I don't know if you realized, but I lowered the rating on this a few chapters ago. The rating is going to go back up, so you may have to search for this in the M category, or add it to your alerts if you want to keep track.

Nico

Erik did not reply.

Instead, he sat back down at his piano, immediately beginning a dark, somber tune, infuriating Christine.

"You were watching me!" She suddenly realized.

Erik continued to play.

Christine watched him, all the pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together.

"My God," she whispered. "You made that flat fall!"

Erik slammed his hands against the piano keys, producing a menacing sound that caused Christine to flinch and back up several steps.

"Yes!" Erik roared, rounding on her. "It was me! But you should be comforted, Christine…for you now have one more reason to see me as the putrid monster I truly am!"

As if he needed to further prove his atrocity, he lifted a heavy silver candelabrum from the top of his piano, thrusting it at the nearest mirror, which shattered noisily into thousands of crystal pieces.

Christine winced as the loud noise of destruction ebbed into silence, save the heavy breathing of Erik.

"Is that really what you think of yourself?" She asked quietly.

Erik glared at her. "It is what everyone thinks of me," he replied coldly.

Christine felt her heart break at the statement, realizing that it was probably true. How could the man standing before her possibly think anything else of himself?

She approached him slowly as if he was a rabid dog, keeping her movements minimal and fluid, fearful that any sudden outburst would send him spiraling into his violent tendencies once more.

She knew that she should leave. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Madame Giry's warnings played on a loop, reminding her that the man in her presence was broken, shattered by the cruelty he had surely had to endure his entire life.

Why else would he prefer this desperate solitude in the depths of the Opera to the sunlight?

When she finally stood before him, she studied him carefully. True, he looked like a beast with his hair rumpled, the snarling breaths he was taking, the wild golden eyes behind the mask.

But there was something else Christine had seen in him. She had seen tenderness as he carefully tendered her wound…as he had given her his cape…

As he had kissed her feverishly in the darkness.

She brought her hand slowly to his face, stroking his masked cheek.

And although Erik could not feel the touch, he was soothed.

"You are not a monster," Christine told him.

Erik continued to glare at her.

"You are not a monster," she repeated, more firmly.

Erik turned from her, leaning with both arms on a mahogany desk.

"Stop it, Christine," he rasped.

Christine came behind him, placing a warm hand on his shoulder.

He turned to face her.

Tears were evident in his eyes, and a silver trail of liquid was apparent on his bare cheek.

"Erik," Christine murmured again. "You are not a monster."

And then, all at once, Erik collapsed against her, desperately clutching at her waist, burying his head in the silken mass of hair about her shoulder.

Christine embraced him, holding the enormous man as his body shook with silent sobs.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," He was saying. "I didn't mean to hurt you…"

"Shhh," Christine soothed, tenderly stroking his hair. "I know…I know…"

Erik straightened, undeniably embarrassed that he had wept in her presence. Turning from her once more, he regained his composition.

And though he fought to pull up his familiar cold, callous front, it did not come.

And then Erik realized that love was the one emotion left he possessed that he could not control.

He could, however, control the hurt that would inevitably come when she left him.

"Christine," he said, turning to her, his voice tight, "I think it would be best if you left menow."

Christine blinked. "Left?"

Erik nodded slowly. "Yes," he said quietly. "I cannot control my actions when the situation concerns you," he admitted.

Christine looked at him, her bottom lip quivering. "No," she said.

Erik raised his eyebrows. "Pardon me?"

Christine shook her head. "No, I will not leave," she told him.

Why did she have to make this more painful than it already was?

"You must," Erik replied.

Christine took a step forward, "No, Erik. I won't let you push me away."

Erik stared at her in disbelief. He had thought she would leap at the chance to leave him, to eradicate memory of him from her mind.

And now she refused?

"Christine," Erik said helplessly, "I cannot bear to watch you grow closer to…to him…right under my nose…"

He was talking about Raoul, she realized.

"Erik," she began gently, "He is a friend…nothing more."

"That is not how he sees you," Erik quipped. Then, more softly, he added, "And I am in no position to compete with your dear Vicomte."

"Who is asking you to compete?" Christine asked. "I've never compared you to him…"

"And therein lies the problem," Erik interrupted. "I will never be able to be the man you need…I will not be able to parade you around at ridiculous social events…escorting you and treating you to the life you deserve."

"You think that is what I search for in a companion?" Christine asked. "Nothing more than an arm to cling to at social gatherings?"

"I do not believe that you'd be willing to spend your life in darkness, with an admittedly insane composer who can barely stand the company of himself, let alone other human beings."

Christine bit her lip at the suggestion, allowing herself to imagine a life with him.

And though it frightened her, it elicited a feeling of warmth that was undeniably pleasurable.

She looked up at him, her eyes intense. "Don't make assumptions about what I'd be willing to do, Erik."

Erik felt as if he was watching the next several moments from somewhere outside of his body. He watched as she rose on tip-toes, placing her hands on his shoulders and bringing her lips to his in an unprovoked expression of affection.

His hands shook as he brought them to her waist, reveling in the intensification of her kiss once she realized he was receptive. Her cool velvet tongue swept across his lower lip, encouraging him to yield to her.

He slammed back into his body, overwhelmed by his primal response to her. Christine moaned slightly as his hands roamed downwards, cupping her rear briefly before hooking under her leg, forcing closeness neither had imagined possible.

He pulled back from the kiss, looking down at Christine's wide eyes, reddened lips and husky breath. Lowering his forehead to hers, he inhaled deeply. "I swore to myself that I would never become close with another," he said quietly. "I swore that I would live alone forever." He ran a hand seductively down her back. "And now, you've ruined my plans."