So I apparently cannot accurately count how many chapters there are going to be :P Chapter 4 got too long so I split it up. I'll have Chapter 5 posted soon, hopefully. And Chapter 6 up in a couple of days. Argh.

Thanks again to everyone for their kind comments. I'm so glad everyone is having fun with this story. These next two chapters are a little darker and a little less funny. But hopefully still enjoyable.

Read and Review!

Why?

Every one of his muscles had tightened. His throat was so constricted that he could not breathe through his mouth. Somehow, he escaped the bar without breaking any glasses. He did not escape without elbowing Phillip Chagny in the back of the head.

"Ow! What the hell?"

No one was permitted to call Christine a ditz without at least one repercussion.

He moved through the crowds of people at the doorway who smelled of perfume and alcohol. He made it outside and staggered down the street.

He prepared to seek her out at that very instant using whatever means necessary, to demand answers. She was the one who had returned to his life and lied to him for months. Didn't she deserve his anger? Didn't he deserve an explanation? Demons hopped around in his mind, taunting him, telling him how vile and disgusting he was, ordering him to take her back as that was the only way he would ever have her.

And then he could hear his own voice screaming at her from that last hellish day – "I did everything for you, Christine! Everything! And still you seek him out. Look at him! What does he have besides a pretty face?! I have money. I have power! I can obtain more of both, if that is what pleases you, Angel. What does he have that I do not?!"

"He doesn't kill people! He doesn't act like this! That's what he has! Stop it, Erik! Stop it!"

He stopped walking so quickly that someone bumped into him from behind, a woman. "Oof!" she exclaimed. "Oh, sorry about that. Excuse me."

"Don't mind me," he muttered as she passed. "I am simply deciding how crazy to go. Do you have an opinion on the matter?" She did not hear him, which was probably for the better.

No, he could not see Christine while in this state of mind. He could not stalk her, pound on her front door, and scream. He already knew exactly what that would result in. And he had something to lose. He had his friend. She had lied to him. But she had also not married the boy. And she had stayed in his life over the past year. She had made him so very happy. Until now.

It was nearing the weekend. Christine always came on the weekends. He would wait for her, like a spider in a web. He would have more leverage, if she were the one who returned to him. And if she did not show up, he would make a new plan – which might entail pounding on her door like a madman. Or, depending on his mood, gently knocking like one of those little girls who sold cookies.

He went home and crawled back into his hole. Over the next few days, as he curled up in the coffin, all he could think about was – Why?

And - What if she never returned? What if she had found the kiss to be revolting and never came back? Is that why she had apologized for kissing him? Because it was disgusting? Who would want to kiss a corpse? Well, there were unusual fetishes, but he did not think that Christine possessed them…

Before he could completely fall apart, the little bell rang on Saturday evening. He was ready for her, waiting in the living area as though all were perfectly normal. Her belongings were still on the floor and sofa. He sat in the armchair, arms resting out at his sides, like a king on a black throne.

"Good evening, Christine," he greeted.

"Hi," she said, softly. She seemed timid. There was a blush in her cheeks as she sat on the couch. He waiting for her to say something regarding their last meeting, perhaps offer another apology for kissing his ugly face. To his relief, she didn't. "It's cold out there." She shivered.

"Is it?" Chagny was no longer off limits. And while he was not going to rage at her, he didn't have it in him to be completely nice either. "Well, I am sure you are warm in the boy's mansion. There must be many fireplaces. How many stories is his home? At least three, right?"

Her smile vanished. "Erik," she said with a warning tone.

"You misunderstand, my dear. I do not speak of him with cruelty. I am not mocking him. If we are going to be friends, I simply want to know more about your life. Friends tell each other about their lives, don't they?"

Her eyes flashed with anger. "I don't know much about your life."

"Fine." He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. "Ask away."

She was obviously taken off guard. It took her a moment to ask, "What…what work did you do before meeting me?"

"I have lived off savings for some time. But, before that, I worked my way into dubious business dealings, agreeing to stay quiet if the participants paid me a hefty sum." She looked disappointed in him. "My turn. What was your wedding like? Tell me all the wonderful details."

She grimaced. "Erik, you don't really want to know about that."

"But I really, really do," he insisted. "I will not say one negative word about it. I want to hear about your happy day."

She immediately began to squirm. "It was outdoors. In the, uh, woods. Um, there were snowflake decorations. Bells and ribbons. That kind of thing."

"That sounds gorgeous! A winter wonderland. What was your dress like?"

"Um. Long and with straps and-"

"Straps? You must have been very, very cold outdoors in the woods. I hope you had something to cover your shoulders with."

"I did. I had a wrap." She straightened. "My turn. Where were you born?"

"Serbia. Belgrade."

"Really? You don't have an accent."

"I have been in the United States for over twenty years. As hardly anyone spoke to me in the orphanage, their language was not cemented in my mind." He continued before she had time to pity him. "Where did you go for your honeymoon?"

"The Bahamas." She could not look him in the eye.

"Ah. The Bahamas! A tropical paradise. Did you try to learn the language before going?"

"Yes." Her eyes darted from side to side.

"So you were able to practice your Spanish?" he asked, going in for the figurative kill.

"Yes."

"Ah. Yes, everyone speaks Spanish there, so there was no choice but to learn?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Exactly. Everybody did."

Silence.

"Christine?"

"Yes?"

He slowly leaned forward. In a low voice, he stated, "The official language of the Bahamas is not Spanish. In fact, their language is English-based."

"Well, I…I…there were still some people who spoke Spanish."

"Were there?" He closed his eyes. Oh, my dear. Please cease with this game. Erik is going to lose his mind.

"Yes! My turn," she began.

"No! It is not your turn." He stood and loomed over. He had given her many chances to come clean. "Because everything that I have told you is the truth. But you are lying! Why?!"

She drew back and stared up at him. "I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I…I can't talk about this right now. Can't we just…" She held out her hands. "Can't we go back to normal?"

"Normal?" he snapped. "Oh, Darling, you are in the wrong place if you are looking for normal."

"I took a job at a skating rink," she began, desperately trying to tell him about her day. "I think it'll be fun. It's a really beautiful rink, and they decorate it for Christmas. There's a big tree in the center. And presents underneath." She forced a frantic smile. "It's very pretty! I can show you, Erik. We could go skating."

"Skating? Is that normal? I know very little about normal. But I do not think it involves wearing a pretend wedding ring and telling people that your husband is on a business trip. In fact, I think that sort of behavior might be a ticket into an institution." He looked at the ring. "How much was that? Thirty? Twenty? I should have known that Chagny would not be so damned cheap!"

Her eyes filled with tears. Her lip quivered. She had her arms drawn up against her chest as though she were trying to protect herself. He had her trapped.

And he had never wanted to trap her again. This was the same posture and stance that they had taken almost a year ago, her huddled below him as he raged at her. It did not feel very good. It felt…sick.

"I forgot how mean you could be," she murmured, looking down. She used her palm to wipe the tears out of her eyes. "This was one of my mother's rings."

"I have been nothing but good to you for months! At least I have tried to be, haven't I? I have done whatever you asked! You owe me an explanation!"

She was on her feet in an instant. "After all you did, I don't owe you anything!" she yelled with more anger than he had seen in her since…

Well, since that wretched day.

His heart sunk even lower.

He was going to lose his friend. And he didn't even understand how he had wound up here this time. He quickly backed away from her. He fell into the chair, retreating, hoping to somehow salvage…something, anything. "Fine," he said. She stared down at him. The anger faded from her features, leaving behind confusion. "We will keep doing this. We can do it forever. I will play along. You are Christine Chagny, married to Raoul Chagny. And I am the freak or friend, whatever you want, whom you visit every so often. Fine. Go on. Tell me about your day."

"I…" She sniffled and looked off to the side. "I should go," she said, to his utter dismay.

He bowed his head and said nothing. He heard her shuffling papers. The zipper of her backpack. The rustle of her jacket. Footsteps. The grunt of the door opening.

A long pause.

The squeak of it shutting. A click as it closed.

Silence.

He was so very glad that he waited a moment before dissolving into sobs. He was thiiiiis close to completely losing it in the most mortifying of ways. He never would have lived it down. He would have worn a second mask over the first just to hide his shame.

Because she was suddenly walking back into his living room. He looked up at her through blurred eyes and the holes of his mask. He waited, his heart hammering in his ears, terrified of what she was going to say.

She stood in front of him, about two feet away, still wearing her backpack, her arms folded against her chest. She spoke, a tremble in her voice. "I'm not married. And I haven't ever been. So Raoul has never been on business trips. Or maybe he has, but I don't know about them. And - I didn't really need that book I borrowed. And I didn't have a honeymoon in the Bahamas. Obviously. And that's all I can really think of right now. Um." She looked to the side. "Yep. So that's it. I'm sorry I lied. But right now, I'm n-not sure I can explain." She wrung her hands together and then ran them up and down her arms, as though she were cold. She looked at him, into his eyes. "Erik, will you please say something?" she whispered.

He was frozen in the chair, his mind rapidly attempting to process and interpret all of this information. Of course it always came back to – "What do you want, Christine?"

"I want…" She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She gazed around his home. Was she remembering the horror from a year ago? Or the most recent months, when she had at least appeared to be happy in the midst of all her fabrications? Finally, she glanced back at him. "Could you drive me home? I want to spend more time with you. But maybe somewhere else."

His anger was nearly gone, replaced with melancholy. And how could he be furious with her when she was standing there with her shoulders slouched and her cheeks tear-streaked, still looking so very lovely. "Of course I will drive you home," he said in a very dignified manner, still picturing his utter humiliation if she had walked in on him sobbing into her shirt. He then stood – also in a very dignified manner.

"Thank you." He received the hint of a relieved smile.

"What is your address?" he asked as they headed for the door.

"I think you already know it. I'm pretty sure you've been there before." She side-glanced him.

He understood.

She had never left her old apartment.

Once his anger diminished, he began to see everything, all their interactions, in an entirely different light. Was that what she had feared would happen?

He saw her confused expression in the streetlights, the tilt of her head and the pursing of her lips.

And, for a moment, he wished that he had never discovered the truth. Her lies had kept them safe.

But only for a moment.