Beau

by SingsforPhantom

This is a modern day retelling of Beauty and the Beast with elements of the Phantom of the Opera in it.

An enchanted castle would be much more romantic than this overdone monster of a house, thought Paige as she ogled the place that would become her temporary living quarters for the next year. The only thing that make her stomach twitch more than the sight of this grotesque abode in complete isolation was—the incredibly long winding driveway that led up to the house.

The bag across her shoulder began to give her a red welt as she wheeled yet another suitcase down the long path. This place seemed to dwell continuously in the shade as if every tree had been placed in perfect position to block the sun. The least the cab driver could have done was take her right up to the house. Only after she trudged past the "Private Road" sign did she realize why he had not.

Most of her bags had been sent over to the Gosforth Mansion, or the looming residence that she did not approached with reproach. Everything around her loomed in purple shadows, which danced away from the sun like guilty thieves. The driveway was uncared for and the wheels of her suitcase kept falling into the crack slowing her journey.

As she gazed around she noticed the trees that lined the driveway almost stared at her and she griped her suitcase a little tighter. The branches were dry and knarly beckoning coldly to Paige. She did not feel welcome here. Dragging a suitcase over uneven concrete and denting her shoulder with more luggage was not agreeing with her.

All of this was her grandfather's fault, all of it. She wished she could blame him fully in her heart but she didn't, not completely. If only she did not need money for a scholarship so badly, to be a court jester for a rich old king. She was deceptively old for a student having been out of high school for almost 10 years. Most of the people she knew from her small town were married, had children, and done with the explorative part of life.

In school Paige excelled in almost every subject, she always enjoyed learning and was one of the few students who had a lengthy recreational reading list. Unfortunately this zeal for learning would not do much good for a music scholarship. Most of Paige's dedication stemmed from her commitment to her music. Ever since her 3-year old fingers tentatively touched the ivory keys of her mother's piano, she had given her heart to it. Somehow playing made her feel closer to her mother.

Now she would stay in the Gosforth Mansion and prove her dedication to music working as an in-house musician. Her skills in piano also included piano maintenance and craftsmanship—her grandfather's strong suit. She would be repairing an old piano of some significance, a family heirloom, and keeping it tuned and maintained for a year. The task had been given to her grandfather but he was not willing to commit to it so he gave it to her without completely disclosing what would be involved. She needed money more than ever to help her go to conservatory but now more than ever she wished she had not agreed.

She worried about being alone in such an isolated area with her patron—heir Lawrence Gosforth who lived in the manor nearly alone with several in house servants. She did not know much about him but she assumed a lone bachelor must be an elderly gentleman. She assumed that she would not been in his way much, the music room would undoubtedly be one room of several dozen.

Noticing the grim pathway leading up to an even grimmer mansion, she wondered what sort of wealthy heir chose to live in such disheveled surroundings. The idea of the lonely hermit intrigued her creative mind but made her nervous as well. What sort of man was this Lawrence Gosforth and why did he suddenly need his piano fixed?

As she neared the mansion she realized that in its prime the house must have been breathtaking. It almost gave the appearance of an old Southern Plantation home, even though they were in the cool North. The once grand white house was now gray and vines crept up it like veins, revealing its lack of life. There were ridiculous columns lining the doorway with Corinthian origin, scrolling up towards the second levels. This was only the facade. The rest of the house stretched far behind this exterior like a caboose.

Sighing she dragged her bags up the final steps which led up to the huge antique door. Bending over her bags in exhaustion she laughed at her unkempt appearance. Clearly wearing a nice business suit was a huge mistake. Her dress shoes with the 2 inch heels were now worn and ruined. She took this opportunity of isolation to slump down on the first step in front of the door and rest.

Her auburn hair stuck to the sides of her face in sweaty clumps, the escapees from the rest of her hair piled on her head in a French knot. Her long legs hung over two steps and she picked at her stockings uncomfortably wishing she had not been lazy and shaved her legs instead.

Her powder blue suit was probably acquiring more dirt than from the long walk but she was beyond caring at this point. If she had to walk nearly a mile, professionalism did not matter. Finally cooled down she stood up carefully dusting herself off. She could feel her makeup mingled with sweat, melting off of her face. Realizing how she must look she felt the corner of her mouth draw up in a smile. The tomboy in her, although dormant these days, continuously felt amused and the most at ease when she was defying convention.

Paige approached the door and rapped on the door with her knuckles. No answer. She decided this merited using the huge knocker on the door, lifting it and letting it crash in a loud thud on the door. Boom. Still, no response. She folded over in exasperation and groaned. Getting a warm shower and changing into another outfit were obviously too much to ask.

Her powder blue heels were ruined, but she had a pair of tennis shoes in her shoulder bag. She sprawled unladylike on the stoop and fastened her tennis shoes on over her stockings. If her employer couldn't bother to answer the door she was going to explore. The grounds opened before her like a secret garden and her inner child once again, could not resist.

Trusting that she could leave her bags on the isolated porch she crept around the back of the porch and gazed at the vast gardens that hid there behind an iron fence. The gate opened easily, unlocked to the limited amount of trespassers. Green leaves brushed by her face and surprised her eyes. The change in scenery was so dramatic, it puzzled Paige. This place brimmed to the top with surprises.

Paige felt like a little girl exploring a magic land and delighted at everything she saw. There were flowers of every kind and color it seemed, growing from the ground, almost cognizant of her presence. Statues of figurines posing in wistful positions stood hiding in the flower beds peeking out at her, eyes glazed over in many different expressions.

One statue, of a lamb, looked at Paige in such a way that she smiled and found herself staring at it for awhile. Her impressions of this place had been hasty; this place would be a wonderland for a year, full of more surprises. The trees in this backyard were healthy and stretched up to the sky, leafy, and beautiful.

Suddenly Paige caught a flash of red and squinted to get a better look. The sun bore into her eyes so she walked faster to get a closer look. The red continued and she realized that amidst the other flowers were dozens upon dozens of red bushes. These were not ordinary roses, no; these roses were blue ribbon worthy. The petals shimmered like rubies and were nearly the size of baseballs. Paige longed to pick one and wear it in her hair but she found herself mesmerized by the sheer number of so many perfect blossoms. Clearly, this old man had a green thumb. She extended a finger out to stroke the silky petal when a hand grabbed her shoulder causing her to gasp.

She spun around about to vocalize her annoyance at being scared when she felt the breath get caught in her throat once again but for different cause. The eyes staring coldly into her own belonged to a face that could not be described using simple terms. No, this face deserved thorough depiction.

Deformed was not quite the right word to use, not politically correct. His eyes seemed the only part of the face that had some symmetry. A good bone structure existed beneath an exterior covered in scars so thick that they looked almost like protruding bones. There was hardly a nose, only, no hole, but a smooth plane of skin, perhaps the smoothest of the face. A strong jaw led down to even skin on the neck, but the face… wretched and bumpy, it stared back into Paige's perfect complexion enviously.

The brow, although furrowed, contained uneven bone structure and did not spare the forehead. Crooked gashes scarred over trailed across the forehead leading nowhere but drawing Paige's attention to the hair that came with this face. The hair was tangled, shaggy, long, and tucked behind his ears, both of which were untouched by ugliness.

It took Paige a little while to catch her words but, the owner of that face, used to similar reactions from many other women saved her the trouble.

"Who are you? Why are you trespassing in this garden?"

His voice warmed her head to toe; its timbre was so masculine and youthful—but commanding. It was then she realized that this voice was that of a man no older than 40. His face concealed his age and his hair was fair so if there were any gray hairs in it, they could not be seen. Still, she found herself thinking about these things instead of answering his question.

His face seemed sad and weary as she continued to stare at him, unintending to seem sickened by his appearance, "I must ask you to leave, and you have no business here."

Paige found her voice at last, hidden beneath her spinning thoughts, "Yes, yes I do. I'm Paige Bell. I'm looking for Lawrence Gosforth."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously, as if trying to read her own, "What is your business with Mr. Gosforth?"

Now she was getting irritated, this guy was probably some gardener under the employ of Mr. Gosforth, what did he care what she wanted?

"Look Sir, would you please just take me to Mr. Gosforth, the business I have is with him and I've been waiting for some time to see him. There was no answer at the door so I assumed he was not home."

"So you decided to poke your nose around the grounds instead of waiting? Take a souvenir or two?"

"Look Mister, I did not take anything and I hardly think your employer would want you scolding his guests like children or sneaking up in an attempt to catch them in a supposed act of mischief."

Something in those eyes twinkled but his expression remained the same. He paused for a minute pondering his next move and then, "Well—Miss Bell is it—I am unaccustomed to wait longer than 10 minutes for my guests so I thought I would take a walk in my rose garden while waiting for you to show up," relishing in her horrified expression he continued, "based on your appearance, I must assume that your car did not drop off at the front door giving you a long walk up to the house, I do apologize for that."

Her face paled in realization, "Mr. Gosforth—I…I didn't know, I'm sorry please forgive…"

"Don't worry about it," he said a touch of amusement in his voice, "I should not have snuck up on you like that, a face to face encounter with me is enough of a scare."

She half smiled and nervously laughed, and he returned with a melancholy smile. Paige knew that although he wished to cover for his appearance, his last comment had not really been a joke on her, but on himself. There was sadness in those blue eyes that lay deeper than the scars on his face.

He turned his back to her, "If you can find your way back to the front, I'll send someone to meet you at the front door to collect your belongings and escort you to your room."

"I think I can manage, thank you, Mr. Gosforth."

He did not respond but continued to walk slowly away from her, disappearing behind the roses. Paige did not expect to greet the master of the house in such a manner nor could she have anticipated what his face would look like either. Suddenly the isolation of his place made sense and she jogged back to the gate of the garden closing the beautiful world behind her.

Her bags were still sitting on the stoop waiting for her. After a few minutes, a tall man, mid-fifties opened the door and grabbed all of Paige's bags except the shoulder bag which she carried herself. The inside of the mansion was unlike the gloomy exterior. It shared in its melancholy, but it was full of grandeur and personality.

An older lady, who introduced herself as Ms. Bowers offered to take Paige to the chamber that would be her room. She felt like a little girl under a reproachful eye and silently accompanied the old woman through this maze of a house. There seemed to be relics from every significant architectural era. She observed with hidden glee several suits of armor which she half expected to turn and look at her. They sat guarding several coats of arms and ancient weaponry, perched in perfect order on the wall, itching to return to battle.

The stairs, the many stairs which Paige trudged up, were lined with an exotic carpet with colorful designs swirling around in chaos. Paintings also lined many of the walls. Portraits of old men, landscapes of serene country sides, horses, and even still life paintings of dull fruit captured Paige's attention for the rest of the journey upstairs. There was so much more to be discovered but her attention span kept her focused on only a couple things at a time.

When they finally got to Paige's chamber, she almost worried if she'd be able to find her way back down, having not really paid attention on the way. Her room was bigger than she thought it would be and surprisingly feminine. Pink lacy curtains decorated the huge stained glass window with the depiction of a rose pieced together with shards of perfectly aligned glass. Upon the four poster bed was a matching comforter with embroidered flowers and a lacey border. An armoire sat across the way, and her bags had beaten her, sitting next to it, ready to be unpacked.

Paige walked into the bathroom, ajoining the bedchamber, and couldn't wait to spend her evenings off in the huge porcelain bathtub, which shone like new despite its antique appearance. In a little basket next to the sink were feminine toiletries that included bubble bath, eau de toilette, rose oil, bath salts, and other delicate options that Paige had not really been exposed to. She sniffed each container curiously. Pink towels hung on a brass rack with mother of pearl knobs on each end.

Everything in this house seemed to be from another time. She could tell, thankfully, that all of the plumbing was updated and a lot of the fixtures were of the highest quality but the feel of the bathroom was ladylike.

Ms. Bowers lit several oil lamps in the room, the kind that hadn't been used since the early 1900s and turned to Paige with the same expression on her face.

"Mr. Gosforth would be obliged if you would join him for dinner in this evening in the dining room."

Paige was not sure she wanted to socialize with this man outside of her job any more than she had to after looking like a complete fool this afternoon but she did not want to be rude.

"Sure, that would be nice."

Ms. Bowers's eyes narrowed but she said nothing except, "Dinner will be at 7 sharp. Mr. Gosforth does not like to be kept waiting." She left the room and closed the door quietly.

Paige was pleased to have a few moments alone to unpack and take a shower. She felt gross after a long day of traveling and looking like a fool in front of her employer.

Paige turned the faucet of the shower, also a tub, and was pleased to find clear running water that was beginning to get warm. She discarded her blue suit and unfastened her hair letting it fall to her shoulders. Looking in the mirror she noticed smudges on her cheek most like a combination of garden dirt and sweat. Her eyes looked tired but still sparkled their normal amber color.

As she lay in the bathtub feeling all the grime melt away she thought about her first encounter with her employer. She had picture him so much differently. This man was much closer to her age than she had thought—not to mention some obvious differences that may have made a woman in the movies faint. She laughed at the notion. She always thought it was funny when women, not wearing a corset, fainted in a movie because of something they saw. Paige had never been able conceive of something so shocking as to make one faint—until now.

Imagining that face again—it wasn't the scars on his face that had frightened her, well maybe initially, but him surprising her like that and then… she felt stupid being scared. It was the 21st century, people were not supposed to get scared by things like that. She must have really offended Mr. Gosforth by the way she reacted. She submerged her head in the bathwater trying to make the embarrassment wash away.

Twenty minutes later she was out of the tub and sitting on her bed in a fluffy pink robe, and still could not figure out why she still had a sick feeling in her stomach. She was nervous to go down to dinner, afraid she might not be able to stop staring, afraid she might hyper-focus on her dinner and never look into his eyes.

Paige decided on a simple cotton black dress, afraid it would be too casual or too fancy. Her hair dried slightly wavy and she put on her favorite necklace. Wearing heels once again, not the running shoes from this afternoon, she made her way downstairs leaving herself just enough time to go to the dining room. Any more time and she would be tempted to go exploring again and most likely make another mistake.

She found the dining room without much trouble having paid close attention to where things were on her brief tour with Ms. Bowers. The dining room was filled with dim light and the table had been elegantly set up. Paige felt honored at how much trouble had been taken, after all, she was not royalty or anything.

A raging fire burned in the grand fireplace filling the room with warm orange glow. The room seemed larger than it actually was. Paige gazed at the fire enjoying the warmth on her face. She closed her eyes and remembered times they had fires like this when she was a child. It would be around Christmas time, her mother was still alive, and would sit with her by the fire telling her fairytales.

She opened her eyes again, returning to reality, just in time to see Mr. Gosforth timidly enter the room. Unlike this afternoon he appeared tidier and more put together. His hair, now combed, hung in front of his ears clean and shiny, properly groomed. All Paige saw was the misshapen features that were so obvious despite his attire. She tried not to stare and stared down at her hands which were clasped together.

His eyes were sad and aware of her staring; he walked over to the other end of the dining table. There was nothing on the table that could have blocked her view of him so Paige resolved that she would get over her urge to gawk at Mr. Gosforth's face and a new attempt to make conversation.

After what felt like hours, one of the servants brought out two bowls of soup from the kitchen and set the beautiful bowl in front of Paige first and then Mr. Gosforth. Paige picked out the soup spoon out of the lineup of silverware. After several spoonfuls of wonderfully creamy, mushroom tasting soup, she decided to break the ice.

"So, Mr. Gosforth… this house is fairly unbelievable. It must have been amazing growing up here."

Silence from the other side of the table did not deter Paige from continuing her attempt, "I can't wait to see the Music Room and the piano; I am just bursting with excitement, Mr. Gosforth…" She stopped feeling the awkward silence concluding her babbling. He obviously did not want to socialize with her.

She turned her attention to her meal, attempting little eye contact with her patron. Her mind still rolled with questions about him, she could not make up her mind how old he was. His face man it difficult to detect any lines but his demeanor suggested that he might be closer to her own age. Her mental picture had always placed him as an older man but… she could not be sure anymore.

As she looked up, she noticed Mr. Gosforth staring at her briefly and then, as her eyes met his, they danced away with unintended purpose. She suddenly understood how he must feel, eyes on his face constantly.

He surprised her by speaking, "Please forgive my lack of social skills—I do not often have guests whom I am unfamiliar with so please understand my reticence." Paige felt herself smile but Mr. Gosforth caught the joke first, "Although I may bore you with long, lackluster speeches." Paige allowed a laugh to escape her lips and saw her patron smile for the first time. The experience was not unpleasant and for a brief moment forgot how malformed the grinning lips were.

When Paige awoke the next morning she sat up rapidly not immediately recognizing her surroundings. Memories returned and she leaned back into her pillow sighing. She wondered when she would wake up here and feel comfortable. Glancing at the clock which read 9 am, she slowly removed her feet from under the blankets letting them dangle over the edge of the bed. She giggled childishly; she realized, then, how tall the bed must be for her to not touch the floor. Paige was fairly tall for a woman, about 5'9 ½", but had a delicate bone structure. Her face started back at here from the façade of the antique mirror as she drowsily hopped onto the floor. "Not a bad face," she mused to herself admiring the reflection with an artist's eye. She never considered herself beautiful although her looks always managed to secure her a beau. Her face held a feminine attractiveness, small features. Her amber eyes grimaced at pillow marks on her cheek and she then resumed her morning routine.

After taking a quick shower she scrunched her wet auburn hair into a messy bun, slid on a pair of jeans, a sweater, and crept out of the room. She felt a bit intrusive living in this strange house, creeping about in the most private levels of the house. She listened for any sign of life other than herself, but only heard the hum of a silent house. She tiptoed down the stairs in case her patron liked to sleep late. Trying to remember the tour of the house, she found her way to the kitchen. Relieved not to have woken anyone she suddenly gasped as she bumped into someone. She heard a spill of liquid on the floor and realized that she had made Mr. Gosforth drip his coffee everywhere.

"Oh shit!" she exclaimed panicking, "I mean—I'm so sorry Mr. Gosforth!" Paige's ears burned red as she grabbed a rag and started mopping up the floor, "I'll just clean this up." She felt a hand on her shoulder causing her to stop and look up.

"Miss Bell, please, don't worry about it, Mrs. Bowers will take care of it." He extended a smooth hand to her and she took it standing up. He had beautiful hands, with long fingers…

"Miss Bell?" His voice disrupted her thoughts, "Are you alright?" Her ears reddened again. "Oh…yeah…sorry, I'm just… embarrassed and not entirely awake yet."

"I see."

Paige brushed off her pants, "Oh and Mr. Gosforth… please call me Paige."

Mr. Gosforth seemed to relax a little, "I will, but only if you call me Lars. Mr. Gosforth makes me feel like a 40 year old geezer."

Paige laughed nervously unsure if he was 40, or younger. She felt relief when he seemed to read her thoughts.

"I am sure I look 40, it's a bit hard to tell under all this," he touched his scarred cheeks deliberately, "but I assure you I have the heart of a 32-year old…sometimes younger."

His grin seemed forced yet slightly impish, like a little boy. Paige could understand how he felt, "Well, I suppose I must look younger than I am, but I'm actually 26."

Lars looked confused, "I thought you were a student?"

Paige suspected this assumption, "Yeah I get that a lot. Well, all I can say is, when you don't have money growing up, tends to prolong the education process. I suppose just putting off the time until I'll be a starving musician."

"Ah," he said withdrawing himself for a moment, then returned back, "I suppose I should show you where the music room is, I'm sure you're anxious to get started. Would you like some coffee first?"

Paige wondered if he was making fun of her, "Sure, cream and sugar please." He poured himself another cup and then one for her. "Thank you, she said as he handed her the mug of coffee. Te walk to the music room was done in silence.

Paige glanced around every so often to look at the many trinkets which decorate the mansion. Her largest concern was not to spill her coffee. Lars meandered through the hallways and corridors finally arriving in the music room. Paige's mouth dropped.

The room was like the grandest practice room in a conservatory or a great concert hall. The ceiling never seemed to end, Paige stared up admiring the great chandelier hanging high above her. It was almost like a great ballroom, except the room was filled with many musical instruments and a library of books.

Two beautiful, shiny black baby grand pianos stood side by side toward the back of the room. Paige felt drawn to them, magnetically pulled, instrumental cases lined shelves, music stands of beautiful craftsmanship stood like statues. Paige felt herself movement towards the babygrands when she saw why she was here.

An old piano-forte caught her attention. It was considerably smaller than modern day pianos and made of a light colored wood, she guessed oak. It most likely dated from the late 18th century maybe earlier, it was hard to tell. The keys were worn and discolored. The most beautiful part was the engraved depiction of a violin, a rose, and a scroll of music painted on the top of the instrument. Although it was faded, it made the instrument seems so much more magical and antiquated.

"Oh Lars…it's… wonderful."

She heard his deep baritone laugh, "Yes a wonderful mess. I'm afraid she's needed to see a doctor for quite some time. Now seemed a good time, as good as any, I suppose."

"Dr. Paige at your service," she laughed as she bowed mockingly, "It looks like it's going to be a long road, Lars."

He looked into her eyes, only for a second, then his eyes darted away, "I supposed as much. Luckily, I have no prior engagements."

Paige noticed her work tools had been brought into the music room. She wondered how she would ever be able to keep her focus in this musical playground. Lars noticed her inhibitions.

"Paige, is something wrong? Is the piano-forte beyond hope?"

"Oh, no, no, well. From what I see, no, but," she grinned, "I just wonder if you're aware you're testing my professionalism. So many distractions in here..."

He seemed ridged at this as if her statement applied to him, but she continued, "Those babygrands… just…beautiful."

Lars relaxed, "Yes, they are. Would you like to play one?" Paige could barely contain her glee, "Really? Oh that would be amazing…oh are you sure? I don't want to seem like I am shirking my work." Paige felt the room expand before her as Lars led her over to the two black pianos. They almost begged to be played; Paige could not resist allowing her fingertips brush against the smooth wood surface.

She sensed Lars' eyes watching her, "This is such a fine instrument," she murmured almost in a trance, "Would it be bold to assume you play?"

"I should hope not with all with all of these pianos everywhere." Paige woke out of her trance, "Will you play something for me?" Lars pursed his lips in such a way which made Paige regret her request but she sat down upon the bench and Paige remembered his long fingers which now got to work on the keys. The melody sweet but sad, nothing Paige had ever heard before. She found herself strangely captivated by it, as if she had known the tune all her life, as if it had been branded upon her soul. The grand room filled with beautiful music resonating off every surface, a perfect acoustical space. Then, the piece, ended and she found herself staring at Lars with new understanding.

"You're a musician," she said trying to conceal her surprise, "A good musician—what was that piece you played?"

Lars stood up looking self-conscious, "The piece? Oh, just, something I cooked up one night, actually, on that piano."

Paige noticed staff paper and music sitting upon the sister piano precariously. "You're a composer too," Paige meant that to be a question, but it came out as if she had known it all along, "I mean, that piece you wrote, it's wonderful. Do you have the sheet music, I'd love to learn it."

"Actually—I haven't written it yet..." Lars folded his hands together while Paige attempted to hide her shock.

"You mean to tell me that you just made that up on the spot?"

Lars nodded, looking like a deer in headlights.

"Wow, I don't mean to put you on the spot but, that's unbelievable," Paige never composed music, she did not have the creativity she thought, but envied those who could.

Lars did not say anything but Paige thought there may have been a spark of pleasure flowing through his expressive blue eyes.

"I should have had you play it on the other piano, it seems to be your workspace."

"I do spend most of my time in here," Lars confessed organizing some of his papers, "It's an escape…" Paige felt connection with those words and was surprised to have some commonality with her patron.

"Before you work would you play something for me?" Lars' voice normally so resonant, seemed muted in humility upon his request.

"Of course, although, I won't be composing it on the spot," Lars smiled as Paige sat in front of the untouched piano. Her fingertips tickled at the keys and her mind flew into performance mode as Beethoven's Sonata Pathétique shot out of her fingers like darts. She was not aware of Lars or the room or anything just the piano's strings in coordination with her flying wrists and curved fingers.

She burst through the coda of the first movement with such passion and expression as she had done so many times and a sound filled the room that gave her the goose-bumps of being in a concert hall surrounded by tons of people. As she struck the final chords the sound echoed through the room and then stayed several second even after she raised her wrists away from the keys in final finish.

The heat of the moment had not escaped her body yet and she felt her face flush in satisfaction of the performance. She turned and saw Lars' eyes closed in reflection and then they opened and stared at her with clarity. No words were spoken but a silent nod of approval had been given to her by her musical patron.

Lars left her to begin the maintenance of his instrument. She took pictures of every surface and made a mental list of more supplies she might need. Her skin cringed when she attempted to get sound out of the piano-forte.

That night, Paige felt more comfortable joining her patron for dinner that night. She took extra care brushing her hair and even wore a little gloss on her lips. It was nice to dress up and have a nice meal. She felt gravity push her down the grand staircase and in her enthusiasm she tripped and took a brief tumble. Her ankle snapped back in her heels and she bit her lips in pain. Paige lay sprawled at the bottom of the stairs, grasping her ankle, a blood taste in her mouth.

Oh you are such an idiot! She thought angrily, embarrassed and unsure of what to do. She scrunched up her face and pulled her skirt over her thighs and laid her head back trying not to cry. She felt like a little girl, helpless, and waiting for something good to happen.

Suddenly she felt a cool hand on her ankle. She sat up nearly kicking Lars over. "Oh! I'm sorry I had a spill and…"

Lars' hands left her ankle, "No, don't be, when I was a boy I fell down these stairs many times." Paige smiled, still feeling like a fool. "If you'll permit me to look at your ankle, I have some medical training… I should have asked first but I wasn't sure that you were conscious."

Paige nodded, biting her lip again. Lars carefully removed her shoe and began to examine her ankle with his hands. He touched the tender tendons cautiously ceasing if Paige flinched. His hands felt cold on her warm ankle which gave Paige goose bumps on her bare legs. "I'm sorry my hands are cold." Lars apologized as he gently released her ankle. He stood up slowly, "Nothing is broken, and I think you just have a minor sprain, you should be fine in a week or so."

Paige groaned, "Oh no! Mr… Lars, I'm so sorry I…"

He raised his hand, "No, don't worry about it. Accidents…happen." Paige remembered his face and bit her lip, "I have a first aid kit, I'll be right back."

In little time he returned with an ice-pack and an ace bandage. Soon the swelling went down and Lars had wrapped her ankle like a pro. Paige allowed him to help her up before she attempted to walk, "Take it slow, you might feel a little unbalanced…" Lars said just as she tumbled into him, having forgotten to remove her other high-heeled shoe. Lars caught her and grasped her shoulders to steady her.

He was a sturdy man and supported her easily. Although his hands were cold, his core was warm and for a second she felt safer than she had ever felt in her life. She thought she felt him smell her hair before they broke the awkward embrace.

Lars looked embarrassed, "Um… I'm sorry, would you like me to help you up to your room or…"

Paige blushed and replied, "Well, even though I've ruined the evening with my clumsiness… perhaps we could still eat something?"

Lars smiled, "Oh, yes, I'd forgotten, may I offer you a crutch?" Paige nodded and allowed herself to lean against him until they got to the dining room.

For the next week, Lars was her helpful nurse, being her crutch, and helping her work on the piano-forte. They spent almost every moment together, talking, joking, getting to know each other. Paige was surprised how comfortable she felt with Lars, after awhile she didn't even notice his face. He became a friend and confidant.

They shared books, music, and many stories. Paige's foot soon healed but still enjoyed the continuous companionship of Lars. He seemed concerned once her ankle had healed to make sure she did not hurt herself again.

One evening Paige came down the stairs—carefully—as usual, although earlier than normal, and found Lars reading the paper in the living room. He looked up from his paper surprised, "Good evening, Paige. You're down early this evening."

Paige grinned, "Was that a question or a display of your powerful skills of observation?"

Lars laughed, "I suppose both. I do try to impress."

Paige knelt beside his chair and put her hand on his arm, "I had an idea."

Lars had become used to Paige's displays of affection and no longer shirked his arm away, but raised an eyebrow uncertainly, "Oh?"

"What if we dined out tonight?" she lost his eyes for a moment as he gazed out the window.

"Well," he met her eyes again, "It's a little cool out but I suppose if you wanted we could sit out on the patio…"

Paige interrupted, "No, no, I mean go to a restaurant."

Lars looked away, awkwardly for a moment and then through pursed lips, claimed, "You know I can't do that Paige."

She sighed, not about to give up so soon, 'Please Lars… It would be fun…"

"Don't push this Paige," he spoke gently but firmly, "You don't understand what it is like for someone like me to be in public. It's not worth it for me."

Paige knew she was overstepping some boundaries but she felt adamant about this, "Lars, no one cares what your face looks like, don't you…" he interrupted her, all patience gone now.

"No! You don't know Paige, you'll never understand. I know you just want to take me out for a nice dinner and you probably think that if I go with you, people will just smile and…" he seemed to choke on the words, "People will always instinctively react to me the same way when they first see me. And no matter how many years go by… every time I see that look in someone's eye, a part of my soul dies." His eyes left hers and he left the room.

Paige felt overwhelmed with guilt; she remembered how she had first reacted when she had seen Lars. She never wanted to hurt Lars and felt saddened at the knowledge that she already had. She meandered into the kitchen, encountering Mrs. Bowers who was chopping up vegetables.

Mrs. Bowers glanced up at Paige, "Is Mr. Gosforth coming?" Paige sighed, "No I think I upset him. I think dinner is cancelled for tonight."

"Oh." Mrs. Bowers stopped chopping and tossed the cut vegetables into a plastic container, "No sense wasting anything. Will you be alright on your own?"

"Paige forced a smile, "Oh yes. Don't worry, I thought I might…" Suddenly she had an idea, "Mrs. Bowers, do you think I might be able to borrow a car for a bit?"

Excited and practically drooling from the smell of her surprise, Paige politely knocked on Lars' door. She heard his voice muffled inside, "Not tonight, Mrs. Bowers, I'm not hungry.

Paige smiled, "Well alright then Lars I guess I'll just have to eat this delicious Chinese food all by myself…

She heard him walking towards the door opening it slowly. He was wore an evening robe and a slightly embarrassed expression. Paige felt the corners of her mouth raise at the sight of him so informal.

"You hungry?" she held up the bag of Chinese food allowing the scent to tempt him.

He grinned, "You don't give up easily do you?" He opened the door wider and she walked into his room, instinctively observing everything around her.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about Lars' room that Paige could see, other than a large beautiful fireplace which she had not observed in any other bedchamber. She did not spot his bed anywhere, and almost blushed at trying to locate it, finally catching a glimpse of it around the corner. This room seemed a drawing room adjacent from the bedroom. There was a desk and a large bear rug next to the fire.

"You continue to surprise me, Lars."

His cheeks reddened slightly, "Would you like to eat downstairs?"

Paige gazed around and found the perfect spot on that cozy rug, "What about here?"

Lars stared at Paige sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, "Um, are sure…?"

Paige patted the floor, "Yeah, come on it'll be fun, like a picnic."

Lars smiled to himself and reluctantly sat down on the floor next to Paige and helped himself to some fried rice and sweet and sour chicken. He closed his eyes, "It has been so long since I've had some good Chinese food, I used to eat it all the time."

Paige helped herself to an egg roll, "Why so long?"

Lars finished chewing and looked up at Paige, "Because I don't go out anymore."

"But you must have at some point, what changed?" Paige could not help but be curious, "I'm sorry if I'm prying."

Lars hesitated, "I normally don't like talking much about myself, but I feel comfortable around you for some reason."

"Bonded by music, "Paige grinned and Lars returned the sentiment.

"Yes, I suppose. The truth is that I did not always look this way. I used to look more… like everyone else and that is when I had a life."

Paige caught the end tone to know not to ask anymore about it.

Lars took this opportunity, "So—tell me something personal, you owe me." Paige took a bit of her egg roll and indicated she couldn't talk until she finished chewing.

"Take your time," Lars teased.

"Ok, ok," Paige thought about something on par with what Lars just told her. It stuck in her throat, "Well this isn't really relevant but my mother died when I was born and my father died when I was 10. I lived with my grandfather until I was 18."

The way Lars looked just then confused her, it wasn't pity or sympathy just an understanding in his eyes that made her tear up a little. She tried to hide it but was unsuccessful. Lars handed her a napkin.

"I'm sorry, ignore me, I'm fine, really, I'm such a baby…"

Lars timidly put his hand on hers, "I know. We're always fine, it gets exhausting after awhile." Paige half laughed and half cried.

A strange need to be held came over her and she did not understand it. Her hand tingled under Lars' cool one. His hand trembled a bit. "I'm sorry my hands are always so cold…" Paige took her other hand and laid it on top of his. "Don't worry about it. Here I think we need little wine to warm things up a bit!" She took a bottle out of one of the bags and said, "ta-da." Lars smiled, he removed his hand from her clutch, "Why don't I get a fire going."

The atmosphere around them felt hazy and warm. Lars looked uncomfortable and as they shared more wine he became more so. He seemed to be trying to control himself as the alcohol dulled their senses. Paige felt the room become hazier and also felt really good. The logical part of her screamed out at Paige to control herself but that voice became silenced by her natural impulses.

The magnetism between her and Lars became easier to resist buzzed. The distance between them grew smaller and smaller. With the fire blazing and the atmosphere of the room, Paige felt flushed. She began to unbutton her blouse, revealing a tank top as well as a little skin.

Lars' eyes looked away, "Paige, what are you doing?"

Paige laughed loudly, "Oh Lars. I'm just hot, don't you think it's warm in here?"

Lars responded so softly Paige barely heard, "Yes."

Paige giggled and removed her blouse completely chucking it across the room. She lay down on rug sighing contentedly. She took another swig of wine, and then stood up suddenly, "Lars why did you let me drink so much?"

Lars smiled, "I didn't let you do anything."

Paige leaned over to him, "Oh no? Hmm…" She sat up on her knees looking around quizzically, "Who did let me then?"

"I believe you did, my dear," Lars reached for the wine pouring himself another glass."

Paige put her hands on her hips, "Oh really?" Lars nodded trying not to laugh, "Well alright, but please don't let me have any more, ok?"

"Alright Paige," Lars sipped the wine again, unsure of how to respond. Paige was staring at Lars in perpetuity. Lars tried to ignore it but he felt her eyes, drunken and irrational, boring into him.

He tried to laugh it off, "What are you looking at?" Paige looked sober but kept staring, "Nothing I was just thinking."

Lars assumed that look in her eye was alcohol induced and tired not to let her lustful look affect him. Paige cocked her head to one side, "Lars you look tense, did you drink enough?"

Lars smiled and picked up his wine glass, "I'm working on it." Paige shook her head, "No I think you need a massage. Let me, I'm good, I'll make you so relaxed!" She inched towards him, but he resisted, "No, no, that's ok, I'm fine, really…"

"Oh come on Lars I don't bite, seriously." She moved behind him and began to tenderly knead his shoulders," Jesus Lars, you are so tight, relax." He remained rigid as she moved down his back in circular motions. Lars eventually loosened his control.

"There, you see. I told you," Paige said confidently as she continued up to his neck. Lars shook a little as her hands came in contact with his skin. She moved up to his face running her fingers through his thick hair. Lars' eyes closed at this rare human contact, drugged through touch.

Paige's fingers moved down again unknotting his back although still causing him to feel tense. Her hands traveled lower and then wrapped around his middle, resting her chin on his shoulder in an awkward embrace. Lars' body went stiff again. Paige whispered in his ear, "It's okay, really." She rested her cheek against his neck and she felt him shake a little. Her lips found his neck and worked her way towards his ear seductively nibbling on it lightly.

Lars brushed her hands away and stood up looking uncertain. Paige looked hurt, "Lars…what… I thought you liked me." He turned away from her, arms at his sides.

"I do, but you can't… I can't take advantage of you. You are acting under the wine."

Paige rose indignantly, "How can you say that?"

Lars turned around, eyes weary, "You would not treat me this way if the wine had not put a shield in front of your eyes. I respect you Paige, but I'm still a guy… I have only so much restraint."

Paige walked towards him, "I don't want you to restrain yourself."

Lars' breathing wavered but his position was firm, "That's the alcohol talking. Go sleep it off Paige, I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"No Lars." She put her hands on her hips, "I'm staying."

He moved towards her, "I'll give you one more chance to leave voluntarily, Paige. You're drunk and you need sleep. I won't allow you to manipulate my emotions." Paige stood her ground and soon found herself swept off her feet and being carried like Scarlett O'Hara by a drunken Rhett Butler down the hall across to her room only she was not going to be ravished. She did not go quietly, "Lars! What the hell are you doing? Put me down! This is completely unacceptable, Lars."

He was surprisingly strong and resisted her constant flailing and hitting him. When they arrived in her room he dumped her on the bed and started to leave. Paige sprung up unsteadied, and started yelling, "Don't walk away from me, Lars. You run away from everything!" She pushed him with her fists, after knowingly pushing his buttons. He whirled around and grabbed her wrists tightly.

"You don't know what you're saying so I'm going to say…" At that moment Paige leaned forward and kissed Lars' mouth. He didn't return the kiss but stared at her. His grip on her wrists loosened but remained. Silence passed—their eyes remained locked. Lars' hands wavered and then pulled Paige in for another kiss. Their lips met and Paige actually felt Lars' malformed lips. Oddly, it didn't bother her. The kiss was passionate and made Paige's shoulders tingle. Just as the kiss felt real, Lars pulled back and released her wrists. He was shaking, "I'm sorry…dammit…" he backed towards the door, "No…dammit Paige, I didn't want this! Not like this…" before she could say anything, Lars was gone. Paige's head was spinning from the wine and the recent events. Her heart was still pounding. She lay down on the bed and luckily fell asleep right away before she could think.

Paige noticed her headache before she remembered anything that had conspired the night before. She noticed she had not changed or showered and made a point to do both. While in the shower, she remembered kissing Lars…twice. She leaned against the wall and banged her head against it, Stupid, stupid, stupid! She thought as she recollected with regret. How could she have acted that way? All she would do is hurt him.

She dried her hair and put on some jeans and a baggy sweater. Embarrassed, she shuffled down the stairs afraid of the moment, she had to face Lars. It did not take too much longer, as soon as she stepped into the kitchen. Lars peered up from his coffee and caught her eyes.

"Good morning Lars," Paige tried to speak more confidently than she felt.

Lars' eyes did not reveal anything, "Good morning." He did not say her name, and Paige felt coolness—icy tones in his speech. She had to make things right.

"Lars…I…is there anything I can do to repair the damage I've done?" she bravely moved closer. Lars sighed and folded his paper.

"Oh Paige, I know what you did last night was not really you. If anything I should apologize for my behavior. I would never want to take advantage of you…"

Paige noticed goose bumps had returned to her arms remembering that second kiss, "You didn't." Lars started at her holding her arms and she almost felt the intensity of his heartbeat.

"Paige, please don't say things you don't mean. I'm fine really, you don't have to try to make me feel better." He grabbed his paper and coffee as he walked past her out of the kitchen.

I need to get out of here for awhile, Paige thought sadly. She could not stand to have Lars acting this way, she missed her friend as she walked into the hallway looking for Lars.

Suddenly, Mrs. Bowers appeared with a young, attractive gentlemen by her side, "A Mr. Gregory Stockton see you, Miss Paige," Ms. Bowers said through pursed lips. Paige's mouth dropped open. Greg. Her Greg back? He wore his armed forces uniform, looking handsome as ever. Mrs. Bowers took this moment to leave them.

Greg smiled that all-American boy, smile, "Hey, Gorgeous. Surprised?"

Overwhelmed with emotion at seeing her first love back from over-seas, Paige uttered a high pitched squeak and threw her arms around him. She clung to him, feeling safe, unaware of a devastated pair of eyes watching her.

He wanted to run. His feet failed to obey him as he watched her… and him. That damn good-looking mug mold. All he could do was lurk from the balcony of the staircase—monster of the castle. The look on her face pained him, yesterday she had looked upon him with that loving gaze.

After seconds of their embrace, he swooped her in for a tender kiss. This was too much, he couldn't watch anymore. Lars trudged back to his room and with as much self-control as he could muster, tired not to slam his door. He clutched his chest, pacing around the room. God, he had hoped. Last night he lost himself in her but past her drunkenness he had felt her desire for him. Kissing had been, intoxicating. She had not been repulsed by him, she put her hands on his scarred cheeks and… he had lost control.

Lars left his room, trying to look indifferent. Paige and her beau remained in the same spot. They were no longer kissing but the young man held his arm around her protectively. Lars' fist clenched at his sides. As he walked down the stairs, Paige looked up at him. Lars did not let her see him.

"Well, well, who have we here?" Lars exclaimed with exaggerated peppiness. Paige looked confused at his reaction.

"Ah, you must be Mr. Gosforth," Greg said extending his hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr…" Lars' voice rose a little in pitch as he waited to hear the name of his rival.

The young man grinned his pretty-boy grin, "Well I am surprised Paige hasn't mentioned me!" he poked Paige in the ribs playfully and she giggled uneasily, "Gregory…Stockton. Please call me Greg. It sounds less…old." Lars remained as civil as he could, any guilt he felt of kissing this guy's girlfriend was now gone.

"Please to meet you."

"Paige has told me a lot about you," Greg shared.

Lars gazed icily at Paige," Oh really—well she never mentioned you."

"Greg I never said anything to you," Paige interjected keeping her voice light.

Greg laughed, and pulled his arm around Paige, "She's right, I was just being polite." Lars didn't smile back but felt Greg's eyes on his face like fire, judging and suddenly unconcerned with his girlfriend alone in a house with an ugly monster. His heart ached more.

Greg kissed Paige's cheek, "Your grandfather told me where to find you and I have come to whisk you away for a weekend."

Paige smiled, "That was sweet of you, Greg. It's wonderful to see you, but I can't go with you. I have to work to do here."

Greg pouted, "Aw come on Paige—I'm only home for a week!"

Lars' stomach inverted, "Mr. Stockton—it is a long drive back why don't you stay here tonight. We have plenty of beds."

Paige's eyes widened as her face soured.

Greg's eyes narrowed only for a moment, "Well, alright that would save me a long drive for the evening. Where should I stay?"

Lars' lips pursed, "Let me find Mrs. Bowers, she'll lead you to a room—if you need it…" Greg smiled.

"Oh yeah, if you don't mind me staying in Paige's room."

"Of course not," Lars said as his knuckles clenched.

Mrs. Bowers appeared, "Sir, I hear you needed me?"

"Please show this gentleman to Miss Bell's room."

"Of course, sir." Mrs. Bowers led Greg upstairs when Greg called down to Paige,

"You coming Paige?" she looked up and shook her head.

"I have something to finish, you go on. I'll be up."

He winked at her and disappeared up the stairs.

When he disappeared, Lars' eyes turned to Paige. If she could see the hurt she had caused she didn't show it, while Lars different act indifferent, "Nice looking guy you've got there, Paige."

Paige pleaded, "Please Lars don't, it's not what you think." Lars laughed bitterly. "Oh no? It looks like my reservations about you have been confirmed. You 'pretty girls' are all the same."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Lars?" Paige said angrily, "You ditched me, remember. Nothing happened between us, we didn't sleep together." She folded her arms across her chest.

"Don't play dumb with me. I mean thinking you can get any guy into bed you want."

Paige's mouth dropped, "How dare you!" she sputtered, "How could you think that I…" her ears pinked and her hand swung up and attempted to slap Lars' face but he grabbed her wrist in time. His grip was not tight but she struggled helplessly, crying out in annoyance, "Lars, let go!"

"I will not until you calm down." That seemed to irritate her more so that Lars finally let her go and she delivered a rather painful blow to his left cheek.

"You do not have the right to call me a whore," and at that retreated up the stairs. Lars' cheek burned and he tentatively put his cool on his cheek easing the sting but receiving another sting to the heart upon feeling its disfigured surface.

His walk became brisk as he sought solitude in his quarters holding his cheek fighting all emotional turmoil within himself. As he entered his room he slammed the door shut casing things to fall off of his shelves. His heart raced in his chest as pure frustration. He felt his hands shaking as he ran them through his hair a heart stroke away from pulling it out.

Being at the top of the house gave him the most privacy of anyone. No one could hear his frustration. There was only one mirror in the house and he longed to shatter it and be rid of his appearance forever. That day he had broken every mirror in the house, cheap and expensive. There was still one mirror that he had no broken, hidden away, used as a reminder some days.

Having cooled down, he opened a door to one of many closets in his room and dimly saw his outline. He moved closer and then caught the contours of his face. His mind flashed back to days when he was considered one of the most handsome men around. Those days seemed so distant, like it had been another person's life and not his own.

Life at the conservatory, being a hot shot musician, vocalist, pianist, composer, attractive, rich. Unfortunately being handsome and wealthy equivocated to being arrogant. He closed his eyes and relived that day every day before he went to bed. Lars sat down on his arm chair and covered his face with his hands and drifted back many years ago.

"Oh come on Giovanni, I wanna hear this opera you claim to be the best one ever written."

Lars sighed, "Gerry, must you call me that?" His goofy friend found it hilarious to refer to him as Don Giovanni the famous lover. He had had many women but he did not need a label.

Gerry grinned, "Oh okay, prove me a liar. Come on, we'll sneak into Randall Hall and perform the final duet."

"Gerry, I'm not doing that! Stop being such an asshole. And STOP smoking!" He grabbed the unlit cigarette between Gerry's lips and flung it to the ground.

"Lars! Come on man those don't come cheap!"

"Yeah well you're a tenor for godsakes you can't afford for your voice to suck anymore than it already does."

Gerry punched him, "Fuck you Don Gio! Not everyone is actually going to make it when they graduate from this shithole. I plan on going into the food service industry."

Lars smiled, "Well maybe if you worked harder."

"Who wants to work when there are so many beautiful, long-legged sopranos here?"

Laughing, Lars patted his friend on the back, "Okay Gerry…but I dunno about sneaking in, we could get caught…"

At that moment Celia Styles, a blond soprano with a killer voice walked over and put her arm around Lars, "Well, well, Lars Gosforth… baritone extraordinaire."

Lars put his arm around her waist, "Well hello, it's Celia, queen bitch soprano."

She shrieked and playfully slapped him and he pulled her in for a kiss, "So Lars, when do I get to sing in your opera… with you."

"Tonight! We're breaking into the Randall Auditorium and putting on the final act of my opera. I need a soprano…" he poked her slightly in a playful manner insinuating that he wanted her to sing this evening.

She flipped her hair and walked away laughing, "Maybe I'll be there Lars, it depends how much you need me." Lars shook his head, women. Gerry stood looking at him with a stupid grin on his face, clearly checking out Celia and she walked away.

"Hey, stop checking out my girlfriend!" he gave Gerry a playful noogie, "I'll see you tonight."

Lars heard a loud thumping on his door. He must have dozed off for a bit, lost in painful daydreams. The knocking continued until he groggily decided to make the noise cease. He opened the door and found Paige standing there, red face, looking miserable. For a split second he forgot about being mad at her, and longed to comfort her and make her smile—until the events of last night up until this morning flashed back in speedy re-run.

"What is it Paige? I can't fight anymore with you. Especially not while we have another guest staying with us."

Paige folded her arms across her chest, and had Lars not felt upset, he would have laughed at her, she looked like an impatient child, "Lars, you are such an idiot. What is it with you men? Why do you refuse to listen?"

Lars interrupted, "There is nothing to say."

"Once again you refuse to LET ME TALK," she shouted at him and it almost started him.

"Fine." He crossed his arms mirroring her. She glared back.

"Greg isn't here, okay," Lars' heart thumped but he wanted for the catch, "We're not together anymore Lars. We broke up before he went into the army. I told him this when he left and we'd been writing letters and he kept insisting that when he got back we'd pick things up where we left off. Part of me wanted that, but now... I sent him back home. I have things I need to do okay. But you have no right to be jealous. Last night I thought I was pretty forward in my intentions and you rejected me." At this point Lars wanted to explain himself but allowed her to continue, "It's probably for the best that you stopped me. I work for you, we're here together for a long time while I help you with some important repairs."

He tried to look relieved, "That is what I was thinking. It's easy to miscalculate attraction when you're the only two adults around." Before she could respond, he left her, at least grateful that that stupid handsome reminder of his previous life had vacated the premises.

One evening she heard music echoing from somewhere in the house. It sounded like it was coming from the music room but the beauty of it sounded recorded. A man's voice rang out in perfect resonance, ringing through the house.

It pulled her toward it, she felt in a trance, captured by the sweet, sad melody. She could not believe that this was Lars but as she tiptoed to the doorway and her suspicions were confirmed. Lars sat at his piano, eyes closed, fingers flying with his angelic voice soaring through the room.

Paige knew the song he sang and felt his emotions blurring her vision. Her arms, covered in goose bumps, longed to comfort this voice. She walked towards him and suddenly she joined in, an octave up. He opened his eyes looking at her, but he continued singing. They sang together in perfect unison, eyes locked in music.

The song ended just as Paige reached the piano. Neither of them spoke, the music seemed enough for the moment. Each held their own amazement that the other could sing. Before Paige could speak, Lars started playing the accompaniment of a soprano art song. He looked at her smiling impishly; she mockingly scowled knowing what he wanted.

"No way Lars, I am a piano major, not a vocalist, you're stealing my job!" He kept smiling and repeating the introduction of the song waiting for her to jump in. She knew the song well enough, as she had accompanied vocalists in it before.

She decided to indulge him and broke into lyrics,

"Memory hither come and tune your merry note.

And while upon the wind your music flows."

His eyes never left her as she sailed effortlessly through the song. Her eyes closed for a moment feeling the emotion of the song in her soul, longing to be released. Lars felt that longing reach for him and then the song ended and the invisible arm vanished.

For a moment no one spoke and then Lars stood, "What do you mean you are not a vocalist?" he demanded almost accusingly, "Why on earth would you hide that gift?"

Paige stared incredulously at her patron who stared back with such an indignant look that she almost felt guilty. Almost. She folded her arms across her chest, "You're being a little hypocritical don't you think?" Lars' smile vanished completely.

"Oh, would you care to elaborate on that?" his voice turned cold but Paige did not fear him

"Well—your voice and composition are 100 times better than mine and yet you lecture me on hiding my skills. I didn't even know you sang, I had to figure it out since you skulk around in secret."

Lars turned his back to her, "Due to certain circumstances regarding my audience appeal, I do not have the freedom to perform for people," he faced her again with such pain in his eyes, "so do not compare yourself to me. People would not only pay to hear you sing, but to look at a lovely face producing it."

Paige did not know whether to be flattered or offended, "If you must know, every vocal department I auditioned for rejected my voice, as a secondary instrument."

"How is that possible—I mean you could use a little training but the potential…"

"…Just isn't there, okay? Sheesh drop it, I just don't have what it takes," Paige heard how she sounded but she did not want to get into this with Lars. She valued his respect too much for him to find out why she didn't sing anymore.

Lars looked quizzically at her, "I don't understand you, Paige. You yearn for the background when you were born to stand out. You were given a gift. Perhaps I just don't know you well enough yet… perhaps you have a good reason…" Paige felt a lump form in her throat, she refused to cry in front of him again. "Lars… I just…can't…it reminds me of my mother and my father and… when I auditioned, I felt that I was not good enough. My father promised," she wiped unwanted tears away, "He promised that one day I'd sing my way into a fine conservatory."

She turned her back on Lars, "But he was wrong, I got so nervous, Lars, I just couldn't do it. I felt so alone up on those stages singing… I choked…and no one, not even me, could make me do it again."

She jumped a little as felt Lars' hand on her shoulder, "I'll push you. If you need a push." Paige closed her eyes, "Lars, you've already given me so much and…" she laughed through salty tears, "I still haven't fixed your damn piano-forte." Lars chuckled, "Well, I have a confession to make." Paige turned to face him, "I don't care if you fix my damn piano-forte. Honestly, I anticipated a man coming and kind of just wanted someone to talk to.

"I was mortified when you showed up, a beautiful young woman. I thought you'd run from here so fast… but you stayed and now…" he brushed a piece of Paige's hair behind her ear, "Now I wish selfishly that you could stay forever." They were close enough o be kissing and Paige felt that same inner warmth again…safe. She leaned towards him but he broke the moment first. "Well—would you at least let me assess your voice myself? I'm a musician—of sorts."

Paige smiled and stepped towards the piano, fear of failure in her heart. Lars took her through her scales and some vocal exercises, vocal memory returning. Her voice soared through the hall, and every day after for weeks. She would spend time doing her job and then allowed Lars to coach her. He seemed to enjoy it and Paige looked forward to it every day. Her voice rebuilt itself with each lesson. Paige became more confident too, unafraid to put her voice out there. He gave her art songs, oratorio, and arias, and she plowed through them like a pro. Lars watched in awe as Paige's voice took off.

One afternoon Lars sat down at the piano as usual and Paige leaned against the piano, slouched over, "Lars, do I have to sing today?" she almost whined.

"If you don't want to no," he responded it trying to conceal the disappointment in his voice. Paige looked around the room, "Lars?"

"Yes?"

"Can we sing a duet?"

Lars shifted a little in his seat, "Oh… I don't know, if you don't want to sing…"

Paige stuck her tongue out at him, "Oh? Am I not quite good enough to sing with you?"

Lars was about to argue but stopped when he saw her grinning mischievously at him. "You're so manipulative Miss Bell." He stood up searching the scores for a duet.

"Aw, well I think you like it, Mr. Gosforth." She quipped back.

He turned from what he was doing to glare at her mockingly. After searching a bit more he found something and pulled it out. "Well maybe you'll like this." Paige eyed it as he spread the music out on the piano. It was the final duet from Faust.

"Interesting." She murmured, skimming over her part. Lars began the accompaniment immediately. "Hey!" Paige cried, "I didn't have time to…"

"Sight-read it!" Lars yelled over the piano. Paige was about to protest again but she was supposed to sing her entrance. She jumped on it unsure of where she was going. Lars joined her, complimenting her clear soprano. Their voices mixed and harmonized with perfect intonation, drowning out the piano's accompaniment. The song lyrics grew more intimate and it was difficult to discern whether it was Faust and Marguerite or Lars and Paige—released through music.

Paige sat down next to Lars on the piano bench, still singing. The energy and longing between them was unbearably powerful. Once the song ended, silence followed, aside from each of them heavily breathing, exhausted from the effort. Paige heard Lars' voice still in her head, seducing her, soothing her. She looked into Lars' eyes and she saw loneliness, longing, and lust, just as she had that night.

Something deep inside her clicked on and she found her arms around his neck. His eyes seemed hopeful, unsure of what to do. Her fingers found their way into his hair, twisting strands around her fingers. Lars' eyes closed, relaxing at her caress. Her arms wrapped around his neck again pulling him in for a lover's kiss. At first Lars remained stiff, unresponsive, but Paige did not give up and he stopped resisting his urges and dove into the kiss with passionate enthusiasm. This time without alcohol clouding her she could feel the rightness.

His hands wandered through her hair, on her face, and down her back, free to discover what they had wanted to for so long. Paige allowed her hands to rise up to Lars' face. They barely grazed him when he instinctively pulled back grabbing her wrists, "Please… don't… I'm not strong enough to…" Paige resisted, "Lars, let go, I won't hurt you. Who do you think I am?"

Lars sighed, "A beautiful woman who feels sorry for a monster like me." Paige tried to free herself, "Dammit Lars! Give me a little credit!" Lars did not lose his nervous look but released her wrists. Paige raised her hands slowly up to Lars' face and used her explorative fingers across his cheeks. She closed her eyes, seeing Lars with her hands. She felt his eyes close once again and she let no crevice unexplored, no scar untouched. After learning his face by feel, she leaned in and kissed his eyes, nose, and cheeks, "I see nothing but beauty in you," she whispered before she kissed his mouth again.

Paige barely began to enjoy Lars' mouth when he pulled away and slipping his arm under her legs and around her back, picking her up. Paige felt vulnerable and tingly as Lars carried her to his room. Paige felt slightly aware that her boss had just brought her into his room, into the danger zone, but that changed as he laid her on his bed and began to unbutton her shirt. Her skin begged for release from its fabric, craving his touch.

He now had confidence and began to kiss every inch of her body with longing as if he had been imagining this since they met. Paige's body was on fire as she frantically unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his flawlessly masculine chest. Her hands once again sought to explore and they reached his belt and unzipped his trousers with secure authority.

Lars groaned as he entered her and she felt the cool fabric of the sheet as she gripped them, anchoring herself. Her eyes closed as a melodic moan escaped her lips and joined in harmony with Lars' own music. They were in perfect unison effortlessly joined in song. After their song, Paige fell asleep, dazed with pleasure, in Lars' arms.

Hours later, Paige awoke in a strange bed. She smelled the sweet musty scent of Lars' cologne and she turned over and caught him staring at her. She giggled and pulled the covers up over her nakedness, "You make me blush, Lars." He smiled and stroked her hair, "You make me happier than I have been in a long, long time." His caress relaxed her and she snuggled her way into his arms. She shivered in recollection of their love-making. Lars had been so gentle and attentive—but passionate. Something in her mind didn't quite fit, "Lars, how many women have you been with?" She felt him tense up.

"Is this your idea of pillow talk, Paige?"

She sighed, "It's just that you're…" she didn't finish her thought, "Never mind it doesn't really matter."

Lars became bitter, "You're wondering how a hideous, monster like me figured out how to pleasure a woman, is that it?" Paige's mouth dropped, "No, not exactly, I would never say that to you! How can you think that?"

Lars released her from his arms, "You thought it first, my dear." He got out of bed and covered himself with a robe. Paige sat up, "Lars, come back to bed." He shook his head, "I thought you were different. But you still see me the way everyone else does."

"That is not true!" Paige wrapped the sheet around her, "I care about you deeply! You're the best friend I ever had…Lars, we just slept together!"

Lars looked down averting her eyes, "That doesn't mean anything to you, Paige. I don't need a pity screw."

Paige stood up holding her sheet with one hand using the other to slap him, "How could you say that? How dare you insult me like this. The only reason I pity you is because you're throwing happiness away with both hands!" He stepped towards her, "Then tell me you love me."

Paige's voice faltered, "Lars… I…" she couldn't say it, "What about you, Lars?"

He looked down, crushed, "I thought I had made it clear that I fell in love with you the first moment I saw you."

Paige's mouth felt empty, no words came. All she could do was stare at the man she had just broken. When he finally did look up at her, she felt her chest cave in at the sight of his glistening eyes. She leaned forward but acknowledging his vulnerability he turned suddenly and walked away from her.

It was not until a couple minutes later she heard the full temper of his hurt by the timbre of a door at the top of the house slamming, rattling walls. Paige drew up her hands over her ears, blocking out the sound. She was right, he'd been with many women in the before time. Of course at that point most of his conquests had been shallow, like Celia. The pounding rhythm brought him back again to that night.

"Gerry!" Lars whispered loudly, "Stop banging for Chrissakes, do you want to get us in trouble?"

"Listen Lars!" he thumped away on the stage enjoyed the richochez effect, "The acoustics are just..."

Lars ran over and pulled Gerry into a playful headlock, "The acoustics will carry all the way to the security system if you don't cut it out. Once we start singing we'll be ready to run just in case, but don't give us away early."

"Hello Lovers," Lars looked up and saw Celia walking down the aisle like a pro, ready to tackle his Opera.

Lars let Gerry go and grabbed her behind, "LARS!" she squealed and smacked him. He just laughed.

Gerry sat at the piano with his music, "Ok you kids, we only have time for a duet. Shall we assign parts?"

"Very funny," Celia snapped.

"Wait," Lars cried, rummaged into his pockets, "We need props."

"No way, we cannot have a fiery pit, we'll get in trouble," whined Gerry.

Lars looked around backstage and found a large trashcan filled with paper, "Here we are, how Don Giovanni of us." He lit the trash inside on fire and set it down in the center of the stage.

"Lars, for the love of..." Gerry stood up as the fire in the trashcan raged.

"Play!" Lars screamed at him. Gerry sat down and punched out the accompaniment to Lars' opera.

Lars and Celia began to sing the duet about the homeless lovers and their battle with drugs and sex and acceptance. In retrospect the whole opera was ridiculous but at the time, he thought it was a masterpiece. He and Celia circle the trashcan fire their perfect voices soaring through the hall. Suddenly before the climax of the song, they heard a noise from the far side of the theater. The accompaniment ceased as Gerry ran onstage. "Lars I think we'd better get out of here."

Lars pushed him away, "No way, we've got to finish." Even Celia had started glancing away concerned.

"Ignore him, keep singing!" She continued but Gerry wouldn't give up.

"Man I'm telling you they're gonna catch us! We've got to put out the trash fire before they come." He grabbed the trashcan and ran backstage with it. Lars angrily followed.

"What the hell are you doing Gerry, I said we weren't done, why can't you stop being such a wuss." Gerry was trying to find a place to put out the fire when Lars grabbed the can.

"Lars, stop, seriously," Lars dropped the can and shoved Gerry holding the can. Gerry lost his balance and tipped the fiery can forward and onto Lars' face.

Lars screamed as the fire scorched his flesh and fell to the floor passing out from the fumes. Gerry managed to pull the fire away but it had already done its damage. Luckily nothing else in that theater had caught fire that night accept his future, the ashes of that Lars still hadn't managed to clean up yet.

Paige eventually gave up pounding on Lars' door, rather, her fists grew too pink and swollen from her efforts to keep going. Why hadn't the words come? Why couldn't she tell him how she felt? It wasn't too soon. That was just an excuse. She moseyed up the stairs playing out what she should have told him, anything that could remove that crestfallen look on his face from her mind.

Walking through the door she practically lunged into her bed, burying her face into the delicate pillow. Nothing felt right. There was still so much time left here. How could she continue to work for a man who she had slept with, who she'd loved, and hurt? That piano-forte continued to remain unfinished. Perhaps now was the time to devote herself completely to that task. I can't be in love with Lars, that would mean giving up all of my dreams of performing and I've worked so hard to make them come true, she thought rationally.

Slowly her mind day drifted back to the scene of making love to Lars. Her body tingled in memory and each caress and kiss became more enhanced in her mind. She remembered how she felt. Paige had slept with a couple men before Lars, she was no novice to it. Even the times when the sex had been great, which had only really been in the last couple years, Paige could not remember feeling so comfortable and so singed with desire.

Unsatisfied with the memory she rolled over onto her back with exasperation. Every time she'd see Lars, she'd want him. Lying here, alone, even the memory teased her now that she'd made the decision to end all passions with Lars. Although they'd fought, they had not actually agreed to never be with each other again. She dreaded that look in his eyes more than anything. Something about seeing him upset sliced her in half reversing her stomach and throat. There was only one solution, and it required her to pack all of her things in record time.

Quickly, she grabbed her suitcase from under her bed and scampered around her room locating her belongings, most of which were in unlikely places. Stuffing everything she could into her bag, she also located Lars' check and her cell-phone. Praying hard, she called information in search of a cab service and to her relief, managed to secure a taxi in 15 minutes. In 10 minutes, everything was packed and she slipped her coat on hurriedly.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, she picked up her suitcase rather than rolling it noisily on the hardwood floors. It pulled her shoulder but she couldn't rouse Lars and have to face him. Making it successfully down the stairs, she made her way towards the front door and left her bags outside. As the cab pulled up to the door, as she had carefully requested when she made the call, she asked the cabby to wait another minute, she'd be right back.

Running on the pads of her feet, she felt the weighty paycheck in her pocket and it broke her heart to leave it behind but it was the right thing to do. She knew just where to leave it. The sight of Lars' piano and composed music written by his hand brought tears. Paige left the money on top where he'd be sure to find it and at the last minute decided not to chicken out completely. On a piece of his staff paper she wrote, "Lars – If I let myself love you, I'd never leave you. And I have dreams I need to find right now. I'm sorry about the piano-forte. P."

Before she pressed her luck anymore than she already had, Paige made her way out of the mansion, not being able to look back without hesitating. The cabby seemed annoyed with her, but she promised to pay him for waiting, which calmed him. She didn't realize that Lars saw her drive away from his window. He did not see her face but he saw his face in the mirror and it was soon smashed. It seemed the only way to make it disappear.

Part II

The wig pressed down on her head, itching her scalp in places she couldn't reach. Every night the lights felt hotter on face, melting her makeup. This was what she dreamt of as a little girl? Smiling, she sighed in relief as her hands lifted the wig off her aching head. What were those crazy colonials thinking?

After she'd left her life with Lars, she had stayed with a friend in the city until she could get her feet off the ground. Eventually, she found the courage to audition for a conservatory, or five. All of them had accepted her, but only one had given her a full ride, so her decision was simple. Thrust into a life of constant practice at a craft she'd only recently discovered, Paige had nearly broken down a couple of times under the strain.

Working into her third year, her work had paid off and she had landed the lead soprano role in a world premiere student written opera. The rehearsal scheduled was grueling but it had pushed her musically and now she had really proven that she belonged in this world.

The composer, Caleb, burst into her dressing room, "Paige! There were three encores! Three! And a standing ovation! And ovation, for my opera!"

Paige smiled as she wiped the makeup off of her eyes, "Yes Caleb, and I, of course, was just along for the ride."

Paul threw his head back, "Hello? I wasn't done yet! Please, you were the Abigail Adams of my dreams. I loved you!" He hugged her and then quickly glanced at his appearance in the mirror.

"Oh God, I look like shit! Do you have any mousse? Oh wait, found some!" Paige raised her eyebrows but couldn't help feeling affection for her composer. He'd given her the dream role, and there were people in the audience who would make this life come true for her.

"Ok Miss Diva, I have people to meet and greet!" With that he shuffled out of the door. Paige continued her make-up removal ritual, still feeling a void. She couldn't quite get herself to feel the same as Caleb did. Of course she felt successful and relieved, but she couldn't smile. As she took her face off, she felt a tinge of memory at something she did not wish to think about and a single tear helped remove her eyeliner.

Back into street clothes she put her sunglasses on, even though it was ten at night, and lifted the hood of her coat around her face. She hoped she could avoid anyone wishing to congratulate her. She wasn't in the mood. The emotional drain of the opera had wiped her out.

The opera was called Abigail's Letters and centered on the life of Abigail Adams, and her relationship with John Adams during the Revolutionary War. They spent a great of their lives apart, and communicated mainly through lovely letters. Caleb and researched many of them and formed a story which included lyrics directly taken from those letters.

She'd written a bunch of letters herself over the last couple years. Never had she managed to write them as well as Abigail. She found the story of Abigail amazing; anyone who could be that honest about their feelings on paper astounded her. Paige knew something was missing but she refused to acknowledge it in her heart. At the same time, she had not received a single letter either.

Slipping out of the theater did not pose too great a difficulty with Caleb keeping all eyes on him. She slunk out of the back stage-door. As she walked down the dark sidewalks back to her apartment, she felt foolish longing for a half bottle of chardonnay that was in her fridge. Marilyn, her vocal coach, would kill her for drinking alcohol at all. Bad for the vocal chords.

The apartment she rented, thanks to the music lessons she taught and the library job, sat small, but cozy, near to her campus. Little touches of home found their way into every nook and cranny, but it was the giant piano in the middle of the "living room" that took up most of the space. When she found it on the street, it was broken and she'd shed tears every night she spent restoring it.

Tonight she sat on the restored bench, sipping her chardonnay, absentmindedly stroking the keys, the melody slipping in and out of familiarity. She heard his voice, saw his hands on the keys, and felt the melodies she'd written for her every second of the day. As the wine glass emptied she felt familiar urges to drive back to Lars.

After the first glass, she opted for a second, this time playing the melodies from memory, the way they sounded in her head. She couldn't feel the songs in her throat, they stuck, and her voice ached. The impulse to talk to Lars returned with each note. Enough alcohol now clouded her judgment to get in her car and drive.

The road swerved in front of her, the yellow lines dashed across her windshield. Paige scooped around in her handbag trying to find her cell phone. The car hiccupped but got back on track once she found his number. The buzz of the busy tone hummed in her ear, until a voice she'd heard in her dreams answered, "Hello?"

Words she'd thought many times spilled out in strange tones, "Lars! Lars you never… came, I'm coming because of your stupid song and…" she dropped the phone not hearing Lars' voice shouting through the phone.

"Paige? Paige where are you? Paige!"

The car had made violent contact with a tree that Paige's hazy vision had not spotted until the last minute. The impact knocked her out, and the only thing that kept her breathing was the seatbelt which had broken one of her ribs. She lay over the bent steering wheel for a long time, unaware that another driver was currently breaking a dozen traffic violations to find her.

Lars had gotten in his fastest car the moment he heard Paige's voice. He knew that voice and heard where she was, and he couldn't let her get hurt, even though she'd wounded him deeper than anyone ever had. When she had left, without a goodbye… he'd retreated into himself, spending hours staring at the unfinished piano-fore, barely eating or sleeping. He stared at Paige's note for hours, days, focusing her eyes on the word "love."

He tried to keep focused while driving but it was difficult, his mind raced with questions. Paige called him? She was coming back? Why now? And why the hell was he going after her. Speeding down route 5, he wasn't quite sure what he was looking for until he saw a car crashed into a tree.

The breaks on his car screeched, and he nearly had an accident as he tried to get out of his car as quickly as possible. He didn't think as he ran out of the car, and ripped open Paige's car door, instinctively knowing she'd be in there.

He suddenly realized what he was doing and whipped out his cell phone to call an ambulance, police, and anyone else who could help. Lars opened the passenger door and tried to see if Paige was breathing or had a pulse. She had both, but he still couldn't touch her.

Watching the paramedics and firemen carefully extract Paige from the wreck, tortured Lars from the inside out. He tried to be the passive bystander but couldn't help, every once in a while would remind the men to be careful. This sentiment was received with irritated glances from the paramedics. The firemen had tried to keep Lars away from the scene but he had resisted almost to the point of violence.

Paige got extracted safely but she wasn't conscious so she needed to be intubated and had an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. The paramedics wrapped her in a blanket and fitted a collar over her neck. Lars had never seen Paige look so vulnerable. Every bit of fear and angst about his relationship with Paige began to dissolve as the night progressed. No one had asked him how he managed to be at the scene of the accident.

They did not allow him sit with Paige in the ambulance but he had no problem trailing anxiously behind the lights and sirens en route to the nearest hospital. Once there, he was politely asked to sit in the waiting room by a short redheaded nurse. He didn't even bother feigning interest in the 3 month old magazines. Eventually sitting proved pointless and he gave into his instinct to pace.

He could not help but ask the nurse for updates, which she tolerated patiently. The nurse, Melissa, didn't look at him strangely but occasionally pity would creep in her eyes, a look he recognized and tried to ignore. At one point she actually left her post to check on Paige's progress. Her return always resulted in the same lack of information.

"I promise, sir, I'll let you know when your wife is out. Just let us do our job."

His stomach pretzeled, "She's not… we're not… I'm…" his face regained normalcy for a second in his blush, "I'm not her husband."

She looked up from her paperwork, "Oh, well I'm sorry I just assumed since you know…"

"You did?" He was surprised that this ICU nurse thought that he could ever end up with such a beautiful person like Paige.

"Well, you've got to be her boyfriend then, because no other guys I see in here pace like that over someone they aren't in love with."

Apparently the whole world could see his heart permanently stuck on his sleeve. After all this time, nothing he'd done had erased her. And now, he might never get the chance to tell her those exact words. The words of Paige's note had stuck in his mind forever, "if I let myself love you I'll never leave you." Instead of looking for her, he'd spent this time apart sulking and nearly smashed the piano-forte to smithereens. Never could he bring himself that far, regardless of how scotch he downed.

Mid thought the redheaded nurse had left her post to check on Paige's progress, as she promised she would. Lars finally resolved himself to sit back down, cupping his face in his hands. Not many people had passed this area long enough to stare, and those he did most likely assumed he'd been in an accident himself and moved along.

Melissa walked back and this time bee-lined towards Lars in such a way that got him to his feet again.

"Mr. Gosforth?"

"Yes, yes?"

She smiled, "Miss Bell is out of the woods now, so to speak, but her condition was fairly critical. She suffered some very serious internal injuries but the bleeding has now been controlled. She broke her leg, a rib, her wrists, and a couple bones in her face, so she might not look…" she stopped deciding what to say, gauging Lars' reaction, "she'll heal in time but there's no telling how long it will take, she'll need care."

"I'll be there," he blurted out a bit too quickly.

Melissa studied his eyes, "I believe you, but I do need to clarify your relationship to Miss Bell… for the paperwork."

"For the paperwork," he quit while ahead, "for the paperwork, I'm a good friend."

"Ok Lars, unfortunately it's only family at this time… but since Miss Bell didn't list anyone on her in-case-of-emergency, I suppose her husband could be allowed in…"

"But I told you I'm not," he caught her drift surprised at her, "Oh. Yes. Are you sure that's…?"

"Yes, please come this way. Paige is still sedated so she's a little out of sorts, but talk to her. She'll come around."

Lars barely stayed still long enough to listen to her, he bolted down the hall to room #203. When he finally arrived at the door he hesitated long enough to peek into the room. Seeing Paige lying there, helpless, pained him.

The door squeaked a bit when he entered the room but Paige never stirred under its annoying frequency. Her fragile body laid there, IVs in and out of her arms, a tube in her throat. Bandages covered her face and head, but they couldn't hide the bruises that contorted her color.

Dryness clutched at his vocal cords, preventing him from abusing them. His eyes never left her bruised swollen ones. Somehow he made his way to her, sitting down next to her, afraid to touch her. Her right hand lay on the bed, untouched by medicine, undamaged. Lars clutched this hand in both of his, protecting it from the world.

"Paige," he whispered, "Paige, can you hear me?" He paused hearing her voice in his head, but nothing real. "Paige, please wake up. My piano still needs you. You probably can't hear me. I don't know why you drank so much. You could have killed yourself." The anger protected his other emotions, but soon he was in danger of releasing too much. He couldn't cry. He wouldn't cry.

"I should have run after you that day you left the mansion. I don't know why I didn't, but if I had, I do know you'd be safe now instead of hurt. Why didn't you call me before? Damn it, Paige…" he folded his hands over his head and tried to think of something comforting to say. He didn't get a chance before his exhaustion finally caught up with him.

Her eyes crinkled as they adjusted to the blanched lighting of the hospital fluorescents. She heard monitor beeping before she could see again. Her lips felt scaly but not as dry as her throat. Then she felt the pain, her throat felt like it was on fire and she couldn't breathe.

The monitors beeped louder, as she struggled with the tube lodged against her vocal cords. She couldn't pull out of the plastic and feared for her voice but the pain was unbearable. Soon a nurse arrived who began to help her. Her voice shouted something urgent. She heard another voice too, a voice she knew but didn't believe,

"What the hell is going on? Help her, she can't breathe!"

"Sir," the nurse retorted, "you need to leave this room immediately. You're not family, and we need the space."

The voice practically growled back, "I'm not moving an inch. I'm all she's got right now and I'm here to make sure you don't tear out her vocal cords when you remove that tube."

That would be nice, Page thought as she felt the plastic sliding out. She thought she might throw up but once the tube was out the feeling subsided. Not her throat just burned, every breath felt like fire. It was then she felt the rest of the pain, in her face, and lungs.

The desert in her throat began to subside as her eyes opened again, this time seeing. Faces that surrounded her ever sharpening view were not familiar at first and then, Lars' face cleared. Why was he there? She had gone to see him, right? Her throat begged to speak but all that came out was a pathetic raspy sound.

The round face framed with red hair she didn't recognize. But this face starting speaking,

"Honey, you're in the hospital, you've had an accident. Don't try to speak, you've had a tube down your throat."

Fine, Paige thought, I'll just lie here and pretend it's ok that the guy I ran into a tree for is seeing me in a very revealing hospital gown. Awesome.

Lars took over her thoughts, "When will she be able to speak nurse?"

"It depends, she really shouldn't be wasting the energy anyways."

Paige's eyes darted around agitatedly, Hello, I'm still here.

Lars' eyes met hers for a second, then almost embarrassed, sought the nurse's, "Can you, um… I mean unless you have some medical thing or…"

The nurse smiled, "No, I'll be back to check in 10 minutes. Press the button if you need anything, ok?"

"Thanks," he sat down beside Paige ignoring the nurse as she peeked at the odd couple before leaving out. She could only move her eyes without feeling pain so she bore them into Lars, trying to will her thoughts into his mind.

"Don't try and speak Paige, I know you must be going crazy but if you do anything to damage that voice of yours, I might have to kill you."Paige felt a laugh tickle her throat and heard the dry clumps of air giggle out of her closed lips. "Don't laugh either!" he yelled, and then adjusted his tone, "Don't laugh."

For awhile there was only silence, then, Lars started talking again, "I'm not going to yell at you for driving your car into a tree even though I should, and I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and tell you I don't think you did it on purpose. "

Paige's eyes widened and then blinked very fast, did I do it on purpose? She thought trying to avoid flashing back to those blurry moments before the impact. It's tough to say what was going through her mind.

Alcohol. That's for sure, lots of it. Clouding her judgment and surfacing her most intimate emotions and as expected foolish decisions. She believed in her heart that her actions were not suicidal, merely a result of her intoxication. Most worrying to her, was that she had intended on seeking Lars out and most likely begging him to take her back.

In retrospect, maybe the tree had saved her life. The humiliation of such a drunken act might have been fatal in itself. Her aches and pains reminded her of their superiority to wounds of vanity.

She knew she couldn't say what she needed to say to Lars now, it would be manipulative in her broken state. She had to be careful. As it was, Lars looked like he had had a rough couple of days and she felt completely responsible. He hadn't up and left her, or ignored her. She had.

"Lars I," she stopped shocked at the grainy whisper that had come from her, "Oh God… Lars, my v—"

"It's not permanent," he said, reading her concern, "The doctor said that when you were unconscious they had to put a tub down your throat for a considerable amount of time. On top of which, when you… when, your neck hit the steering wheel we think and so you could be a little bit bruised."

Paige closed her eyes, and prayed that God would let her heal. Only time would be able to predict the repercussions. Hopefully He would forgive her enough to restore her career back.

"What if it doesn't…" she stopped pushing through the pain.

Lars didn't look her in the eyes, "Don't think that yet, you have to heal first. The doctor assured me that there was a very good chance you'd make a full recovery. I may have yelled at him a bit so I don't think he's lying to you."

Paige smiled, grateful that it didn't require her to speak or use any major muscles. She noticed the parts of her body that didn't hurt more that those that did, since they were the majority. Part of her began to feel a bit claustrophobic, afraid to move at the risk of damaging something. Her frustrations leaked out her eyes. The tears dripped down her face and she felt them tickle her cheeks, unable to wipe them away.

Lars was ready with a tissue and Paige felt the top of his hand brush past her cheek as he cleaned her up. Before she could think about it, Lars leaned over and brushed his lips on her forehead. Paige did everything she could do to not flinch because through the pain she felt warmth and comfort.

"I'm going to be here for you the entire time, Paige," Lars whispered into her ear, "but if you ever give up on me again…"

Paige had no intention of giving up.

The next couple months would prove difficult ones for Paige, struggling to rebuild her muscles and heal. After the accident, there was so much damage done to her leg that she needed physical therapy three times a week to regain strength.

Lars invited Paige to stay with him, she didn't resist that much. He transformed her old room into a handicap accessible world. A nurse was hired in order to help with the therapy and other things that might require help. With Lars' help, the therapy, and rest, Paige left the wheelchair and began to walk again.

When she got strong enough, she began her work again on the piano. Lars would sit at Paige's side, watching her and occasionally helping her move around as needed. She would touch her cheek as she rubbed sweat off of her face, cringing at the hard feel of her angry scars.

Sometimes she would awaken in the night, catch sight of herself and start crying, unable to speak or express the pain at not recognizing a face she had known all of her life. Lars would be there in an instant, wrapping his arms around her, trying to absorb the pain she exuded. Paige would wail and eventually exhaust herself enough for Lars to carry her back to bed.

Eventually the scars faded from her face, their memories present through faint white lines easily hid by makeup. Her cheek bones would never been the same again after the damage, but once they healed, she could stand to look at herself again. The next challenge would be the damage done to her vocal cords.

Lars never mentioned singing to Paige, and he knew that she would come to him when she was ready. That day was the day Paige retired her cane and could stand and walk upright without a limp.

"Lars," she said as they walked the grounds of the mansion, hand-in-hand; "I want to try again… I feel like I have healed enough."

He knew exactly what she was talking about, "Are you sure?"

The dimensions of her face had created new looks which Lars learned over time to read. Lars recognized saw a crinkle under her eye appear and knew she was determined to begin again. He almost asked the question again but refrained.

"Lars, I'm sure," she clutched her sweater and walked towards the music room. Lara followed behind her and when they reached the piano she gripped the side as if it was her support.

Lars sat at the bench, opening a score slowly, "Let's start simply. If I feel you are pushing, we will not continue."

Paige exhaled, "Lars, please just shut-up and help me."

The piano began to recite old lessons and Paige responded to them as an old friend remembering a conversation. She remained a bit timid with the extreme highs and lows of the scales. Lars remained patient, guiding her through any road blocks. Paige had trouble using her diaphragm as well as she had been able, the months of rehabilitation and rest had weakened her resolve. They did not tackle any of the songs or arias that Paige used to glide over with ease. It was too soon. Too soon to push the limit.

The worked until Lars felt the fatigue in Paige's voice, "Paige, I'm getting a little tired, would you mind if we stopped for the day?"

Paige wiped her forehead not betraying her own exhaustion, "Sure Lars, if you like."

Smiling, Lars stood up from the piano, "Make sure you drink a lot of water today, your voice has just woken up from a long sleep. You will be back to your old self in no time." Paige rubbed her throat but didn't argue; her fingertips brushed along some of the faded white marks on her neck, subtle reminders of the past.

"Lars, I promise I won't be so much of a bother to you," before she could finish the end of the sentence, Lars was by her side kissing away the words. She let herself become enveloped by the warmth of him, the love, and the acceptance. He never noticed any of her scars, even the ones before the accident. Together they would both be whole.