Aw, thank you all so much for the lovely reviews! I so appreciate all the encouraging things said!
Christine huddled near the fireplace in Erik's music room, still half asleep, with a coffee between her hands.
"Not a morning person, I see," Erik commented, sitting down. "And throw that coffee away, too. The caffeine in it isn't good for your vocal chords... My apologies for getting her late; I had a business call I needed to take."
"But I need my coffee," Christine whined, setting it down. Erik took it and promptly threw it in a well-disguised trash can.
"Hey!"
"I told you to throw it out. From now on you will drink only water and tea," he said sternly. "I won't have you ruining your voice because you wanted something as frivolous as coffee." He snorted. "And not tea that's loaded with caffeine, either."
Christine sighed. "Fine." She covered her mouth with a hand as she yawned tiredly. "What first?"
"Warm-ups, of course," Erik said, as if it were obvious, which, Christine supposed, it was. She adjusted her posture and took a deep breath in through her nose, but Erik turned to face her before she could even sing the first note.
"Before we go any farther, there are several things I need to discuss with you," Erik said. Christine nodded and signaled for him to continue. "First, I need to make sure that you will give this your full attention and all of your devotion, otherwise you are wasting my time and yours. You must drop anything and everything that is not related to your music."
"That's ridiculous," Christine said, shaking her head. She could understand coffee, sure, but everything?
"I see you are under the impression that singing is a glamorous career," Erik said sharply. "But I'm only going to tell you this once: it's not. You must sacrifice everything you have to succeed in this business, let alone be happy. It must become your life. If it's not, you'll lack the conviction to continue. It's never going to be easy; you'll constantly be building your voice to new levels, constantly progressing and achieving new things. If you're not, you become stagnant, and people lose interest. You must have something new to show them each time you release an album or perform.
"If you don't, people lose interest. Your music won't speak to them, which should be your ultimate fear. If your music, if you can't reach people, then you've failed as a musician and a singer."
Christine felt like she needed to sit down. That was a lot he was expecting of her. Was she really capable of dropping everything to pursue this? Well, shoot, if Erik was putting this much effort into her training, she must practically have a contract with the company already. She pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head in thought.
"Then get out," Erik demanded coldly.
Christine looked up at him. "W-What?"
"I believe you heard me," Erik said, turning to face his piano.
"I'm sorry, did I do something wrong?" she asked fearfully.
"I believe I asked you to leave," Erik said, turning to face her slowly, his white mask gleaming in the firelight. "It would be in your best interests to do so."
Christine shook her head again. "No, it wouldn't be," she said quietly.
"Pardon?" Erik said, his tone short and harsh.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted this, Erik. I came to Seattle specifically to be signed on with your record company. I've admired you since you first came about. You saw true talent, honed it, and turned it into something truly beautiful and memorable. The only thing I could think was 'I want that.' I've waited so long for this opportunity, and I'm not going to toss it away now."
Erik didn't answer for a long time, as if he was mulling something over. "Christine, would you do something for me?"
"Yeah, of course," she said, nodding. "Anything."
"Just a small favor, really," Erik assured her. "Would you go into the room down the hall? There's something in there I need you to see."
Christine nodded silently again, turned on her heel and went to the room instructed.
She left immediately after doing Erik that 'favor.' How could he ever do such a thing to her? She was so angry at him! She wanted to scream and punch something- something that wasn't a pillow. Christine hadn't even bothered to say goodbye, she saw what he had wanted her to see, and left without another word.
She walked all the way home in the rain, too, and now she was sick. Meg had already come over and brought some soup, and Raoul was on his way. Sweet man he was, he had offered to have Christine stay at his home so she would have someone to care for her and tend to her needs.
It had been two days since Christine had seen Erik and she had no intentions of going back there for quite some time, either. He just had her so furious. To pull something like that on her was a total disregard from her feelings. She knew she would have to go back, though, because he'd been calling her, and he was still paying all of her expenses. This was getting far too complicated for her liking.
She heard a knock at her door.
"Come in," she said from underneath her mounds of blankets that were mashed onto her tiny couch.
Raoul peeked his head in. "Hello, Lottie," he greeted her kindly. "Feeling any better?"
"Not really," she admitted with a groan. "I've got a lot to think about." Raoul sat down beside her, taking her hand lightly.
"You're sick, you really shouldn't be thinking about anything except for what old TV show you're going to watch next," he said with a chuckle. She smiled and started to laugh, but she was caught in a coughing spell, and Raoul jumped back playfully.
"Back, foul beast!" he said with a laugh, and Christine smiled tiredly at him once she was through coughing.
"Oh, Raoul, you have no idea how much it means to me that you came here," she said with a sniffle, reaching for a tissue. "Especially since you might get sick."
"Oh," Raoul waved it away with a silly grin. "You really think I would've come here if I could get sick? If it were that simple, people would have learned long ago to just kill the guy who had the sniffles!" Christine laughed, and this time she wasn't assaulted by coughing spasms.
"You're gonna be the death of me!" Christine said with a chuckle, reaching for another tissue. "I'm surprised you were able to come in the middle of the day like this," she said. "I would think you have important business matters to attend to or something... What do you do for a living, anyway, Raoul?"
"Me? Oh, not much," Raoul said shrugging it off.
"Oh, come on, Raoul. It's a job; it's not like you're a secret agent or anything." She laughed.
"No, you're right. I'm certainly not that. In fact, almost the opposite in the mysterious factor. I'm an underwear model."
Christine burst out laughing; she couldn't help herself. Raoul was a male model? That was absurd! Never, in her whole life, had she expected him to have that career. He had always talked of being a veterinarian. She remembered how he had saved a little swallow with a broken wing, nursed it back to health until, finally, it flew away, happy to be free. Christine had hoped that it would stay, like they always did in the movies. But life wasn't a movie, was it? No, it certainly wasn't. Bad things happened, and they didn't always work out they way they were supposed to.
"I'm glad you find it so amusing," Raoul said huffily, crossing his arms. "But anyway, Lottie, I've got to go; there's a shoot later, and I have to go shave." He winked, grabbed his coat and headed for the door. "But I'll stop by later."
He swung the door open, only to stagger backwards at Erik's imposing figure. Raoul was very stiff and pale, and looked like he was about to break out in a cold sweat.
"I should have known you'd be here," Erik sneered, striding inside and slipping off his trench coat and hat, but seeing nowhere to hang them, set them on the end of the couch upon which Christine was laying.
Needless to say that Christine was more than a little shocked. "Erik, what are you-?"
"You haven't returned my calls or emails, and I grew worried that something had happened to you," he said calmly. "What is he doing here?" Erik turned to Raoul, who, up until that point, had regained most of his composure.
"Well," Christine snapped, drawing Erik's attention back to her, "after what happened at your house, I walked all the way home. And I got sick, so I've been in bed the past two days trying to feel better. Excuse me for not calling you, as I'm still totally pissed off, and not feeling well." She shook her head. "How could you do that to me?"
"Christine, you have to believe me. I never meant-"
"Save it. And then you haev the audacity to come in here and accuse Raoul of doing something wrong, when all he's ever done is look after and comfrot me!"
"I did that, too! Far better than he ever will!" Erik blared, pointing a long, pale finger at Raoul. "I offered you a place in society, if you would only make it your priority! You couldn't give me even that!" Erik looked as if he were on the verge of a break down, and Christine felt something close to pity for him. What had happened to him to make him so bitter?
"Mr. Destler, can't you see that Christine clearly doesn't want you hear?" Raoul piped up, in all of his male-model glory.
"And you!" Erik turned on Raoul. "How dare you ever even speak to her! After what your family did! I could strangle you!" Erik strode over to Raoul then, fingers twitching murderously. In a flash, the taller man's hands were around Raoul's throat, backing him up against the wall.
"Erik!" Christine shrieked, scrambling off of the couch, nearly falling over all of her blankets. "Let him go! Let him go!" she begged, pulling on his arm, practically sobbing. But Erik seemed to have gone into a blind rage.
"You destroyed me, practically destroyed my company, I should kill you!" he growled, applying more pressure to Raoul's throat.
"Erik, stop it! You'll kill him!" Christine pleaded again.
"Precisely," Erik said coldly. "Him and all of his family deserve to rot in the deepest depths of hell!"
Raoul gagged, and his face was turning purple. He clutched frantically at Erik's arms and hands, but to no avail. Christine thought he would probably pass out soon if she didn't do something.
"Maestro, please I'm begging you to let him go!" Christine said, squishing herself between Erik and Raoul and placing her hands on Erik's chest firmly. "Please, I'm begging you, Maestro. Don't hurt him."
Erik backed up then, breathing heavily and hands trembling.
"Erik, we need to talk," Christine murmured.
"Don't worry Christine, I'll make sure he never comes near you again," Raoul gasped, stumbling out the door. "He's dangerous."
"Raoul, no!" Christine cried, attempting to follow him out, but Erik grabbed her by the arm, and she turned to face him, bewildered.
"Let him go," Erik said stoically, looking at her. "Thank you for stopping me," he said in an undertone, and Christine didn't know how to respond, so she ignored it.
"Maestro, please tell me what happened," she said in a whisper before having to sit down because she was dizzy and lightheaded. Erik helped her back onto the couch, carefully tucking the blankets in around her. She instantly felt safe.
"Perhaps when you're feeling better," Erik said softly, completely transformed from the monster he had been moments ago. "Can I make you some tea?"
Christine simply nodded, and Erik stood and rummaged around in her kitchen, and before long, the water was boiling and Erik was coming back out with a steaming hot cup of tea. He didn't' say anything, and neither did she, so they both sat in silence for a very long time.
"This is a nice place you have here," he said finally.
"Ugh, it's a mess," Christine said, shaking her head. "But thank you... I can't believe you kept it, after all this time."
"How could I not keep it?" Erik asked quietly. "It was the only heartfelt gift I had ever received."
"Surely you must have received gifts from others," Christine prompted.
"There weren't any others, Christine. My parents, as you well known, were greedy and unclean, to say the least. And the other foster children were too young to know any different. You remember having to take care of them, don't you?" Christine nodded. "Seeing as I graduated highschool when I was fourteen, that didn't exactly give me much time to build relationships with my peers. And after my second year of college, well, you know that my parents made me leave the day I turned eighteen... So no, you were the only one."
"Erik...," Christine didn't know what to say. He smiled gently.
"You don't have to feel like you need to say anything, Christine. You are sick, and I can't expect your mind to be working at the same capacity as if it were healthy. Now, I should probably go; I've already lingered here too long, and I don't want Mr. Changy coming back with the police. I'll come by again tomorrow to see how you're feeling."
Christine smiled, setting down her tea. "All right, Erik, that sounds fine."
"Feel better, Christine."