A/N: I snuck another little one in tonight. Trypt, thanks for pointing that out. It all makes sense now. Duh. I, obviously, do not speak a bit of French. I just thought him being from Canada, and the name sounds French, that maybe he should be able to speak it. Thanks to all others who've reviewed. Enjoy.

The next week, Meg spilled the beans.

"So, who's your voice tutor Chris?" Meg studied her perfect nails as she waited for Christine to answer.

"Well…uh…." Meg looked up.

"Oh I heard him sing to you Chris, come on. I don't know why you wouldn't tell me. It's only logical."

"Well, you would misinterpret it."

"I doubt it. I heard him pouring out his emotions to you. Obviously he feels the same way you do." Meg merely rolled her eyes.

"What are you talking about Meg?"

"I heard something about him telling you that he loves you…blathering on about it."

"What? It was just a song."

"Whatever. He's got the 'smitten' look all over his face…just like you." Christine blushed.

"You're out of your mind."

"Uh huh." A few peaceful moments of silence settled between them. "So, what's under the mask?"

Christine narrowed her eyes at Meg. "Well I have no idea." She really didn't, she had only moved the mask a fraction of an inch.

"Did you kiss him?" Meg grinned.

"That is absolutely none of your business." Christine's lips pursed, and she glared at Meg.

"Oh, you did! Didn't you?" Remembering their little incident against her car, she flushed even hotter.

"Meg, I'm not discussing anything with you."

"Just one thing. Is he a good kisser? He looks like he would be…"

"Shut. Up." The object of their conversation chose that moment to come out of his classroom. A smile moved over his face.

"Afternoon ladies."

"Good afternoon Mr. Grenier." Meg practically curtsied.

"Hello Erik." Christine acted with and air of indifference.

"Christine." He gave her an ever-so-subtle wink. Meg scoffed when he was nearly out of earshot.

"Yeah, the man is totally diggin' you."

"Let's go down to the organ today, shall we? I have something I wish to hear you sing, if you don't mind." He would live to regret these words.

"No, not at all." She followed him, taking his hand, as always. He lit the candles while she fiddled around with the organ. After he warmed her up he slip his opera into her hands.

"The point of no return, that's what I wish to hear." Her eyes widened and jaw dropped slightly as she read the words.

"Okay." He started to play, then sang his bit, his eyes closing almost instantly. When she started her part, his breath quickened. Unconsciously Christine laid her hand on his shoulder. As the song moved onward, he felt her hand caressing his bare cheek and forehead. Curiosity overcame her.

Between her touch and being so engrossed in the song, he didn't feel her easing the mask away from his face. With his eyes being closed, he also missed her moment of surprise, which quickly faded into sympathy. When she caressed the ruined side of his face, he couldn't feel it. The dead scar tissue had no feeling.

His eyes fluttered open when she missed her cue. Her hand rested on his good cheek. The forgotten Don Juan had floated to the floor. His cool leather mask was being held tightly in her hand. Still unaware of what she had done, he looked up at her questioningly. Tears clung to her lashes.

Pity. He's seen that emotion once or twice before. Instantly his hand flew to his uncovered flesh. He quickly pushed back from the organ, knocking her to the ground. He gave her his back, and a small nearly inaudible whimper escaped his lips.

He'd told her, hadn't he? Leave the mask alone. Suddenly weak, he dropped to his knees. It was over now; surely she'd run from the room after seeing his hideous face. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the pain, trying to block out the look of pity. Disgust had come before pity, it always had. Twin tears rolled down his cheeks, whole and ruined.

"Why Christine? Why?" Sobbing now, he doubled over, feeling sick. His hand reached out, searching for his mask. She turned his hand over and placed the mask in it. He turned from her again, replacing the mask.

When he turned back, he was a different man. His shoulders slumped, and his face was grim. He bent to pick his masterpiece up off the grime covered floor. Unable to look at her, he picked up the flashlight.

"Erik…"

"I must return." With that, he blew the candles out and handed her the flashlight.

Christine felt the tears fill her eyes again. The poor man. The right side of his face looked as if it had suffered a horrible burn and healed into scar tissue. And she'd exposed him. Broken him.

Once they were back in the janitor closet, she hurried to catch up with him. When they arrived back at his classroom, he held her bag out to her.

"Erik…"

"Please leave." She flinched at the coldness of his words.

"But Erik-"

"Will you please just leave?" He dropped her bag on the floor and walked away from her. Christine followed him.

"Erik, I'm so-"

"Get out." He growled softly from in between clenched teeth.

Now it was her turn to whimper.

"Please Erik." He moved so quickly, she stepped back, startled. His arm shot out, she flinched. He merely pointed to the open door.

"GET OUT!" Frightened, she picked her bag up, but hesitated at the door. She turned back; his head was resting in both of his palms.

"I'm so sorry, Erik." She whispered, barely audible, rivulets of tears running down her cheeks. His eyes were bright when he looked up at her.

"Go," he begged, his voice thick with emotion. Emotion he'd tried to forget. He watched as she walked out, closing the door behind her.

Betrayal from anyone else, he could have taken. Not her though. No onecould hurt him this badly. No one but her