A/N: I am upholding my promise to you all by attempting to update at least one story, once time per week. So far so good. Anyways, please enjoy this chapter, and let me know what you think!

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I dreamt of Summer

Her eyelids fluttered softly as her mind drifted into dreams that were split between darkness and light. She walked in a field of everlasting sunlight, and he appeared before her, kneeling in the long yellow grass. She did not rush to him, but instead traced her feet forward in small, graceful movements; he was waiting for her here, in this warm place where the sky felt endless and alive. She reached out to touch his shoulder as he looked up at her, unmasked, his eyes glimmering against the heat of the sun. "You came back," he murmured, settling a large hand over hers. "You came back for me."

Christine sat up in bed, her arm outstretched with fingers that now held nothing but empty air. His hand had disappeared along with the warmth of the field, and the gentle tendrils of grass that had brushed against her naked skin. She paused, sighing as she dropped her hand back to her side, while a piercing sting prickled up and down her flesh – the tiny bites that the rosebush had left upon her. She laid back down into the silken sheets, her eyes following the subtle movements of another miniature chandelier on the ceiling. It was made up of uneven fragments of colored glass, and the sunbeams caught every piece through the large window, allowing each shard to cast a different, rippling shadow. It was as if the ocean breathed upon the walls, and she was deep inside of its motherly cavern, rocking her back and forth while it clinked a lonesome melody.

Christine sat up again slowly, trying not to wince at the pain that shot through her arms and legs. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep in his arms, right after he had administered the morphine…

She flushed with embarrassment. He now knew that she was nothing but a gangly, frenzied addict – someone who needed cocaine and liquor to survive this treacherous life that surrounded her, that crushed her; if only she could make him understand, if only she could just explain that she had died long ago, when the air was warm around her, and her father's life crumbled before her very eyes.

"But will you come back to me?" She whispered to herself, padding over to a silver painted vanity on the far side of the room. Her hair was half dried, and it fell down her back like old blood – darkened, twisted, and utterly repulsive. She frowned at her reflection, wiping away smeared eye makeup with both hands, her head already pounding from the twenty-four hour bender she had been on. "Fuck," she breathed, knowing she needed her backpack that she had left at Athena's, yet she didn't want to leave his house. Not just yet.

After making herself as presentable as possible, Christine wandered out of the decadent room and down a hallway, finding a set of wide, glass stairs in the middle of the balcony-like bannister. She descended quietly, listening for any sound that would betray his presence, her heart screaming out from inside of her when she heard distant clinking.

She stopped herself near the bottom, steadying her breathing and holding her arms to her chest. But before she could begin to find the source of the sound, an enormous spotted shape slid right in front of her, growling and snapping at her feet. Christine ran halfway back up the stairs, cursing the beast for making her presence known. She heard footsteps heading her way, and she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping the monster wouldn't nab her already scabbed up flesh with its long, pale teeth…

"Leia! Come here this instant," a stern, female voice rang throughout the house, echoing as the dog drooped her head and hesitantly obeyed. A stocky, middle-aged woman appeared at the bottom of the staircase, her brown hair braided into a large bun near the crown of her head.

"Oh, dear," the woman exclaimed, rushing up the stairs and kneeling in front of Christine. "I'm terribly sorry, love; Leia is quite the protector," she said through a smile, offering a hand to help Christine up from the corner of the staircase. Christine tentatively grasped the woman's hand, confused as to who she was, and what she was doing in Erik's darkened fortress.

"I don't think she likes me very much," Christine sighed, releasing the woman's hand once she was standing again. The woman chuckled, shaking her head as she descended the staircase.

"Oh, she barely even tolerates me. The only one she really loves is Erik." Christine paused at the mention of his name, following the woman all the way to the kitchen. There were heavy canvasses stacked everywhere, and many of the great stone walls were barren, but light filtered in through the vaulted ceilings through clear skylights, reminding her of the dream in the field. Of his voice when he had sang to her, and his gentle tone coaxing her continuously to breathe…to match his every breath. And then he repeated it into one, long symphony…and the anxiety had faded away, like ashes thrown into the sea.

"Is he…is he here?" Christine stood anxiously in front of a marble island in the middle of the kitchen, watching the woman return to her work, which seemed to be a mixture of cleaning and chopping vegetables. The woman looked up at her and smiled again, shaking a finger in Christine's direction.

"I knew he'd find a woman at some point! Oh, I've been telling him to stop working too much, but does he ever listen to me? Absolutely not! Better to just keep my mouth shut and pray for him. Oh, that man needs a thousand prayers, I swear…"

Christine had to bite the inside of her lip to stop the onslaught of questions she was dying to ask. She settled for the simplest one she could think of, twisting her bandaged hands behind her back as she swayed slightly.

"I didn't realize…I didn't know that someone else lived here…besides that mean old dog."

"Ha! Oh, my dear, I'm only here for a couple hours in the morning, cleaning and doing laundry. I'm his housekeeper, and a damn good one at that. He's despicable, throwing clothing everywhere, leaving empty glasses for me to pick up – though he does pay me well, I'll give him that…" the woman shook her head, scooping some of the diced vegetables into a glass container. "He's so temperamental, that one…it gives me joy to see he's finally found someone! Oh heavens, my manners…what is your name, dear?"

The pounding in her head grew heavier with each passing minute, and a vague dizziness washed over her as she gripped the side of the island to steady herself.

"I'm Christine, and…is there any liquor I could have, a drink, possibly? My head, it's…it's splitting in two."

The woman raised both of her eyebrows, but then nodded, muttering to herself as she bustled out of the kitchen. "Drinking in the morning, my goodness, he really knows how to pick them…"

"I'm not…well, I'm not with him. I just…happened to drop in last night." Christine explained hastily, settling herself into a chair near the island. The woman came back into the kitchen with an elegant glass decanter filled with dark brown liquid.

"Should I make you a drink, dear? You don't look well," the woman set the decanter down, snatching a rocks glass from beside the sink and filling it halfway. She set it in front of Christine who drank from it greedily, ignoring the burning sensation that dribbled all the way down into her stomach.

"Does Erik…possibly have a medicine cabinet? He gave me something last night for sleep, and…and I'm not feeling well," Christine poured the rest of the drink into her mouth, swallowing lightly as she tested out the blatant lie – hopefully the housekeeper won't mention this to him… "And your name…what is your name?" She asked quickly, trying to divert the woman's attention as fast as possible. The woman stopped chopping vegetables and wiped both hands on her apron, frowning at the empty glass in front of Christine.

"It's Eleanor, dear…and yes, I believe he does, but…I never rummage through his things. He'd be quite cross with me if I did…of course, unless it needs tidying…"

"He told me it was all right," Christine lied through a smile, tapping a finger on the rim of the glass. "Is it in his bathroom? And while I get what I need, do you think you could refill me?" She hopped down from the chair, her heart giddy with the excitement of the high she was about to drift upon – if he had morphine, he was bound to have other things, surely…She would take only a little of what she needed, and would bring whatever it was back to him when she…

Christine swallowed. Did he even want her here again?

The look on Eleanor's face made her pause in the kitchen doorway. "Are you positive, my dear? He is very selective about his bedroom…Lord, I never even get to cleaning it until he trashes it," she shook her head, eyeing Christine suspiciously. Christine blinked, conjuring up another lie – it was only two, tiny little lies, wasn't it?

"He told me if I felt sick to find medicine in his bathroom. I don't need to go into his bedroom, I just need the medicine cabinet." She smiled, turning on her heels quickly and heading toward the staircase before Eleanor called out after her. "Christine, dear…you must go through the bedroom to get to the bathroom. Are you sure he – "

"Oh yes, Eleanor, I'm sure! Don't worry, I'll be out of there before you know it!" Ignoring the mutterings of Eleanor's worried response, she scaled the staircase in an all-consuming frenzy. Once she reached the hallway, she walked toward the only door that was shut, trying the smooth handle with both hands, hoping it would give way to his room. The door was quite heavy, but she was able to pull it open just enough to slip through the crack. Christine found herself in the midst of a large, dark room, filled with a massive, ebony four-poster bed. Her mouth fell open at the mayhem of it all; clothes and shoes were scattered everywhere, candles were half melted upon every mahogany surface, and a couple unique electric guitars leaned against amps that had the screens punched out. She meandered over to the bed, discovering scarlet colored ropes that were tied to each bedpost…and a mirror that was fashioned on the ceiling, right above the mattress of the bed.

"Oh my, Erik…" She whispered, running a hand along the rustled, silken sheets, "You have delectable taste…" She saw a small pool of dried blood in the middle of the sheets and shrank back, staring at it incredulously. "Do you enjoy stealing virginities?" She murmured darkly, turning around to survey the rest of the room. Another rectangular mirror was posted above a long, smooth dresser, riddled with various kinds of facemasks. She recognized the half white one, but unearthed a few others; one that was full faced and the color of blood, and another that was completely black.

"What are you hiding with these? What could possibly be on the other side of that handsome face?"

Christine pulled open a drawer. It was crammed with wide, spiral bound books, some of them already opened with pages ripped out – it was sheet music, with penmanship that was anything but neat and tidy – she smiled to herself, snatching a smaller booklet and tucking it under her arm. "I'll just borrow this…so that I can see you again," she said in a low voice, following the path of rumpled clothing until she reached another doorway. Christine pushed it open – it was made of thick, swirled glass – and gasped aloud when she saw the contents of his bathroom. "Fuck…"

The bathroom was made of obsidian stone, with tiny veins of gold running through the walls and ceiling like trickles of water. It was big enough to be its own bedroom, with a large walk in closet to the right, and a white leather chair poised just outside of it. A tall, golden hookah was stashed near the chair, with ashes spilled in piles around it's glassy bottom. Leather boots and shoes were piled everywhere, and hair products and cologne were haphazardly crowding the counter by the sink. As she walked further inside, her eyes widened at the amount of empty syringes that were scattered across the entire room; around the base of the toilet, the black marble-countertop, the reservoir of the sink…

A cabinet above the toilet was already left wide open, and she moved through more piles of clothing and empty liquor bottles, kneeling upon the toilet to rummage through the cabinet. He had every single type of drug there was; morphine, painkillers, ecstasy, sedatives, cocaine…and a miniature tin box that was hidden upon the highest shelf. Christine pried it open with shaking hands, her eyes feasting upon the forbidden contents that lay inside – the very face of God himself – a good bit of black tar heroin.

She wavered for a moment, wondering if he would notice that it was gone – but again, reality prickled at her insides, reminding her that she could get it anytime, really…that she needn't steal it from him, but perhaps she could ask – the next time she saw him.

Christine grabbed the tied baggie of cocaine, pulling it apart with trembling hands, with eyes so wide they could have ripped her face open. Her smile was already growing, for she already knew the sweet taste it would bestow upon her lips – succulent and numb, arduous and exhilarating – just like the man, Erik, had made her feel…

Just like when she had dreamt of him during summer.

She found a loose dollar bill on the ground, and used its edges to make four long lines upon the dark marble; her fingers shaking so badly that she had to clench her tongue between her teeth to focus. The first line went down smoothly, and she drank from the faucet to conceal the drip…the second one was even better, for her heart rate began to pick up, and her headache began to fade away, as did her fears of Erik disliking her, of not wanting her…

She grinned at herself in the mirror. Oh, I'll make him want me. Rubbing a finger into the fine powder, she shoved it inside of her mouth, rubbing it all along her gumline, and inside of each cheek. Tonight when I come back, you'll have no idea what hit you, you Devil…I want those ropes around my wrists.

The third line came and went. Her eyes were like twin droplets of ocean, and she could almost fall through the mirror, their depth was so great…why hadn't she ever noticed how beautiful she was?

The fourth line was spent, and she suckled at the faucet, her shoulder blades aching and stinging as wings grew from her flesh once more, spreading out like a deep, blue-black darkness that lived within her, even still. Her wings pushed aside his clothing, his rotting syringes, his sadistic desires that she now had begun to crave…

It was time to go back to Athena's, to shower and dress, to explain to her manager that she was injured and couldn't perform tonight. Oh, what was one missed performance anyway? Fans would understand – they were human, of course, weren't they? They could easily find a bar that played her music through gigantic speakers, they could still quell their nasty habits, their thirst for her half-naked body on stage. Christine laughed softly, touching a hand to her face in the mirror. She would lounge all day, staying as high as she possibly could, with rounds of liquor to keep her heart from bursting…

She would wait until the sun began to set.

And she would return to him once more.

…

A/N: Trouble brews upon the horizon…stealing is never a good second impression…Excited to hear what you think! Any comment, large or small is precious to me. Thank you for reading! Love, L.