A/N: Here is another chapter. I am in the midst of writing the next one... all I will say is, don't let any of these events mislead you either way :)

Anywho, If you haven't already, please vote on the poll posted on my bio regarding which guy you think June should end up with :) I have a story plan, but don't wish to disappoint the majority just in case it's not what I have planned. Plus, I'm rather curious as to how this story is playing out for you guys.

Thanks again to all avid readers and reviewers... Thanks for reading.

A Welcome Distraction

June

The first odd thing I noticed as I found myself drifting out of unconsciousness was that no brain-cramps greeted me – perhaps because as I had barely recalled, they had already come and gone earlier that morning; it was just after overnight sleeps, not naps; a fact for which I was grateful…

Remnant images from the night before were swirling about in my mind, along with the haunting, poignant melody produced by the strings of a violin one minute, intertwining and replaced at times by a sweet, beautiful voice, the next.

The other peculiar thing was that I was no longer lying on the stiff settee, in Erik's drawing room; but rather, on a worn, ragged divan in the chorus dressing room. This second observation was more disappointing than the first, naturally, and immediately I hoped that I hadn't offended Erik when I clung to him desperately just before he sang my pain away!

What had I done? Of course I had offended him! And that was the reason he brought me back.

Oh, that's right! He sang for me!

I had always wondered what his voice was like! And the one time I was there so near him to hear it, I was too busy tearing at my head, convulsing like some wild animal caught in a trap!

Perhaps I wouldn't see him again? Even if it seemed he had disposed of my presence, he did sing to me for comfort, no? I didn't dare to hope. Maybe it was simply to distract me; to hypnotize me so he could carry me back to the surface and leave me here without a hitch?

Stretching the stiffness from my neck as I sat up, I glanced back at the makeshift pillow that was my neatly-folded coat: He really didn't want to leave me any excuse to seek him out, did he? I had all my belongings, and there really was no reason to make contact with him.

As I swung my feet over the side to sit upright fully, I realized that I could have very well ruined things with him. First, by asking him to play for me, and then allowing myself to get noticeably wrapped up in my hopeless fancies only to see no one else in his heart but Christine! Then, when he was beckoned to my rescue and in mere desperation, ceased my suffering with but a song, with his majestic, caressing voice. How had he known it would help?

How ironic that it was the very song that I knew had been inspired by and composed for that pretty, talented Swedish girl. But it was his voice that made the pain diminish – and perhaps, it was also the effect of his hands, gently on my shoulders, pushing me back down. When my head was on the settee's velvet pillow, my fingers had still been gripping the lapels of his jacket, those of my right hand having entwined themselves about his loosened cravat in utter distress.

Somehow, through the coaxing of his voice, he effortlessly pried my hands away from his person and in a smooth, slow, cool motion, tucked them beneath the cloak-blanket. Faintly, I recalled the soft weight of his cloak move higher to cover me fully, but the rest of this scene faded into an obscure, black void.

Oh that voice! Even its memory fills my chest with the fuzzies!

And now, it seemed that my actions, even if out of desperate need, and merely half- conscious, were unwelcome.

I should get out of here just in case someone comes…what will they think when they find me here?

Feeling rather hollow all of a sudden, I mechanically put my coat on, forcing my body to cut off any and all contact with the screaming of my pathetic heart. It was only when I reached my rental flat that it somehow managed to sneak communication to my frame because I sobbed and fell against the door, my knees buckling as my hands gripped the door-lever in a vain attempt to keep from sinking to the floor.

In Erik's company, I had successfully managed to hide the slight numbing ache in my chest but I wanted so much to release it.

I'm not going to cry. It's too early in the game…and yet…

All of this was silly, really, that as much as I wanted to have my childish daydreams realized, in one night, I was faced with the reality that perhaps I had sold my soul for mere interaction (and nothing else) with this man – this beautiful soul and enigma of a human. This man, whom I was beginning to see, was so much more than the idol to which my heart had grown attached.

The only foundation for my newfound and growing awe for Erik was nothing more than adolescent infatuation. But then why did the prospect of losing him hurt so much? And what had given me the right to expect something from him?

What made me so special, just because I cared? It was just an obsession! It had always been a stupid obsession! And I had signed away my soul – only to learn that what I had gotten was an illusion… a fanciful, elaborate mirage inspired by something I could barely make out through the murky haze of the wishes in my naïve heart.

What makes me think I even have anything to offer him?

Christine soul was a beautiful thing, and I bitterly saw that.

At this point, I was feeling useless, and quite thankful that I had no real obligations that day. Rehearsal wasn't for another two days, and decided I could shut it all out until then. Kicking off my shoes, I climbed beneath the comforting softness of the duvet, clothes and all, cocooning myself thoroughly, far beyond caring about the impending excess of wrinkles.

With the scenery of my room out of view, wrapped up in a stuffy world of the blanket, for a moment I pretended that this had all been some strange dream, and that in any minute, either my alarm would go off, or…

I could hear the door to my bedroom open with a familiar creak, followed by the padding of my mom's slippers on my carpet, and I would see her feet through a small crack of the covers, standing my the bed; about to shake me by the shoulders…

When I moved eagerly to reach out to her, I realized that I had half drifted to sleep, because it all faded, and I was back beneath the covers, my gaze focusing on its stitching.

I am now officially homesick.

Staying there, in bed for the next two days would have suited me quite well, and perhaps I would have drifted back into a happy, familiar world of the home I had left behind, if it hadn't been for the voice that interrupted, its host standing directly by my head.

"I will never understand this strange human tendency to mope and wallow in self-pity."

The words alone would have been enough to reveal whose they were, but the voice itself was more than familiar with its over-the-top, arrogant intonation.

"Go away!" I grumbled from beneath the duvet, hoping he would just vanish as quickly as he had come.

After tsking me, he switched to that reproachful tone he had used once before, though this time he added playful hint to his tone, "Is that any way to speak to someone who is about to offer you a lavish breakfast?"

I must have misheard.

Slowly, I moved the covers off of my head, but stopped directly below my eyes to peek at him. He was surprisingly close to the bed, but I was still too preoccupied with his offer for his proximity to affect me.

"Excuse me?"

"You could use a good breakfast, June. I assume you're hungry?"

"What do you want?" The words came out as more of an accusation than a question.

"To offer you breakfast."

When he saw (or perhaps read my mind to see) that this answer wasn't clear enough, he elaborated in a chilled demeanor with an explanation that immensely astonished me, "You could call it a request for a truce; I still feel badly for my behaviour that night."

It was as though the detachment in his tone had betrayed his words…

"You…feel…badly?" I echoed him in disbelief.

He gave a small, quick nod, without removing his fiery eyes from my own timid and suspecting ones. Something in them made me duck back under the covers only to shudder even though it was warm there.

"I'm not hungry, but thanks anyway."

As if on cue, as such things tend to happen at the most inconvenient times, my stomach gave a loud, growling gurgle.

"You were saying?"

I sighed, feeling defeated.

Okay, fine!

"I shall leave you to freshen up and return for you in an hour."

The covers above my head billowed slightly from his exit, and I lay there but another moment, considering that at this point, any distraction from Erik was welcome.