Erik turned off the faucet with excessive force, the crack of the rusty metal brought him out of his moody reverie, and threw him into an entirely new one.

He stared at his large hands, long and deft fingers, wide palms. He reminisced how well they encompassed Christine's own dainty hands, small and fair, and young.

From her wide brown eyes, to her oh so innocently compassionate smile. The way she smiled at him. Very young indeed.

And he was, to put it bluntly, not. His life, and experiences, so much more developed, and hardened, than the young girl's. His soul, defiled by the vile conduct in his merciless life. His sins and trespasses, ever present in his mind and actions.

And yet she still loved him, the sweet angel, so bright and pure, loved him. He the old and hardened beast. Much the worse for wear when compared to the youthful and charming young man who loved her. Whom she should be in love with.

Biologically he was old enough to be her father, culturally he was only a couple years behind that. But he couldn't help the love that he felt for her, no matter how repulsed he should have been, how he was. Erik couldn't deny that she was a genuine beauty, the brown eyes and wild curls. Though it had been her voice that had truly captured his attention. Bright and clear as a bell, wrought with the heart and emotion of a young women. The fairer sex indeed. But there was something about her voice, the soul and heart she poured into it. When he first heard her sing, Erik swore he could hear angels falling to their knees in submission. And when she had started practicing, Erik never knew a more blissful experience than hearing her sing. Watching her perform. He was truly a selfish creature, for it always seemed as if she performed for him. The thought was both exhilarating and abhorrent.

Yes, it was her voice that had drawn him in. But her compassion, the genuine care that she felt for him. He, a gnarled man, so wholly undeserving of any kindness, let alone love, had received. This was what had made him stay, what made it impossible, painful even, to tear himself away from her tender grasp. Her angelic hold upon his soul.

Erik knew the true anguish that would decimate his heart if he retreated from the sanctuary of his lover. But was it truly any worse than the agonizing torture, the burning of his conscience , his soul, when he was reminded every day how much he lacked the justification to receive the approbation and adoration of a such beautiful woman? Of Christine.

Oh Christine! The embodiment of everything lovely and beautiful in this world. So much the saint, that she was able to bestow her love, her precious love, upon him. The sinner. Her compassion for his misdeeds, her forgiveness for his mistakes. His heart yearned for her goodness, the healing salve upon his ragged soul. But his mind, his body, these things rendered his love for her obsolete. The poison of his mind, and the frightfulness of his physicality, truly no woman would ever be able to love him. No matter how much he worshipped her, she would not even be able to repay a mere fraction of the feelings.

And yet Christine chose to be oblivious to the obvious obstacles. His past, his present, and what of his future? Doomed from the beginning to be forever alone, solitary and secluded from all normal society.

Erik gave a dark chuckle. He wouldn't even put himself into the abnormal society. They didn't know, no one could know, the true pain he had gone through. All that his soul had suffered. Christine believed that anyone could be redeemed. Erik believed that too, but he was not anyone. He was a creature from hell. Cast into the world, alone.

And suddenly he wasn't alone, there she was. His angel, his Christine. As bright as the sun, as luminous as the moon. Her eyes, sparkling with all of her youthful vivacity, staring into his own as if he was the only thing that mattered to her. Erik chased the high, the ecstasy of her love, whenever he could, but his own sense, reality, brought him crashing down every time. He knew that could never be true. No matter how much Christine wanted to fool herself. It couldn't be true.

Erik was a monster, anyone could see that. Everyone did see it. Even she had, in the beginning. But Erik had been foolish, selfish, enough to keep himself in her company. And, slowly, she had come to him. Her eyes soon looked past his appearance, her heart reconciling all of his past misdeeds. She had told him that she loved him, but Erik couldn't bring himself to believe it good. The curse of loving someone like him! How she would suffer.

Erik, the loathsome gargoyle, the un redeemable heathen. Doomed to burn in hell for his actions, to endure hell even on earth. Secretly yearning for heaven, for the unattainable angel. Desiring everything that he was sentenced against, by an invisible judge, a being who lived in the heavens no doubt. Having cursed him from birth and damned him for all eternity.

Christine wouldn't, couldn't, love him. She was a temptress, an evil pandora who had been sent simply as another manifestation of torture for poor Erik. Something he knew he would never deserve, and never obtain, the love of a woman.

But Christine was too pure for his distasteful notions, she couldn't be tricking him. No, she was only deceiving herself.

And Erik couldn't help but feel, he knew, that one day she wouldn't be able to fool herself anymore. She would walk away. And he would die.

He scoffed, furiously throwing on a dark t-shirt. He was being depressive, as usual. Christine had always chastised him for being so pessimistic. His dark smile faltered at the sudden, but all too welcome, thought of her exasperated reprobation. Her firm voice and unwavering eyes piercing into his own, her longing for him to be happy so painfully evident. Erik always felt just a bit better when she did that. She was always so kind, so loving, to him.

He repressed the clenching of his stomach, the ache in his heart, at the thought of her leaving him. He knew that he would have no choice but to take the agony, her departure, her receding love, was inevitable. And he would once again be all alone.

Becoming so caught up in his moods, Erik almost missed the soft knock on his front door. But his ever sure senses had picked it up eventually, and by the time he was at the bottom of the stairs, Christine was removing her shoes and smiling up at him.

Christine slipped off her shoes, her shoulders weighed down by the bags of groceries looped onto her arms. Erik usually appeared at the door before she even had time to open it, he must be in one of his moods again. Trapped inside his mind. Christine's heart ached for him, she knew she loved him, but it hurt her more than she could admit when he tore his loving gaze away from her own. When he fought his internal self, regarding the futility of ever believing anyone, let alone her, could love him. When she could practically hear his thoughts, torturing him, making him believe he wasn't good enough. The thought of her Erik being so miserably tortured did not make her mood any better.

She had yet again been contacted by her ex today. He simply refused to leave her alone. Christine had told him time and time again that she did not love him. Today she had finally gotten angry enough to threaten him with the possibility of a restraining order. The stress of her ex-lover and her present lover were enough to make Christine's neck ache, and her head pound. But she would take all of the pain in the world if it meant getting through to that jerk, and being with Erik.

She wasn't sure which one would be harder.

As soon as she saw a figure in black in her peripheral, for Erik was so quiet she often relied on her eyes rather than ears, Christine slapped on a smile and looked up to greet the only one who could make her happy.

As soon as she met his golden gaze, Christine found her faux smile become real, laced with the happiness of seeing him again. He smiled back at her, if only barely, and Christine decided to take what she could get. His smooth, honey eyes already seeming to dissolve her frustrations.

She approached the tall man, while balancing the bags on her arms, and met his cheek with a lingering kiss. His face flushed at her contact, his smile grew just a bit wider.

"I missed you."

Christine was sure she had been the one to whisper those words. She surely would have meant them with all her heart and soul, but it had been Erik. His melodious voice echoing through her ears, and heart, as he leaned towards her. His hands came to rest on her face, stroking the sides tenderly.

Christine felt her eyes flutter closed as she parted her lips ever so slightly. But instead of receiving another kiss, she felt his hands travel away from her face, gently brushing the side of her stomach, her arms, and finally grasping at the bags in her hands.

She pulled back with a fake pout and opened her eyes to see a playful smirk on the others face. Christine rolled her eyes and deliberately pulled away from his helping hands, making her way to the kitchen. She thought she had heard Erik mumble something underneath his breath, but she was glad that he seemed to be in a more joking mood now.

Erik had once told her that whenever he was in her presence he felt as if all his sins had been forgiven. As if his looks were nothing important. As if he could finally be happy. Christine longed to protect him from the cruelty he had suffered in the world, and himself. She longed to show him love and care, everything he had been so unfairly stripped of in his life before her.

But she was sure that Erik would never understand just how happy he made her. How utterly complete her own soul felt in his presence, and love. If Erik was a broken human before he met her, Christine was a shell of one. After her father had died, she seemed to have lost her spirit, her heart. Erik had been the one to restore her. He had been the one to give her new life, a gift from God himself. Christine felt that perhaps God had given her Erik, so that as she healed from him, he could heal from her. But Erik had never believed in a higher power, and Christine only wanted him to know how much she had benefitted from his loving her. How much he could benefit, if he only accepted her love.

Christine looked up, her smile faltering at the thoughts racing in her mind. Erik had settled into a dark stool at the large bar in his kitchen. She stood opposite him at the island where she had placed all of the groceries.

His eyes gazed at her tenderly, but whenever she met them they seemed to stumble in their longing, his internal battle raging. Christine had long grown tired of it, and she wished she knew how to make him understand.

His gaze was soon retracted, and Christine became suddenly agitated. At Erik, at the world, and at herself, for failing to be able to make him feel loved. To make him understand just how important he was to her, how she would not be able to live without him. Frowning, Christine made her way around the counter and placed herself directly in front of him.

Erik seemed slightly surprised at her intensity. Christine didn't want to make him nervous, she just wanted him to understand.

Slowly, she moved to stand in between his spread knees, her hips bumping the sides of his legs. She reached out to him and slowly placed her small cool hand on his cheek.

Christine could have come up with so many words of affection, yet even all of them couldn't compare to what she felt.

She loved him, she loved his voice. She loved his perfections, and his flaws, his music, his eyes. All of him. She loved it all.

Christine slowly trailed her hand away from his face and towards the back of his head. She stroked his dark locks tenderly, thoroughly enjoying the soft tresses between her fingers.

Christine kept her eyes on him, his golden irises molten, reflecting her own pools of chocolate back at her. Smiling softly, her left hand raised to the other side of his face, she delicately smoothed her fingers across the disfigured skin, uneven and imperfect. She watched as his eyes closed upon contact with that side of his face. She knew that he had lacked any measure of tender touches in his lifetime, she would remedy that.

Christine felt her own eyes close, her fingers glancing over every little mark in his skin, committing it to memory. Her eyes flickered open when she suddenly felt a cool wetness over her fingers.

Singular tear drops were making their way down his mangled skin, wetting his dark lashes, coming to rest upon her hand.

Christine felt her own eyes welling up, hoping, praying, that he was no longer battling with himself. That he would finally accept her love. Her ability to love him.

Finally, Christine leaned forward. His breaths, choked as they were, blowing over her face. She gently placed her forehead against his, feeling both his marred and unmarred skin at once. Both sides of him, all of him.

She used her hand to brush at the tears in his eyes, slowly she tilted her head up just far enough to press her lips against his fevered skin. She had tipped her head so that her lips were mainly on the damaged flesh. Her eyes once again fluttered closed and she squeezed them shut, willing Erik to feel every ounce of affection that she held, every bit of warmth and love, and spirit. All for him.

He was not damaged, not anymore than she was. Nor anyone. He was redeemable and loveable. Erik was Erik, and he was priceless.

The whispered words once again reached her ears in the same melodic symphony that was Erik's own voice.

"Thank you."