like everyone else."
The phone was still buzzing.
"Erik," Nadir began, "I really think you should listen to what she has to say."
"Not in a million years, Daroga. I've been deleting all her voicemails and texts as soon as they arrive."
The Iranian's lips were pursed. "I know you, Erik, and I think you're most likely misinterpreting this entire thing-"
"Goddammit, Nadir!" Erik jerked to his feet, still swaying slightly. "I don't want to hear it. I know what I'm doing and I know what she's doing."
The phone stopped buzzing. There was no voicemail.
"I think you've overstayed your welcome," the masked man hissed.
Nadir's face hardened, and for a few tense moments, both men stood staring at one another.
"Fine," he replied. "I'll go." He stood up, straightening his suit, and walked past Erik to open the door.
Before leaving, he turned to look at him. "All I want is for things to go well for you, Erik."
The door closed with a quiet click.
Erik sank down on the couch once more, craning his head back to stare at the ceiling. He tore off his mask to toss it in the vague direction of his phone.
Clenching his eyes shut, he willed the tears to come. Now, now that it was over. But nothing happened.
XXxxXX
Christine sat on her bed, letting the phone slip out of her hands. His number still lay on the screen, taunting her.
For the past seven- no- eight days now she'd been texting and calling him in the hopes he'd pick up.
Yet all her attempts to reach him ended fruitlessly; including her present one. Disheartened, she collapsed against the bed.
In all honesty… she was worried about him. They definitely hadn't embarked from the theater that night in good spirits. He had looked awful as he ushered her to her car.
As did you, her mind bit back. Christine sucked in a breath.
She couldn't rid herself of the hurt and betrayed look in his eyes as he reeled back. Or how his hand lifted up to cover the hole where his nose had been as soon as she gasped.
"This is it," she muttered against the quiet room. "He doesn't want to see you again. Not after you acted l-like that."
She had replayed that last scene over and over in her head. She had been terrified, spooked by that man in the room, and everything was in a haze. In some far away part of her conscience, she knew she'd left Erik behind, yet his sudden appearance had startled her beyond recognition.
She felt dreadfully guilty over accidentally hitting him. And knocking his mask askew!
It had been the first time she'd ever seen his true face, and while, yes, it had been terrible… it was still Erik.
And she still missed him.
Her phone began to ring, and she sat up, hope blossoming in her chest. Her hands fumbled with the phone as she stared at the caller ID.
Her disappointment was crushing. She held the phone up to her ear.
"Hey, Meg."
"Hey!" The sound of her friend on the other end was sympathetic. "So… did you get ahold of him yet?"
"No." she swallowed.
"You've heard nothing from him?"
"Yeah."
"Well… you don't know where this guy lives, right?"
"Right," she affirmed, "And even if I did, it's not like I'd just show up… I don't think he wants to see me anymore. All I want to do is talk to him. At least one last time." Even if he was done with her.
"What's your plan after this?" Meg asked. "You can't just keep calling him forever, Chris. At some point, you're just gonna have to give up and go on."
"I know, I know." Her window was slightly open, casting a small, yet chilly draft into the room. Christine shivered. "We have a rehearsal scheduled tomorrow. Erik never misses our practices, I know he'll be there. After that, I'll cut myself clean, okay?"
Her stomach was twisted in knots.
"Alright, I-" a loud crash echoed from Meg's side of the phone. "Crap! Sorry, Christine, I gotta go, Max just knocked over a vase. Talk to you later, bye!"
Christine gave a small amused smile as she hung up, knowing the antics of Meg's cat, but the call hadn't relieved her anxiety any. In fact, she felt even more nervous than before.
Standing up and hopping off her bed, she knew she couldn't waste the rest of the day away hoping he'd reply. Fresh air. She needed fresh air.
Slipping on a jacket, she only paused to send him one last quick text. Please reply, it said. There was no response.
XXxxXX
To be continued...