A.N: I decided to base the layout of this story on a symphony, so instead of having "Chapter 1", "Chapter 2", etc., it will be in "movements", i.e. "First Movement", "Second Movement" and so forth. The first movement of a symphony generally has weighty content and moves very quickly. With this in mind, I attempted to catch that feeling in the style of my writing. If I did it write, it should sound panicky and disjointed.

The seventh paragraph and what it implies is what got this story kicked off another website...something I am both mad at and proud of. :) I think it was an overreaction on their part...what do you think? ;)

First Movement

For the third time that week, he awoke with tears streaming down his face. He lay still, in his accustomed darkness, the only sound to keep him company the measured beating of his own heart. Broken and shattered-wonder that it still beat at all…or was that just being over-dramatic?

The darkness, which had been his friend for all of his solitary existence, now seemed to mock him. He loathed it, hated it, cursed it and needed it. In the darkness, he did not have to face himself, after all…but the darkness brought sleep, and sleep brought dreams, and dreams…

DAMN IT.

Dreams he had expected, oh yes, nightmares. This was nothing new, they were always there, always there, lurking in the pit, the abyss, the sickness in his mind. But this was wholly different, this was something new, this was unexpected.

Reaching out in the darkness, Erik found the oil lamp without much trouble. Removing the glass portion, he lit the wick. A small flame of light burst into existence, and Erik breathed in deeply, trying to steady himself.

He tried to bring to his mind images of her…sights, sounds, touch…how her hands caressed his scarred flesh, her gentleness. Endless nights, her voice soaring as his fingers danced across the piano. In the end…she kissed him, soft, tender lips, eyes open and unafraid. The warmth of her body as she pressed against him and a sharp intake of breath…

Raoul, chained and dripping, small droplets of cold water running down his broad chest, muscles bulging as he tried to wrench free. Blue eyes flashing angrily through locks of blonde hair, plastered to his face. Picture brushing loose strands back, running a thumb lightly across his strong, angry jaw…

NO

Erik slammed his hand angrily on top of the flame. It licked and scorched the palm of his hand greedily for a few moments, before finally sputtering and dying. Erik lifted his hand, and turning his palm over he dug his fingers deeply into the wound that had not had a chance to heal. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he knew that something had to be done.

He had expected to mourn the loss Christine, expected her to haunt his dreams, expected…anything but this. But even that was a lie. The idea was always there, had been since the first time Raoul had entered the opera house, but he smothered it, cloaked it in jealousy and rage, two emotions he knew very well. His obsession with the young man was so much easier to explain then, easier to justify.

But then, the moment of truth. As Christine kissed him, it should have been the happiest moment of his life. But then that strangled cry of rage from Raoul, and as Erik's distracted eyes flicked over to him…and he felt...

Desire, lust, craving, magnetism…while Raoul only stared at him accusingly, full of hate. Revulsion…at himself, confusion, utter confusion, and he broke from Christine. Panting, tears springing unbidden to his eyes…this is madness…Quick glance to Raoul.

Take her. Forgive me…forget all of this.

As if in a dream, stumbling steps backwards.

Leave me alone, forget all you've seen. Go, now, don't let them find you. Take the boat, swear to me NEVER to tell.

Sickening, sinking feeling as he watched Christine run to Raoul.

Forget what you know of the angel in hell…

Finally free, Raoul wrapped his arms tightly around Christine, burying his head into her mane of hair, kissing the nape of her neck-

GO NOW! GO NOW, AND LEAVE ME!

Retreat, to his haven, his safe place. Legs quivering, finally giving out beneath him. Out of habit, Erik reached for his music box. The monkey began to play, grinning knowingly at him…eerily comforting, and Erik found himself singing in a soft voice, lyrics that seemed to fit only too well…

Masquerade, paper faces on parade, masquerade…hide your face so the world will never find you…

A small noise…Christine. He looked at her, tears streaming down his face…she innocently placed her ring in his hand. So kind, so sweet…she was…

Christine, I love you.

He whispered, as if saying the words would make it true…and at one point, it had been, yes, no doubt. But no more.

Jumping up, he ran out into the main chamber. He watched as Raoul and Christine disappeared around the bend, keeping his eyes on Raoul until the last.

You alone…

It's over.

Erik ground his teeth. "It's NOT over," he whispered, hunched over, clutching the sides of his head. "And it never will be. Unless…"

He knew it was impossible, he knew it was foolish…but he had to try. He couldn't continue on like this…if he kept going in this way, the only paths that lay before him were madness…or death. And he sure as hell was not giving up without a fight.