Author's Note: Dropping this chapter while I still don't have classes.

Kawaii-Shishiza: Thank you so much! I feel so valid in my portrayal of Erik after your kind review!

( thirty-nine )

DISTORTIONS

When Erik showed up in the middle of the night outside her window, Jovan's first instinct was to believe that something was wrong.

He had established a long time ago that he rarely left the Opéra Populaire and when he did so, it was always long past midnight. But it was only nearing ten in the evening when she saw the dark figure tapping gently on the window of the room she was staying in. Had Jovan not noticed the white mask at once, she would have immediately ran out of the room to tell the owner of the pub that there was a trespasser. But it was only Erik in his black cloak, and Jovan composed herself the moment she recognized him.

Jumping off her bed, Jovan was grateful that she had yet to bathe and change into her nightclothes; she was still wearing breeches and a blouse that was fully untucked. Rushing to her window, her deft hands unlocked it as she stared at her unexpected visitor incredulously. "Erik, what are you doing here?"

He gracefully leapt inside her room before Jovan sealed her window shut. While her room was only on the second room of the guest house, it still amazed her to think that Erik had found his way up to her room with much ease. He was truly a man full of surprises. But there was no time to dwell on that when her anxiety only grew upon hearing his words.

"You need to come to the opera house, Jovan," Erik announced. His voice almost came out in a growl and there was unmistakable anger lacing his tone, but it was tempered by his stare when she turned to him. Candlelight captured the amber and green of his eyes in its glow, and Jovan saw in his gaze something that made her heart race — dread.

There were many things that ran through her mind upon hearing his remark, most of them terrible thoughts as Erik's words awoke her panic. They had agreed two days ago that it was best that she stop coming to the Populaire once rehearsals resumed, so as to minimize any chances of her encountering Rémi, but now it was Erik who had come to her and at a most unexpected time too. Either he had urgent news to give her, or something bad had happened.

"What happened?" Her voice was barely above a whisper when Jovan spoke. Already, she feared what his next words were going to be.

"It's Mateo," came his reply, and Jovan's heart sank. "Something has happened to him and—"

"Erik, is he okay?"

A pause. Erik's hesitation spoke volumes. "No. Jovan, you need to see him."

It was a nightmare come true, one of her worst dreams come to life. There was no other way to describe the horror that possessed her after Erik relayed to her the events of the night as they rushed to the Opéra Populaire under the cloak of night.

The small infirmary was dark, except for a candelabra beside the only occupied bed, when Jovan arrived. Madame Giry was seated on a chair next to the patient with a shawl on her shoulders, and Jovan ran towards the ballet headmistress the second she recognized her in the darkness.

Her hurried footfalls echoed in the infirmary as she ran. The sound caused Madame Giry to look in Jovan's direction before she rose from her chair. "Jovan! Thank God—"

"What happened to him?" Jovan demanded, her voice wavering and betraying the fear that she was desperately trying so hard quell. While Madame Giry struggled for words, Jovan approached the bed and looked upon the person lying on it.

"Mateo?" she whispered, choking out a gasp when she saw his still and battered body.

Bandages covered his forehead and there were gauzes on his nose and cheeks, all stained with his own blood. His lip had burst open as well and one of his eyes was swollen shut, but that was only the least of the damage done to him. Jovan tried to stifle her horrified gasp when her eyes fell on his hands. They were bandaged as well, but his fingers... Dear God, his fingers. They were no longer straight and were left pointed in unnatural angles that looked far more painful than any injury she had seen before.

"What... what happened?" Jovan asked. Her eyes brimmed with tears as she tried to fathom just how much pain Mateo was in. It could only be excruciating.

She felt Madame Giry sidle up to her, quiet and solemn as a ghost. "He was found behind the opera house," she explained in hushed tones. "He... he was attacked but by whom, we've yet to know. The doctor said to expect some bruising and—"

"But his hands, Madame Giry," Jovan cried out as she stared at Mateo who was still lost to the conscious world. His hairline was also matted with drying blood, and Jovan's fingers shook when she reached out to touch his brown curls. "H-he can't work— he won't be able to w-with these injuries—"

Her words began to escape her in stutters and Jovan only stopped when she felt Madame Giry's hand on her shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze. But it didn't stop the tears that began to fall in spades, nor did it stop the sob that left her lips. A coldness had seized her body that left her numb and trembling at the same time. Mateo had been deeply hurt and, worse, it was her fault.

"Doctor Gabin tried his best but this kind of injury isn't his specialty. He went out now to try and send word to an orthopedic surgeon not far from here who can help fix Mateo's hands." Madame Giry's explanation didn't quite reach Jovan's ears though; it was as if the world around her faded to nothing, leaving only the terror of what Mateo had gone through and who had done it.

"I'll pay for it. I'll pay for all the expenses," she then declared, not an ounce of hesitation in her words or her voice. Surgery for such a grave injury did not come cheap and Jovan knew that. She looked at Madame Giry as if to seek her approval, but the ballet headmistress looked unsure herself.

Jovan didn't care though. She had Laurine's money and after that, she would soon have access to her own family's wealth as well, wealth that she had inherited after her father's death. It was the least she could do for Mateo. He hadn't needed to suffer as he had, not when he didn't even know a single thing from Jovan's past. This was never supposed to happen.

"I'm sorry." Her voice was like a child's when she dropped to her knees beside Mateo's bed. It was all she wanted to say to him even if he wouldn't be able to understand. Her fingers shook as she laid them lightly on his shoulder, unsure if it was to comfort herself, or to stupidly comfort Mateo who was unaware that Jovan was even there in his unconscious state.

"I'm so sorry, Mateo," Jovan's voice quietly echoed again and this time, she was unable to stop her tears from falling.

In the quietness of the infirmary, Jovan cried all that she could until her tears would no longer come.

Erik had told her to meet him in Box Five when she was done with Mateo.

When she arrived in front of the door of the box, Jovan took a moment to compose herself first. She dried her eyes and her lashes with her hands then drew in a deep breath to steady herself. She knew that there would be much to discuss once she was through the door.

It was unlocked when her hand settled on the knob and turned it. The door swung open in obedience, but when she stepped foot inside Box Five, only darkness greeted her. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dark and it was only after a few blinks that she was able to make out the outline of a man seated on one of the red velvet chairs inside. He was hunched over, his elbows on his knees while his chin rested on his hands.

"It's all my fault," Erik said in the dark, his voice quiet but heavy. The sadness that tinged it struck Jovan as she closed the door behind her; she was beginning to have an inkling of the gravity of how tonight affected him. Earlier, he had told her her of how he found Mateo near the sewers at the back of Opéra Populaire, but only after spending more than a good hour searching the streets around the opera house to look for him after he'd gone out with several stagehands. He had told her of seeing Boucher, Rémi's servant, interrogate some of the opera staff under the pretense of being struck by her beauty during the Masquerade, and of how Mateo came to her defense. Erik had told her of being away for only a few minutes so he could do his daily rounds in the opera house, only to learn later that while he was away from the crew, Mateo had already slipped away like smoke into the night. And the rest was history.

Jovan could only stare at him as she stood in place a few feet away from him. Her gaze was blank as her mind was still seemingly stuck in limbo from the shock of what happened tonight, clouded by fear and anger but also heavy with grief. It was all just too much that she couldn't even muster a proper reaction for Erik, despite the sympathy and concern she had for him. She knew Erik so well now after all these years, and she had no doubt that he was beating himself up for what transpired tonight. But Jovan also knew that wallowing in self-pity wasn't going to help either of them. Yes, it was them, because Jovan also blamed herself for what happened to Mateo.

If only she had come with Rémi as he originally asked her to do... then none of them would have to worry about anything right now. If only...

"We're not going to get anywhere if we both stay like this." When she spoke, her husky voice was more gruff than usual. But she was careful to keep her voice gentle and somewhat firm so as to carefully shake Erik out of his thoughts. Jovan wished she could offer him words of comfort, but her heart and mind simply couldn't conjure them up in the moment, not when she was trying so hard not to crumble right there and then.

"But I gave you my word."

"And I've been stalling for far too long. We can only do so much against someone like Rémi."

Erik's eyes were still lowered to the ground as if he couldn't bear to look at her at the moment. It stirred the pain in her chest once more, seeing Erik so defeated in the dark. But it also only gave her more reason to remain composed. One of them had to be.

She let out a slow exhale. "You're only human too, Erik," Jovan said. "I know you portray yourself as this infallible and frightening specter who has eyes and ears everywhere, but you're not. I never expected you to be able to watch every single member of the staff when such is beyond your abilities. You are not a god."

When she was done speaking, Erik still had his eyes on the floor. The masked side of his face was turned to Jovan, leaving her unable to read whatever expression on his face. It was as if he was truly locking himself away from her, and the mask that was already a barrier between Jovan and the part of himself that he hated the most was now also shield from her at the moment, meant to protect himself so that he wouldn't have to be vulnerable in front of Jovan.

She faltered when she realized all of this. What more, Erik was still silent. Her heart throbbed painfully at his subtle rejection.

"Please say something, Erik," she begged, her voice a mere whisper.

A beat passed before he finally spoke. "Mateo will most likely be dismissed. The opera house is no longer a place he can work in, not with his injuries."

Jovan tried not to be disappointed with his reply; of course he wouldn't talk about himself. What did she expect? And what more, why did it seem as if her heart was more concerned for Erik than Mateo when the latter was the one who had been in danger tonight? Why had she been disappointed when Erik answered her, only to bring up Mateo's condition?

Her eyes fell to the carpeted floor of the box as shame welled up inside her.

"How long will it take for Mateo's hands to heal?" Jovan asked. In spite of how much of a mess her emotions were right now, nothing changed the fact that she still feared for Mateo. Something told her though that she would not like the answer to her own question.

"I'm no doctor, Jovan." Finally, Erik lifted his head and his gaze from the ground. For the first time since she arrived at Box Five, Jovan felt Erik's eyes land on her in the darkness. "But bones take very long to heal, especially broken ones. And the damage to his nerves... it might take years."

Jovan tried not to grimace at Erik's words, but she felt her stomach roll with fright anyway. She was no stranger to fear but the terror that had seized her tonight was of a different kind. It was one thing to be scared for herself, but to be scared for someone like Mateo who was ultimately powerless against someone like Rémi...

Yes, that was right. This was Rémi's doing.

The second that Jovan's mind registered the thought, her fear slowly trickled away to give way to something just as potent. Rage. Finally, the fog vanished from her mind and the very first emotion to take control of her was red, burning anger.

"It was him, wasn't it?"

Her fury palpable when Jovan spoke. It was in the scathing edge of her deep voice, almost sharp enough to cut someone. It gave a bite to the question she had asked so calmly, but the vicious anger was there, hiding beneath her words like a serpent under a flower.

The tone of her voice caused Erik to straighten his posture on the seat he was on as he angled his entire upper body towards Jovan.

"Rémi," he then confirmed for her.

Silence occupied the air in the box for a moment as she let the sound of her uncle's name hang in the space between her and Erik. Rémi, who had done nothing but cause her pain at every turn in her life, far too much suffering that someone like her shouldn't have gone through. She'd had everything that she could possibly want in life — wealth, beauty, a title, a loving family, a sizable inheritance — everything to guarantee that she wouldn't want for little else. Yet despite all of it, Rémi had still managed to drag her to the lowest point imaginable, to a place that she could only compare to hell itself. And now, though she had long escaped him and evaded him until recently, everything was coming down to crash on her again and it was all of because of him.

Was there truly no escape from him?

Her voice came out in a snarl when Jovan spoke again. "I never should have let Mateo get close to me."

"What do you mean?" came Erik's immediate reply and the concern in his tone didn't go unmissed.

"I should have kept my distance!" She could no longer control her anger as her voice rose to a shout. "Mateo didn't choose to be hurt, he didn't choose to be in this mess. It's all my fault. If — if only he never met me... he never would have approached Boucher. He never... I never should have let him get close!"

"That was not your choice to make, Jovan."

"Erik, Mateo doesn't even know why he was hurt!" Every inch of her body now shook with anger she could barely control, anger that was both directed at Rémi and herself. "I don't... I don't even t-think I can tell him why..."

It was that exact second that Erik rose from his seat and approached Jovan. Her back met the door as she leaned against it and she buried her face into her hands. No tears came from her eyes but a scream of anguish left her lips, only to be muffled by her own hands and Erik suddenly holding her against his chest. Her mind didn't even immediately process him; it was only after her throat ached and a sob replaced her scream that she realized that Erik's arms were wrapped tightly around her, one gloved hand on the back of her head.

"You can't, Jovan. If Mateo learns of the truth about you and the Populaire's patron, it will only give Rémi more reason to finish what he started tonight," Erik remarked, his voice soft but also hollow as merely held Jovan in place. There was no warmth or comfort in his tone when he spoke, and it was the last straw that pushed tears to Jovan's eyes as it dawned on her just how truly defeated Erik was tonight.

It was past midnight when Erik found himself back at his lair after he had made sure that Jovan was safe and sound back at the pub.

His hat and his scarf came off first as he hung them up on his rack, followed by his cloak then his jacket and gloves. Layer by layer, he slowly took off his clothes with movements that almost felt robotic as if Erik himself were somewhere else, too occupied to bother with the mundane task of undressing. Maybe that was truly the case though as his thoughts were still fogged over by the events of tonight, his mind too bogged down to form a single coherent thought now that he was all alone. Or, perhaps, this was what denial felt like.

He unbuttoned his waistcoat but left it merely hanging open before he walked to his organ. Seating himself down in front of it, the weariness weighing him down suddenly became all the more evident. Erik wanted nothing more than to slip into unconsciousness where he would be lost to oblivion, but sleep almost always came with the promise of nightmares, and he'd had enough of facing demons and villains today, whether they were his own or not.

Today had truly been far from the best, but it wasn't because of what happened to Mateo, but rather what Erik had to confront in himself.

The bench screeched when he suddenly rose from it. Walking away from his organ, Erik marched angrily in his cavernous home until he reached a large mirror propped against the wall, a good portion of it hidden by a mass of red, thick fabric. Pulling the curtain away with one motion of his arm, his reflection greeted him in the dust-covered surface of the mirror, gleaming in the soft candlelight.

Erik inched closer to the mirror until he was mere inches away from it. He had never been fond of his reflection — how could he when his own mother couldn't even bear to look at him since he came to this world? — but he found himself staring at his eyes anyway, an unnerving pair of differently-colored orbs that only served to emphasize how abnormal he was. An abomination of nature, a monster. And tonight, Erik had once again proven that he truly deserved to be called as such.

His fingers were steady when he raised them to touch his mask. Cool porcelain met his skin as he gently pulled it away from his face. Erik had his eyes on the ground the entire time, and it was only when the mask was fully off his face and he felt the air on his marred skin did he dare to raise his gaze to the mirror.

He met his reflection again but, this time, there were no barriers to separate the Opera Ghost from the Devil's Child, no illusions of grandeur or vanity. There was only a monster in the mirror.

He stared at his own face with his deformity in full, plain sight, the part of Erik that had damned him to a life in the shadows. The right side of his face was horrifically scarred by skin that was gnarled and twisted in far worse ways than scars could ever do, and there was a patch of skin missing on the area of his forehead until his temple. Instead, the layer beneath was exposed, but the tissue had now long scarred over. What little normal skin that was left on his right side was dry as parchment too, the result of the skin being unable to breathe beneath his mask. That didn't make the sight of his own face any easier to bear though, and completing the look of living death was the missing half of his nose, scarred skin and a partly exposed bone standing in its place.

No wonder his own mother turned him away. No wonder the circus master locked him up in a cage.

Jovan's words then came rushing back to him, of a tale she had woven where he was a fallen angel. Erik almost sighed at the mere thought of Jovan herself, his dear poet who had been foolish enough to paint him as something as beautiful as an angel who was thrown out of heaven when he was the farthest from such a creature. An angel? He deserved no such title, not when he couldn't even protect Mateo, or even have the pleasure of giving Christine courtesy without being punished.

It was was he had been so angry tonight. Erik had dared to steal ten minutes for himself where he could live up to his mask as the Angel of Music, complete with kindly letting his pupil know that he had another errand tonight. He had only desired to conduct courteousness, unwilling to leave Christine in the dark without any explanation as to why they weren't having their lesson tonight as promised. He had only sought to share his gift, to share his love for music and ensure that Christine would bloom under his guidance. He had only taken a mere ten minutes to show someone that deep down, he was still a human who truly cared about his promises.

But in the end, Erik was only punished for it. Punished for trying and daring to prove that beneath the distortion on the surface, he was not as monstrous as he had been taught to believe all his life.

He was no angel, nor was he even a fallen one. He was nothing but a selfish creature who deserved every scar and flaw that his body bore.

Walking away from the mirror, Erik placed his mask down on his desk upon reaching it. He rested his hands at the edge of the rosewood as he hunched his lean physique over the desk, eyes lazily drifting across the objects on top of it. There was nothing but a numbness in his bones as his mind failed to process the handwriting on pieces of parchment scattered on his desk. His empty stare went over a few books haphazardly left there too, as well as his inkwell and his quill and an empty glass that used to contain absinthe and—

Erik's eyes stopped when they landed on the delicate white fabric of lace resting near the corner of his desk. It took him a second to recognize that it was the pair of gloves he was making for Jovan. They lied half-unfinished near some parchment, the snow-like lace standing out from the rest of his belongings. Seeing them stirred something in Erik as he felt himself sober up. Clarity slowly trickled back into his veins. He reached for the gloves and took them in his hands.

The lace was soft against his calloused fingers as he stared at the patterns on the cloth. Until that moment, Erik's exhaustion had been enough to suppress all his anger, hatred, and sorrow that were simmering beneath a fragile facade of dead calm. But when the memory of Jovan crying once more returned to his mind, the knowledge that he was the cause behind it and Jovan didn't even know how, something in Erik cracked.

The fabric of the gloves were crushed in his palm as he clenched his hand into a tight fist. Numbness was pleasant, familiar to riding the high of morphine, but the fiery anger that came rushing into veins was far better. When everything else failed, Erik could always trust his rage, and he became slave to it once more as his feet led him to the small hearth in his home.

There was a small fire roaring on the coals when he stopped before it. Flames hungrily licked the air in their savage dance. There was no hesitation when Erik unfurled his fist before throwing into the fire the lace gloves he held. The inferno instantly caught it and hungrily devoured the white fabric and Erik watched entranced by the act of destruction. It happened fast and he couldn't even see the ashes left. Not a trace of the white lace was left though, only the tongues of the flames that continued to burn bright before him.

Erik once wished to be as powerful and dangerous as fire, when he was a child who witnessed the gypsies in the traveling circus dancing with fire. They paraded the flames with such ease and grace but still all too aware of the scorch should it touch their skin. But now that he was older and he knew better, Erik no longer had the desire to be the fire. He had no wish to be the trick, the sword to be wielded, the flame to be played with by men. No. Erik was the trickster, the wielder, the magician. He was all of that and so much more.

Walking back to his desk, he picked up his mask lying on the rosewood and raised it to the level of his eyes. White porcelain met amber and green as Erik stared at the accessory for a good moment before putting on it again. The mask fit him like a missing piece to a puzzle as the porcelain rested perfectly on his face. And with that, Erik was the Opera Ghost again, to be feared and to be respected like the legend that he was. The Phantom of the Opera who could give and take away, and who could play with fire without letting it burn him.

Author's Note: For anyone wondering, Erik is indeed keeping his lessons with Christine a secret from Jovan. I also thought it'd be nice to let you readers see Erik's deformity first, before Jovan and Christine ever do! I went with a mixture of Lon Chaney's, Gerard Butler's, and Ramin Karimloo's respective deformities (and a hint of Buquet's rumors). Thoughts? Let me know in a review!