A/N: I loved all your reviews, and am so glad that you all enjoyed the chapter, and that most people agree that Erik needs someone to standup to him, and maybe even push him around a little every now and then.

As soon as I reached my little room, I pulled from my stack of clothing the revolver that I had used to shoot my attacker in the hallway. Three bullets left; I prayed I would not have to use any, but I would not let Erik hurt me. I had resolved never again to be a victim, and if I had to defend myself, I would. I realized that my hands were shaking, and I felt tears burning behind my eyes. I felt so incredibly stupid; how foolish to believe myself safe in Erik's company. What perverse instincts had driven me to speak so freely to him?

I lay down, allowing the tears to fall down my cheeks and trickle ungracefully down my nose and onto my pillow. The gun lay reassuringly in my hand under the velvet blanket, ready to use if the need arose. Something in Erik's face when I struck him told me that he would not try to hurt me, that his actions had been more to frighten than to actually harm, but my instincts had been honed by weeks of being hunted, and I could not relax. I don't know how long I lay there, sobbing quietly into the pillow, wishing that I could fall asleep, but feeling that it might be dangerous to do so. After a long time of silence, I heard a crashing noise coming from the main room, a repeated sound like something expensive and fragile breaking, followed by a muffled thud and Erik's broken sobbing.

Oh God, what had he done? Remy was only ever kind to him, and this was how he repaid her. How she must despise him now, how she must wish to be gone! But did it matter? She would have left anyway; he never expected her to stay for any extended amount of time. He could tell himself that he didn't want her to stay with him, that he preferred to be alone, but always in the traitorous recesses of his mind was the hope that she might somehow be persuaded to remain here with him. Now all that hope was gone. He would not be surprised at all if she were only staying in her room until she thought it was safe to escape: if she were planning now how best to leave without having to come in contact with him again. Even now he could hear her sobbing quietly.

He picked his mask up off the ground, and it seemed to stare at him through its empty eye, and accuse him of every horrible thing he had ever done. The darkness and pain that she had so briefly warded away came swirling back, filling his soul with helpless despair. He felt the guilt and loneliness threatening to drive him back to the edge of suicide that she had pulled him away from, and suddenly, all he wanted was to feel real, physical pain, in hopes that it would drown the anguish of his mind.

He stalked over to the large, velvet-draped mirror, and lifted the covering with trembling hands. All he could see was the horror of his disgusting face looking back at him, like something pulled from the grave. Before even thinking, he hurled the mask at it, raising a small snake of cracks down the center. But he could still see himself clearly on either side of the break, and in despair he raised both of his hands and slammed them into the mirror, over and over again until the glass fell out of the frame and embedded itself into his hands, so that with every blow it dug deeper in and left smears of blood on the remains of the mirror.

When he finally had destroyed his accursed reflection, he fell to the ground sobbing, covering his hideous face with his bloody hands, wishing that Death would come and claim him, to spare him the indignity of killing himself.

I rose slowly from my bed and tucked the gun into my sash, creeping forward to make sure that the sound of weeping was not just my imagination; it was not. From the top of the stairs I could see Erik kneeling brokenly on the floor with his hands over his face. As I drew closer, I kept one hand on the gun, but I knew that he would not try to hurt me again. In the dim light, I could make out streaks of darkness running through his fingers and down his hands. With a shock, I realized that it was blood.

"Erik, what have you done?" I whispered. He heard me, low as my voice was, and raised his head to look at me. His face looked like something from a nightmare: twisted, distorted and covered in thick dripping blood.

"Don't come near me! Don't...just stay away...don't touch me!" His voice quivered and he sounded half-mad.

"I'm not going to harm you, I just want to help..."

"And do you think I deserve it?" He raised tortured eyes to mine. "After what I've done?"

"Everyone deserves forgiveness." I stated, with more strength than I felt. "Now let me see your face." I crouched down to see his face better, and to my great relief, it was not the source of the blood.

"I'm sorry..I'm so sorry...please..." He whispered, his voice full of regret and unshed tears, as he stretched his hands out to take mine, then withdrew them quickly, but not before I saw the ragged edges of torn skin that marred them, and the sharp pieces of glass protruding from his palms.

"It's all right, I promise." I reassured him, holding him gently by his wrists and encouraging him to stand up. When he did so, I led him to the bench of the organ, where there was the most light, and instructed him to wait. He nodded, his breathing irregular and strained.

I ran back to my room, where I had left the extra bandages that he had given me at the beginning of our brief and somewhat painful acquaintance. I also picked up the bowl of water from my night stand and a soft cloth. When I returned, he was sitting motionless on the bench, facing the organ now, just staring blankly at the scribbled notes of music on the cream colored paper.

I sat beside him, and used the cloth to wipe the blood off his face, then took one of his hands in mine; it was a sad sight, torn and bleeding.

"I'm sorry Erik, but I need to take the glass out, and I fear it is going to hurt." He didn't respond, so I went ahead, washing the worst of the blood off so that I could see the wounds more clearly, and gently began pulling out shards of glass.

It was painstaking work, and my eyes began to hurt, but Erik sat unflinching, even when I extracted a particularly large, painful-looking piece. I could feel his eyes gazing at the top of my head, and I wished that he would say something, anything, just so I would know that he was alright. But the silence dragged on as I bent over this broken man's broken hands, and tears began slipping unbidden down my cheeks. Just as I removed the last shard of glass, a few lonely tears dripped down my nose and onto his torn hands, where they mixed with the blood. I prayed he would not notice, but he pulled his hand out of my grasp, and gingerly placed it on my chin, raising my head up so that he could see my eyes.

"Remy, why...what's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing at all!" I faked a smile and wiped my eyes. "Just..working in this light...must be hurting my eyes...it's really nothing."

"But you...you were crying." His eyes were watching my face intently, and I knew my less than convincing excuse had not fooled him.

"I just...I hate to think that I was the cause of this." I admitted. "I mean, if I had never come here, if I had never intruded the way I did, you would be...well, better. I should not have spoken as freely as I did. Now give me your hand, I need to bandage it before you loose more blood."

He let go of my chin, but the place where his hand had rested seemed to stay warm long after his touch was gone. We were both silent as I finished my work, wrapping the white gauze around his hands until the blood no longer flowed through.

When I let his hands drop, he bent down to retrieve the mask he had thrown in his rage, and placed it back onto his face. Then he stared at the broken mirror, tracing one long finger down the gilt frame, lost in thought.

A/N: I wonder what he's thinking...actually, I know what he's thinking cuz I already wrote the next chapter. But if you want to find out, you'd better review...