Author's Note: Welcome back, all those that have chosen to continue on up to this point! Thank you to readers and reviewers! In the meantime, once again one and all, enjoy!

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Chapter 2 – Turn Your Thoughts Away

Erik

I haven't cried since the night Christine left; I've made sure of that perfectly, putting myself into a near-catatonic state simply for the sake of feeling nowhere near as terrible as I should. Tonight, my mind is in a haze yet again. I need it this way. The brandy burns my throat, makes my senses flair and my thoughts disjointed as it makes its way through my veins, but each shot takes me further and further away from the worst of myself. I know that if I don't allow myself to waste away in this manner, I might surely do something unforgivable. I might venture out to see her, beg for forgiveness, for love. I might make a misstep and be recognized and captured. I might pick up the gun in the corner of the room and take aim at my head…

Instead I wallow in regret, and yes, I may sink down into the darkest pits of my fetid soul, and I may be entirely unsuccessful in my attempts to hate her, but so long as I let the alcohol run its poison all through me, I know I will not be compelled to do anything foolhardy. Even in the deepest of despair, I know I cannot allow myself to leave this house, my self-imposed prison; doing so would guarantee my capture, and I will not be taken down that way. I will not be treated like an animal in my final moments – I honestly fear that more than the gun. Word traveled farther and faster than I could after the disaster, so before I could make my final escape I was forced to take shelter here in secret with Madame Giry's help. Until I can safely travel once more, this is where I must isolate myself yet again. I certainly resent being trapped, but even so my pride will not allow me to be hunted down and taken by a mob thirsty for my blood.

I raise the bottle to my lips once again and feel the shame engulf me as I stare thoughtfully into the fireplace, the flames dancing hypnotically as I muse bitterly to myself. I'm better off alone, really. My small taste of happiness was entirely undeserved, and to pursue it for as long as I had was my biggest downfall. Knowing this, I cannot bring myself to hate Christine, as hard as I've tried to convince myself to do so. But no, this was not her fault. I can only blame myself for thinking that she could love me, that I deserved such a gift from anyone. When I look back on my actions, I feel an anger at myself so deep I'm almost sure it will break me. Another set of mistakes to add to my repitoir, another collection of memories to prove that I am indeed the monster that the world has seen me to be all my life. I hate myself for that; I never wanted it to be this way. I never wanted to be evil.

My anger turns into a sudden rage as I lament the events in my life that have led me to this point. Without realizing it, I stood to face away from the fire into an empty and dimly-lit room. This constant reminder of my solitude proved to be too much for me; I raised the bottle of brandy and threw it as hard as I could at the opposite wall, letting out a guttural scream in the process. As I stood, panting and wide-eyed, I was left once again only with a feeling of deep regret. That's how it always happens, I've come to realize – one action leading to another without warning or reason, based purely on a momentary need for a release of feelings too intense to cope with rationally; I fear these wild emotions will one day soon swallow me whole.

~~oOo~~

I realized the sun had set at the same time I noticed my sobriety returning to me; it was an annoying fact, but I chose to do nothing about it. I could have retrieved yet another bottle of brandy and had it well on its way to being empty in no time, but at that moment I couldn't bring myself to take the steps. Either way I felt numb; perhaps this hopelessness is simply a well-deserved punishment, and if so, taking the edge off with alcohol seemed to be pointless. I deserve to suffer, simple as that. I really must stop trying to fool myself into thinking I deserve better than this.

I was startled by a knock at the door; this house is far off any main roads – I chose it to be that way on purpose, and for good reason, but I still feared the odd passerby stopping by to quell their curiosity at the light in my window. I couldn't trust anyone. The knock on the door, however, turned into a familiar pattern and I immediately relaxed. It was only Madame Giry; had we not invented that coded pattern, she would have never been allowed access to the house – I didn't even dare look out a window for fear of being recognized.

When I opened the door, I felt as though my heart was going to pound its way out of my chest. I had to wonder if I was hallucinating; Christine stood just behind Madame Giry, and when she met my eyes, I felt both confused and angry.

"Madame?" I whispered to the aging ballet mistress, looking her now in the eyes and feeling quite betrayed. A voice in the back of my mind told me it was over, that Madame Giry had finally grown weary of trying to keep me safe while we waited for safe passage out of France and had simply turned me in to the one person she knew had the ultimate power over me. It was an absurd, paranoid notion, but I felt the dread just the same. I would never go willingly into the hands of neither mobs nor lawmen, but I'd follow Christine into Hell if she asked it of me; if she was there to convince me to turn myself in, as I had assumed, then I would have done so if only to abide by her sense of justice.

"You are not in trouble, Erik. Mademoiselle Daae insisted that I bring her here."

I shook my head, coming back to reality with a swift and deep sense of hurt and anger, "You may both leave, then. I don't know what kind of sick game you're playing at, but I will have none of it. You're not welcome here," I spat, looking directly at Christine when I said those last words. I slammed the door with force enough to shake the house, leaned against the frame and slid down to the floor.

The whole exchange had happened so fast that I scarcely had time to understand the reality of the situation or collect my thoughts before I once again lost control of myself. I cried then; seeing Christine so unexpectedly had effectively torn away my last bit of resolve to feel nothingness. It would have been a small mercy then to finally allow hatred to cloud my memories of her, effectively taking the cards and putting the hand back in my favor. But no matter how much I tried to deny it, she still held my heart in her hands, and to force myself to turn her away for the sake of my sanity was almost more than I could bear. I didn't want to know what brought her here. All I wanted in that moment was to disappear entirely, to put an end to my misery.

I'm so tired.