Disclaimer: Me? Own this? –bursts out in hysterical laughter-

"Erik? Erik are you here?" Christine called down the stairs. She hadn't seen the lanky shadow of a teen all day and it was beginning to make her a bit nervous.

You'd think you'd be used to his disappearing acts by now, she scolded herself. After all, it seems to be what he does best…

Still, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of panic on his behalf.

"Christine?" His voice floated up to her like an angel; she closed her eyes in complete relief.

"Erik! Is it all right if I come down?"

"Why not?" Was it her imagination, or did his voice sound a little rigid?

She raced down to him and before he could say a word, her arms were around him. He gave a tiny sigh, returning her fierce hug almost tiredly.

"Hey," he said quietly. "How did Geometry go?"

"Horribly," she murmured. "Where were you?"

"At home, for once." He didn't sound happy about it. She pulled back and looked up at him.

"What's wrong?"

"It isn't important." This was getting to be a mantra for him. Mentally, he screamed to her a plea: Help me! Help me! Don't let him touch me again! But what could she really do? How could she, one girl, stop a grown man from lashing out time and time again…when she couldn't even stop one stupid jock from pounding on him? And what kind of man was he, that he couldn't even stop these people from laying hands on him?

"Erik, talk to me," she pleaded, hands curling against his sweatshirt and for just a moment, he was struck with the urge to yank back his hood and reveal to her what he'd kept hidden from the world for so long…

No. She'll leave forever.

"It isn't important," he repeated softly. She shook her head.

"It is important…it's always important…when it's you." The words seemed to tumble from her lips before she could stop them. His eyes widened. Her face was moving closer, closer…

"Christine? Mom—Madame is asking for Erik. Christine, are you down there?" Meg's voice echoed off the walls, bouncing around irritatingly. Christine gave a moan of annoyance, pressing her face against Erik's chest and gripping him all the more tightly.

"I hate her sometimes," she murmured darkly. He chuckled.

"Yeah, I think we all do. Come on; don't want to keep your landlady waiting."

Christine reluctantly followed him, ignoring the longing she felt to just slam that door shut and grab Erik and crush his mouth with her own. Why does Fate hate me so much? Can't I just get a moment to myself with him?

"Christine, if you're down there, hurry the hell up. Mom's really starting to freak out."

She could see Meg at the top of the stairs, hovering as if she were afraid of entering past the gateway to what so much of the student body would probably view as Hell if they knew of its existence. The small blond girl was bobbing on her heels, acting like a lost little bird.

"What's the problem?" she called up to her friend. Meg gasped.

"Oh, good, there you are. Christine, listen, there's been an accident…look, this really doesn't look good."

"An accident?" Maybe we'll get lucky and Carlotta will have broken her leg or something… "What kind of accident?"

"The kind where a boy is beaten to a pulp and sent to the hospital. Hurry up, hurry up! Is Erik with you?"

"Yeah," he answered. "Why does Madame want to see me?"

"Because you…oh, will you hurry up? Damn, you guys are slow! Hurry the hell up!"

Rolling her eyes, Christine seized the young man's hand and raced up the remainder of the steps. "Fast enough for you?" she demanded of Meg, who shook her head.

"Not nearly. Come on, Mom's got the cops waiting."

"Cops?" Christine stopped short. "Why cops?"

"Why…weren't you listening? Geez, Christine, don't you ever pay attention?" Meg shrilled. Erik's mouth was beginning to tighten again.

"Meg, what happened?" he asked slowly, as if he doubted her ability to comprehend the human language.

"Meg, do you have them? Ah, good." Madame Giry had appeared next to her daughter, looking decidedly more disheveled than usual. Her hair was sticking up all over the place and her eyes looked skeptical and edgy. Christine had never seen her like this.

"Come on," the woman continued. "The police are waiting to question you, Erik."

"Question me?" he repeated, frowning. "What for?"

"You tell us," an unfamiliar woman cut in. She stared coldly at him. "Where exactly we you last night, young man?"

"I was at home," he answered calmly. Christine felt the tremor run through his hand even as he kept it out of his tone. She pressed closer to him.

"All night?" the male police officer pushed. Erik closed his eyes.

"No. I was with Christine and Meg and this guy Raoul for dinner."

"And these two can verify this?" the man continued.

"Yes."

The woman stepped closer. "Those are some pretty ugly bruises you've got there, son. Mind telling me where they came from?"

He licked his lips. "Raoul and I…had a disagreement."

"What sort of disagreement?"

"The kind where Raoul jumps Erik and beats the shit out of him," Meg snapped. "Why does it matter?"

"And were you angry after this took place?" the woman asked, acting as though Meg had never spoken. "Angry enough to maybe go out and find a target for yourself?"

"What? No!" Erik shook his head emphatically. "Why would I?"

"What time exactly did you get home, Erik?"

"We dropped him off at about seven thirty," Madame Giry answered for him. The woman made a note on a pad of paper.

"And did you leave the house again at any time between that time and this morning?"

Erik swallowed. "…yes. Once. Around about ten."

The man looked sharply at him. "What reason would you have for this?"

"Well, I had to get out of the house." The moment the words escaped, Erik wished he could steal them back. This was the last thing he wanted to get into.

Christine's eyes focused more intently on him. "Erik?"

"Why did you have to get out?" The woman stared at him, her eyes acting as twin lasers. He shifted.

"No reason…"

"Erik," Christine repeated more forcefully.

He sighed. "All right, fine. My father was home, all right? And my father doesn't…really get along with me."

"Why not?" the man wanted to know.

"Why not? Because the man loves his booze, okay?" Frustrated, Erik sank down in the nearest chair and massaged his face with both hands.

The female officer's expression changed from pure suspicion to suspicious sympathy. "Erik, does your father…touch you?"

"He beats me senseless, yeah." It was out. He had given up. Erik hung his head, allowing the memory of the previous night to come rushing back.

He slipped in through the back door, hoping that he could silence his footsteps enough to sneak downstairs. If he could just get down there…

"Where've you been?" his father growled.

He swallowed. "Out. With…friends."

The man laughed, a rough, callous sound that made Erik want to cry. "Friends?" he slurred. "You ain't got no friends, you stupid boy. Who'd be friends with a freak like you?"

Erik stared at the floor, determined not to rise to the bait. One step out of line and it would come, the thrashing that he almost believed he deserved.

"Wha's a-matter, Erik? Don' wanna admit your old man's right?" the man sneered. "That you're a freak? A reject? A good-for-nothing, ugly mutation? A mistake." He took another swig of beer and got unsteadily out of his chair.

Erik took a step back. "You're right, sir," he said quietly, hoping in vain that he could diffuse the man's temper before it really flared.

Too late. "You're mockin' me!" his father roared, swinging the bottle and catching his son on the chin. Erik stumbled, catching himself on a coffee table.

"Sorry!" he cried. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking!"

"Sorry don' cut it, you sorry little bastard!" Another swing of the bottle. Suddenly Erik was on the floor with no memory of getting there. He closed his eyes and tried to pretend he was somewhere else.

"What are you closing your damn eyes for, boy?" the man yelled. "Huh? You too good to look at your old man? Are you ashamed to see me?"

Yes! Erik wanted to scream. Yes, I'm ashamed! Yes, yes, yes!

"No!" he cried, trying to stand. "Of course not, Dad, no!"

"Yeah, you are! Useless waste of space!" He kicked Erik hard with a work-boot. The boy curled up for the second time that night, wishing he could escape as the shoe hit him again, in the chest, the stomach, the groin.

Breathe, he told himself. Breathe. It'll be over soon, he'll lose interest, he'll pass out, he'll die…something, anything, God, please…

"Stupid piece of shit!" the man bellowed, bringing the glass bottle down on his head again. "Stupid, useless, mutated, disfigured—"

Christine! he screamed in his mind. Christine, help me! Where are you? Where are you?

Not here, he thought back to himself. Not here, thank God. Never in a million years would he wish this Hell upon her. Not upon that sweet smile, those innocent brown eyes, that wonderful laugh.

Curling up further, he lost himself in the image of Christine Daaè. Lost himself and waited for the pain to stop.

A/N: Wow, okay, that one wasn't fun to write. Just so you know. I'm…kind of upset now. But it had to be done. And here comes the plot train, folks! About time, eh?

Review Replies:

Totschafe- Ah, cookies, good. That helps. Thanks. –smiles-

Christie- Ooh, a glomp! Those are so much fun…

erik'sangel527- Whee, a support group! –clears throat and stands up- I am Fufu and I am an E/C-aholic. ….would've been more fun if I didn't write that just after this chapter. –winces- Sorry.

SmileVampy- Kiss his boo-boos? Be my guest, my dear. There are a lot of them, so be sure to share with the other fangirls.

EmailyGirl- Rest assured, the temper will be rising.

I-LUV-ILC- Fluff is good, isn't it?

Aki T- lol, yeah a –gasp- plot! What a new thing for me!

PotOFan- Your wish, my command.