I've decided since I'm probably not going to be able to update (Probably, I don't know for a fact) until Monday, I'm giving you two chapters tonight. I'm getting to the main point of the story now; if anyone has noticed, and I'm contemplating how long to keep this going. I might make my limit thirty chapters but we shall see. It all depends on what's going on in my life. Cheers!

Claire returned to the surface a new woman. She had made love without regret for the first time in her life and found comfort in a man's arms. She could not believe her luck. Up until the horrible coughing fit she had been content and happy. Her body still ached from the episode she had. She didn't quite remember the whole thing. For awhile her body gave into the pain and breathless hacking, but feeling Erik's arms around her brought her back to reality. Claire had not lied when she told Erik she was clueless to what had ailed her, she did not know. All she knew is that it was the most excruciating thing she had ever felt.

Upon exiting the dressing room, her eyes were assaulted with the sight of a large crowd of people gathering around a specific area. Claire felt her head become light. She knew what they all looked at. She thought about turning back and running to Erik when Andre and Firmin came barreling out from the mass and began barraging her with questions.

"What did you do with the Vicomte last night? Did you go anywhere with him? Was he pleased? Did you see him leave? Did you kill him?" The last question seemed to slip out of Andre's mouth unintentionally. Claire was offended.

"How dare you accuse me of murdering this man?" She cried and pushed passed them. She did not care if they owned the Opera House, she was in a tiff.

"Madame," Firmin said as he blocked her path, "My friend did not know what he was saying. We do not think you killed the Vicomte. You were just the last person seen with him."

"I did not attend dinner with the Vicomte gentleman. I felt ill and excused myself to go lie down. I've been fast asleep in this dressing room all night, the door locked. I did not and could not have touched the Vicomte." Andre and Firmin nodded and dismissed her. She hurried past them and bumped straight into Meg.

"Isn't it horrid Claire?" she exclaimed, "They say someone killed him from behind!" Claire nodded and tired to ignore Meg but she went on,

"I never liked him! He was always sleeping with the all the dancers but not me!" Claire stopped and turned to Meg.

"I'd love to talk but I can't right now." Meg looked hurt but Claire pushed this thought aside and hurried towards the dormitories. She wanted to lie in her bed and push the world away from her and think of only lying in Erik's arms. She was almost there when Madame Giry appeared suddenly in front of her. Without saying a word she grabbed the young dancer by the arm and dragged her towards a remote area where no one was.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. Claire looked confused.

"Going to rest?" Madame Giry's face became masked with annoyance and she lifted her hand and slapped Claire. She did not believe what had just happened.

"You are not to see Erik anymore!" the dance instructor nearly screamed. Claire's eyes went wide with wonderment and shock.

"I do not understand," she said breathlessly, "What has changed?" Madame Giry seemed to roll her eyes in an almost childish way.

"He had murdered and yet you lay in bed with him!" Claire did not know what to say. Of course Madame was only assuming she had slept with the Opera Ghost but in this case she was right.

"I can do what I want," Claire snapped and another slap landed on her reddened cheek.

"I know more about him then you ever will! He is a dangerous man and you are getting caught up in something much bigger then you could ever hope to imagine!" Madame Giry said her voice cold and full of emotion. Claire felt the tears in her eyes.

"I love him." Madame Giry sighed and the anger slightly lifted from her face.

"I know," she said softly, "That is why you must end it." Claire could not control the tears. How could she end it?

"I can't."

"You will." Claire felt powerless at this gentle but loving command. Madame Giry was like her mother, how could she disobey her? The instructor lifted a caring hand and caressed the red mark she'd left.

"After the performance tomorrow night you will end it or I will give up his location to the authorities," she finalized and left Claire. Claire collapsed onto the ground and sobbed loudly. She did not have a choice. Erik's freedom was in jeopardy and relinquishing her love was the only way to save him from humanity.

"Please forgive me Erik," she whispered into the dark silence of the Opera House, "Please forgive me." There was no answer. Had she expected one she would have never said those words. Erik was down below, no doubt, working on a new piece of music he hoped to play for her. This brought even more tears to her eyes. The thought of hurting him was killing her. He had finally learned to love her and now she was going to take that away from him with a few simple words. How could she say she didn't love him?

Meg found her on the floor, crying. She led Claire slowly to her room and helped her into bed. She drew the covers up to Claire's chin and pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes.

"What's wrong?" Meg asked. Claire didn't respond and turned away from Meg. She heard Meg sigh and leave her side. She loved Meg but could not bear to be near another human being right now.

"Erik," she whispered, "Erik, Erik, Erik." Meg, who stood in the doorway, heard her speak the name Erik and she grew puzzled. Who was Erik? She walked back over towards Claire.

"Who's Erik Claire?"

"No one…anymore." This answer puzzled Meg.

"Claire, who is Erik?" Claire turned over and looked at her friend.

"A man I love very much and can not be with anymore because of circumstances." These words echoed in her head, she could not believe she was hearing herself say this.

"Oh, I am sorry!" Meg cried and gave her friend a sympathetic glance, "I understand you not wanting to talk about it. I will leave now." Claire watched as Meg left and was glad. She did not need the attention; she did not want the attention. She wanted the Phantom of the Opera.