Well, I did it. I got 100 reviews on this story. Thanks so much everyone... all those who review every single chapter. You're all great. Unfortunately, I have now achieved my ambition and, as a result, I'm putting this story on the shelf... I won't be updating anymore.

No... I'm just kidding. Couldn't give up this story if I tried. But seriously, life has been getting in the way of writing (which was the reason for no update last week). A lot of stuff is going on and finding time to write is tricky. I will try and stick to my usual weekly updates from now on, but please bear with me.

So... on with the story. I hope it was worth the wait. Enjoy.

Chapter 11

Sleep did not come easily to me that night. My eyes felt like dead-weights the next morning when I tried to force them open, and as I was subjected to the rude awakening that was the house bell, I knew instantly I couldn't get up. It felt as though the slightest movement would cause me to throw up. My bones felt as though the marrow had been replaced with ice and, on top of all that, I had the most terrible head cold. No doubt my little escapade last night was to blame for this.

I winced. It was probably best that I did not think of that right now.

The bell rang again half an hour later and I still didn't get up. I pulled the covers over my head to block out the sound of chattering girls making their way to breakfast and waited patiently for the inevitable. Pretty soon one of the younger girls knocked on my door, obviously assuming I had slept in.

"Christine? Roll call."

I gave a moan to demonstrate my condition. "I don't feel well."

"Do you want me to get the nurse?"

"Nurse would be great," I murmured, and heard the door shut behind the girl. Within minutes the nurse, who lived in the boarding house and took care of everyone living there, arrived with a thermometer. After hearing my symptoms and taking my temperature, she told me to go back to sleep for the morning, and we would see how I felt at lunchtime.

I would have been only too happy to fall back into a numb, dreamless sleep, but my mind was already awake, even if it was slightly foggy, and I felt my nausea escalate as I remembered Erik… the feel of him sitting close beside me on that bench, and the sweet sensation of his lips brushing against my cheek. What made me feel so horribly guilty about the whole matter was how, no matter how much I tried to deny it, the memory of that feathery-soft kiss thrilled me.

And it shouldn't, damnit! I had a boyfriend. Richard was my boyfriend, not Erik… and Erik knew it! So why had he kissed me? More importantly… why hadn't I done more to stop him or ensure it would never happen again? I couldn't chance that… I didn't want to betray Richard in any way. Even if I wasn't sure our relationship was going anywhere, I didn't want to be the type of girl who yielded to every temptation thrust in her path.

At least I could content myself with the fact that nothing more had happened. And I'd make sure it never would. I knew that if anything did, I would hate myself for it.

I panicked for a moment. Should I avoid Erik from now on? It might be best… easier to prevent a repeat of last night. But… oh god, I didn't want to have to go that far. I knew I could never allow myself to get too close to Erik, but at the same time I didn't want to cut him out of my life completely. I was a grown up, after all… nearly enough anyway. I could control myself if I had to.

But even if I did not act on my emotions, I still had to deal with the fact that there were emotions there at all.

After tossing and turning for a good half-hour, I finally drifted off into a feverish sleep. When I woke up and checked my watch it was around 11:15. Break time. I could hear people moving in the room above me and outside in the corridor. Then I was aware of someone coming right down the corridor to my door, and I waited for the knock, which came about two seconds later.

"Yeah?" My voice sounded horribly groggy, but I didn't have the energy to sound cheerful.

The door opened, and I raised my head from the pillow to see who my visitor was.

"Hey, Chris."

"Meg?" At the sound of my friend's voice I immediately began struggling to sit up, but I hadn't even gotten halfway before she was pushing me back down again.

"No way… you're sick. You stay lying down."

I tried protesting, wanting to sit up and talk so I could apologise properly for my grumpy behaviour last night. It had been just one extra thing to feel guilty about, and I wanted to get it off my chest. But she told me firmly to lie back down and since I didn't have the energy to argue, I did, watching as she grabbed the chair at my desk so she could sit closer to me.

"How are you doing?"

I replied by pulling a face. "Awful. I haven't felt this bad since… well, never."

Meg made a sympathetic noise, and then, before I could say it myself, she burst out with; "I'm sorry about yesterday."

"What?"

"I shouldn't have stuck my nose in. It was none of my business. And I really shouldn't have implied that you… well, you know. It was really stupid and unfair."

I felt like crying all over again at hearing her say this. "No… it's okay. I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have got so mad at you."

"Oh, you had every right to be mad," she insisted, sounding angry at herself suddenly. "You know how I am though… gossip-monger…"

"Oh yes, I know," I agreed, giggling slightly at her confession.

"It was just… you mentioned an Italian guy, I got this image of some sexy Italian hunk… and then I thought how horrid it would be if you and Richard spilt up. I just got ahead of myself." She frowned suddenly. "He does know you're unavailable, right?"

I nodded. Even if we had never spoken about my relationship with Richard, Erik knew about it. He knew practically everything that was going on in my life, why shouldn't he know about Richard as well? But even so, he managed to treat our relationship as if it wasn't really an issue. Almost as though he was pretending nothing was happening at all.

Meg nodded as well, a look of grim determination on her face. "Good… because we don't want him getting ideas, do we?" And she gave me a knowing grin and wagged her eyebrows suggestively.

I couldn't help but smile back at her. Even if Meg's gossiping might irritate me sometimes, her concern about me and Richard was a reminder of how good a friend she was… to both of us. It was comforting to know she was there to hep me through my first relationship. I only wished that the little guilt pangs would go away when I remembered just how close I had been to living out Meg's worried fantasies.

"Well, you don't have to worry about anything, okay?" I reassured her. "Nothing's going on." Oh, how I wished that were entirely true. But I was determined not to let anything happen again. I didn't want to do anything to jeopardise my relationship with Richard. He meant too much to me.

Speaking of Richard… "You didn't say anything to Richard, did you? I don't want to make him paranoid."

Meg contrived to look deeply hurt by the question. "What kind of girl do you think I am!" Then she grinned. "No… I'm not that dumb. Your secret Italian hunk is safe with me."

I laughed, but more at a private thought than Meg's joking around. I think she would have been quite surprised by the difference between the dark and sinister Erik and her romantic dream man. Although, I had to admit… Erik did hold some kind of attraction. The aura of mystery and danger… it was something plenty of women found attractive.

Definitely not the kind of guy you'd take home to your parents, I thought with a grin.

Meg soon left me alone again, having to rush off back to lessons. In the quiet I lay on my back, staring up at the ceiling and, in spite of myself, thought of Erik.

By evening I was feeling better enough to come down for supper. I hadn't eaten all day and I was hoping my stomach ache might be partly down to lack of food. I sat at the table with Meg, chewing slowly on some lightly buttered toast and listening to the other girls talk before resignedly heading back to my room, resolved to get on with some work. My head was still slightly foggy with cold, but I needed to at least try and keep on top of my work. My absence from class today would probably have set me back too, I realised unhappily.

I pulled a tissue out of the box on my desk and blew my nose as I sat down. I hated colds more than anything on earth. They certainly made me appreciate being able to breath properly. Sniffing loudly and continuously, I picked up my pen and started writing a first draft of my English essay.

After about half an hour of working solidly I took a break and went to get some tea, in the hopes that it would help clear my head. When I returned to my room with the steaming cup in hand, I heard my phone ringing, and picked it up, recognising it instantly as an international call, and knowing what that must mean.

"Hello?"

"Hi, sweetheart."

It was such a welcome relief to hear my father's voice over the phone. "Hey, dad, how are you?"

"Better than you, by the sound of it," he said, laughing. Obviously he had picked up on my slightly muzzy tone. "You sound like death warmed up."

"You should have seen me this morning. I was ready to be put to sleep for good."

"I'm sure," he agreed, still laughing, but this time I detected a slight hesitation in his amusement that worried me. Already I could feel myself tensing up for some bad news.

"Is everything okay over there?"

"Oh yes, everything's fine…" He was a terrible liar. I knew that whatever was the matter, it couldn't be along the lines of Joseph or Paula being seriously ill, otherwise that would have been the first topic of conversation. But something was definitely up.

"Actually…"

Here it comes…

"… I needed to talk to you about something."

Even though I knew he wouldn't see, I frowned down the phone. "What?"

"Well… you know how your half-term's coming up in about two weeks, right?"

I faltered. Truth be told, I had almost completely forgotten about the week's holiday that was to come. For a second I was jubilant at the thought that I would be going home, and then I pulled myself short as I remembered my father had something serious to say about it, and I felt a twinge of apprehension.

"Yeah, I remembered," I said finally.

"Well…" I could hear him fumbling for the correct way to tell me, but a part of me somehow already knew what was coming. "You know how tight things are at this end. We're still adjusting to life here… and we need things to be stable for that to happen, you understand, right? We can afford to fly you back and forth from school at the beginning and end of terms… but at the moment… it's just not practical to do it at half-term. Not when you're only going to be here for a week."

There was a pause. I realised he was waiting for me to respond with something, but for a few moments I was silent, if only because I knew if I spoke it would instantly betray my anger and deep, deep disappointment. The lump that had been gathering up in me divided. Half of it stuck in my throat, threatening to burst into a torrent of sobs… the other half dropped heavily on my gut and reawakened my earlier feelings of nausea, only now they were far more potent.

I swallowed hard, and felt my eyes stinging.

"Okay…" I finally managed, although my voice was little more than a whisper.

"I understand you're disappointed," he said, and he truly did sound upset by having to break this news to me. "Believe me, if we could get the money to fly you home… we would."

"Yeah…" I agreed, then held the phone away from my mouth so he wouldn't hear the little shuddering breaths I was taking in to fight my tears.

"I thought maybe you could stay with a friend. Or if you can't, maybe we can arrange for you to stay with Paula's sister. Whatever you want, sweetheart."

Whatever I want, I thought bitterly. What I wanted was to go home, pure and simple. I wanted to be with my family… the family that I hadn't seen in almost two months and only spoke to once a week. Was that really too much to ask? Was it such an unreasonable request after my life had been completely uprooted around me against my will? When had what I wanted ever come into any of this?

But… like always… what choice did I really have?

"I'll…" The bile was collecting in my throat again and I swallowed it down. "I'll see what I can do. I'll sort something out."

"Good."

I could hear the relief in my father's voice and it only made my mixture of anger and misery worse. I felt so impotent… unable to speak my true thoughts because I didn't want to upset the people I cared for, even though I knew it would not be unreasonable for me to be angry. But I choked down my emotions, even as I listened to my father's casual voice as he said he had to go, and he hoped I would feel better soon. It sounded as though he had washed his hands clean of the matter… cleared his conscience…

As soon as the phone was back on the desk a wave of nausea gripped my stomach so tightly I felt as if my insides were being squashed by a steamroller. I rushed out of my room, clutching my mouth and stomach and headed swiftly for the bathroom. There, I hung my head over the toilet bowl and retched violently, my whole body heaving and dripping with hot, feverish sweat. And the sobs which were coming at the same time did nothing for me. They only made my throat painfully raw and every muscle in my body shake uncontrollably.

It was about twenty minutes later before I had the courage to leave the bathroom. The sickening feeling in my stomach had lessened, but not enough to make me feel entirely safe. The hot sweat had turned cold and clammy against my skin, and I was shivering as though I was walking through the Arctic.

Once back in my room, I poured a glass of water and drank slowly, trying to get the disgusting taste of vomit out of my mouth. I hiccupped loudly, and felt the sobs well up again.

Why? Why did life seem to continuously knock me down? I hadn't done anything to deserve it, had I? All I wanted was to go home for a week… take a break from everything. That was what I needed right now… after everything else that was happening. And now I couldn't even do that.

My phone began ringing again, and I tried to collect myself together. Whoever it was, I didn't want to let on that anything was wrong. Fighting the sobs and nausea I picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"What's wrong?"

It was Erik, and the sound of his voice over the phone, filled with genuine, warm concern was almost too much. I didn't even bother to wonder how he automatically seemed to know something was wrong… and I forgot all about my resolution to stay distant from him. Just knowing he cared was enough to make the sobs I had been holding down begin to build up again. My breathing became erratic and harsh as I tried to form the words to answer his question.

"It's alright, Christine," he said in a soothing voice. "Just tell me what happened."

And I did, slowly and with many breaks in between caused by my crying. By the end my queasiness had escalated to the point of vomiting, so I hung my head over the small sink in my room, retching dryly. I felt sorry for Erik for having to listen to me cry and throw up… but he remained quiet, listening patiently to every word and waiting until I had finally settled down once more.

"Why didn't you say anything to him?" he asked, referring to my father.

"I just couldn't," I sniffed. "I knew he would fly me back home if he could. It's not his fault that we can't afford it."

"Even so… you have every right to be upset. And you keep saying that you hate being distant from your father. Don't you think this pretence is increasing that distance?"

That was true, I admitted. Every time I hid my true feelings from my father I felt as though we were drifting further and further apart. I had never intended for that to happen. All I wanted to do was make things as easy as possible for him… regardless of what I felt or went through because of it.

"You should really start to consider your own feelings, Christine," Erik said, when I explained this to him.

"Yeah… but…"

"There is no 'but', Christine," he interrupted severely. "You are wearing yourself down. For once you should do what makes you happy."

"But how?" I murmured dismally. Even if Erik was right, it didn't change the fact that I couldn't go home. Even if I called my father and explained how unhappy I really was with the situation, what good would it do me or anyone? There was a long silence at the other end of the phone, and I knew he must have been thinking very hard about the situation. I prayed he would come up with some solution… some piece of advice… like he had always done in the past.

"I'm sure something will come along, Christine," was all he said in the end, and I bit my lip, since this had not been the answer I was hoping for. But he went on, "You still have more than a week before anything needs to be arranged."

I agreed, but only half-heartedly. I couldn't help feeling immensely let down by him. In the past few weeks I had always been able to depend on him for support and advice… why couldn't he be that wonderful, brilliant guardian now? I supposed I should be grateful that at least he had called to comfort me… especially after what had happened between us last night. But still… I needed something more than this.

"You should sleep, my dear. Otherwise you will feel even worse in the morning."

I laughed bitterly. "Fat chance. I feel like I'll never sleep again."

"You will sleep." His voice was both firm and soothing. I could tell he had something in mind. "Do you want me to help you?"

"How?" I couldn't help but feel intrigued by this unusual offer.

"Go and lie down," he ordered softly. I obeyed without question, switching off my light and slipping into bed with the phone still held against my ear. At his request I settled down and made myself as comfortable as possible under the cool sheets, snuggling into the pillow and trying to force myself to feel tired.

"Now just shut your eyes, my dear."

I did, still wondering what exactly he intended to do. I found out only seconds later when his voice reached out, soft and warm and beautiful, even through the phone. He was singing… I didn't, despite my wide repertoire, recognise the piece that he sang, and although I heard words that sounded familiar to my ears, most of its meaning was lost to me. All I really understood was that it was a song unlike anything I had ever heard… so soft and comforting. And Erik sang it with such tenderness that I felt myself drifting away… my closed eyelids beginning to feel heavy now. My body relaxed… every muscle unwinding and stretching out in contentment… I knew within minutes I would be sleeping.

Just before I let myself fall into that safe, warm blackness, I was suddenly aware that Erik's voice no longer sounded so strange. Its beauty sounded clearer, as if he were singing right into my ear, instead of through my phone… as if he were close to me.

I made a vain attempt to struggle upright. But I soon gave up trying to turn my head to the open window and attempt to see into the darkness beyond. Somehow… I felt as though I didn't need to look.