A curly haired brunette sophomore leaned against a wall that was throbbing with the loud music coming from a large black stereo. She had a beer in her hand and she took a sip, puckering at the taste in her mouth.

"Ick," she muttered. A curvaceous blonde, with long straight hair, bounded up to her. The blonde's large chest threatened to spill out of her low cut, pink shirt, a denim miniskirt showed of her well-muscled legs. "Hi Meg," the brunette said dully.

"Christine what are you wearing?" Meg looked scornfully at Christine's black tank top, baggy black pants, combat boots, and the black fishnets that ran up her arms. Heavy black eyeliner encircled Christine's eyes and black lipstick finished her look.

"What I always wear."

"Exactly," Meg sighed, "What will it take to get you in something pink?"

"The castration of your boyfriend," Christine laughed.

Meg slapped Christine's arm, "Never mind then." With a characteristic nose wrinkle, Meg sauntered away from Christine and into the arms of her boyfriend.

Christine stared down at her second beer, wishing for someone to talk to. It was times like this when Christine felt the loss of her mother the most. When Christine was twelve, Emma Daae was diagnosed with breast cancer. She underwent extensive treatments, but two years later, they found a brain tumor. They lost Emma shortly after Christmas.

Christine shook her head, trying to rid herself of the oppressive thoughts. That was three years ago. She was over it. Looking down at the beer in her hands, she took one more long drink and tossed it over her shoulder then went to the table to get her third.

She was just taking a swig when someone bumped into her back, causing the beer to spew out of her mouth and the rest of the beer to spill, effectively drenching her shirt, running under her bra, and soaking her pants. "What the?" she whirled around and her breath caught in her throat. Looking at Christine was the most gorgeous pair of ice blue eyes she had ever seen. They were lined with heavy black eyeliner, and on the right eyebrow was a bar with skulls on either end. Thick, wavy, ebony hair covered the top of his head and stuck up a bit in the front and brushed the top of his collar. The guy had a tall, lean body and stood about five inches above her… in her combat boots. He wore clothes similar to hers in the fact they were all black. He had full lips that made Christine wonder about kissing him, but what caught Christine a bit off guard was the half mask that covered most of the left side of his face.

"Sorry," he mumbled, looking down.

"Its fine, you just startled me." She smiled a bit, stretching her black lips in a gesture she didn't practice very often. He looked like he tried to smile, but it turned out as more of a grimace. Christine giggled, "I'm Christine," she put out a hand to shake. You don't shake a hot guy's hand! It isn't done in high school! Christine mentally slapped herself.

"Erik," Erik caught up her hand and lifted it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

"Classy," Christine fought to keep her face from flaming, and she lifted an eyebrow.

"Merci," he quipped.

"Vous êtes bienvenu," Christine said back.

"French class?"

"Nope, I'm from a family of traveling musicians… at least for a little while. We spent two years in France, and then came back here."

"Why?"

"Mom had breast cancer."

"Had?"

"She died three years ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry… again."

Christine shook her head and laughed a little, "Why am I telling you this?"

Erik smirked, "Because I am dashing and you find yourself overwhelmed by my charm?"

She shrugged, "Not so far from the truth."

"I was kidding you know."

"I wasn't. Want to dance?" The rational part of Christine's brain screamed at her to stop, call her dad, and go home, but the rest of it was so drunk that it didn't know what was going on.

"Sure why not?" Erik smirked, he was just as drunk if not more so than Christine.

They stepped into the mass of dancers and were quickly pushed into the midst of the throng. At first, Christine and Erik danced almost a full arms length from each other but soon, the magnetic attraction between their hormone ravaged bodies, and not to mention the push of the dancers, soon found the only two gothic people at the party were dancing close and dirty.

The electric shocks that coursed through Christine's body at Erik's touch made her ecstatic; it was something that she had never felt before. She wasn't positive but by the way Erik's ice blue gaze never left her brown one, she was pretty sure he felt the same thing. The sway of her hips matched his exactly and her back was pressed into his chest. His hands were on her flat stomach, and hers were on the back of his legs. Ever so slowly, his hands inched up, as did hers, but Christine broke away before Erik touched anything too intimate.

She turned around and pressed her body up against his, winding her black nailed fingers in his hair, "I don't play with fire, little man."

"Really? Hm." Erik raised his visible eyebrow.

"Yes really," Christine breathed, "I could get burnt."

"Oh but my dear Hecate, I would never let the flames of Hell burn you."

"Hades with an eyebrow piercing, it's not what I imagined but still very nice."

"Thank you," he purred in her ear, sending delightful shivers down her spine. Erik's hands made his way down the small of her back and came to rest on her butt. Christine hooked her arms around his neck and tried to press them together more, but it was practically impossible. The thirst Christine had was not for beer, and it was not for contact that was blocked by thin fabric barriers, it was for the blissful contact of skin on skin.

Tiring a bit, Erik led Christine off the floor and over to a couch that was so populated with couples making out, Christine had no choice but to sit on Erik's lap. His hands rested on her thighs and her head against his shoulder, her soft breathing tickled his neck. Sighing, Christine raised her head to look Erik in the eye, her lips a scant few inches from his. But just as she did that, a rouge dancer bumped into her, sending her crashing toward Erik. Her lips made rough contact with his and suddenly, her body felt as if it were on fire.

Shocked, Christine pulled back and started stammering, "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do t-that."

"Sh," Erik breathed. He cradled the back of her head and kissed her gently. His lips were soft against hers, and gently massaged her lips. Once the aftershock wore off, Christine kissed him back, nipping at his bottom lip. Suppressing a groan that bit at the back of his throat, Erik ran his tongue over her bottom lip, seeking entrance to her mouth. Not one to deny Erik anything, Christine opened her mouth a bit and welcomed Erik. Electricity ran through their bodies as their tongues contacted and they explored e ach other's mouths. Soon, Erik's fingers crawled under her shirt and grazed the hook of her bra.

Christine pulled back, her lips lingering on his for a moment. With a deep breath she said, "No, not here," her voice was husky, eyes heavy lidded, and mouth swollen from their savage kissing.

"Come on," Erik said. He grabbed Christine's hand and pulled her to the door.

"Wait, I have to tell Meg I am leaving." Christine stumbled in a drunken stupor over to her blonde friend and whispered to her for a moment before Meg nodded and Christine followed Erik out the door. Erik unlocked his black Mustang and reached across to open the passenger door. Christine slid in and looked at Erik, "Where are we going?"

"My place,"

"No parents?"

"None at all," Erik put the key in the ignition and sped away.

Christine's breathing was heavy and she couldn't tear her eyes away from Erik as he drove the short distance to his house. She didn't pay that much attention when he pulled into the driveway, but it was quite a large house, bordering on mansion. He opened the door quickly, as did Christine, and Erik took her hand and they practically ran to the door. Erik fumbled with his keys in the lock. It took him a minute to finally open it. Once inside, Erik locked the door and pinned Christine against it, and began kissing her passionately. He pulled away moments later to drag her up the stairs and into what she presumed was his room.

The walls were all black with silver graffiti on the far right wall; music notes and various sayings were the main focus. An emerald green comforter lay across the bed and was pulled back to reveal black sheets, silver pillows were thrown haphazardly at the head of the bed, and they scattered into a complete disarray when Christine was pushed onto the bed by Erik.

Christine writhed under Erik as waves of warmth bubbled up from her belly as Erik thrust his tongue into her mouth and explored the roof of her mouth, the contour of the inside of her cheek, and the sensitive area under her tongue. Erik pulled back and pressed soft kisses to her jaw line and down her neck where he began to suck at her collarbone. His fingers crept up her shirt sending shocks to Christine's barely on brain. Still kissing him, Christine unbuttoned Erik's black shirt and pulled it off, fingering his well-defined abs; Erik had her shirt off a moment later.

Pulling back, Erik looked at Christine, "We can stop if you want."

She shook her head and pulled his back down to hers.

Christine lay in Erik's embrace staring at his masked face. Slut. The single word ran through her head like a mantra. You filthy dirty whore, you sleep with a guy you have known for how many hours? Let's see… try about four! Your father has done so much for you and how do you repay him?

She shook her head to rid it of the thoughts and reached out to touch Erik's lips. When she did, he stirred; his eyes fluttered open to look at her.

"I have to go," she whispered.

Erik nodded, "I'll drive you home."

They dressed silently, and stumbled down the stairs into Erik's car where they drove silently to Christine's dark house.