The Girl Next Door

Erik scribbled frantically at the sheet music, desperate to get the notes onto the paper before they left his brain. The piece had been eating away at his brain for days, coming and going with new lyrics and melodies.

And it was all for her.

He finished the line and dropped the pen onto the piano lid, lifting his hands to run them agitatedly through his hair. This was insanity.

And it had engulfed him.

Erik sighed and sat back from the piano, looking at it but not seeing it. He was lost within his thoughts. It had been over a week since the opening night of Il Muto, when she kissed him and embraced him. Since then he had scarcely seen her, deliberately working late at the theatre in an effort to avoid her and give his mind a chance to see the impossibility of the situation.

Because it was impossible. She was… out of his reach. As different from him it was possible to be. And yet, they were so similar that his addled brain could see the possibility that she would return his feelings.

He had not yet admitted out loud. But it was true – he cared for Christine Daae. Cared for her in a way that was not feasibly acceptable. But it was true all the same.

His greatest fear and greatest hope at this time was that she should find out. For he could see that there were only two ways that their lives could progress from there. Separately or joint. Together or never to see each other again.

Better, Erik knew, to remain as they were. Things could go so terribly wrong from hereon in.

Or they could be better than ever before, his mind whispered temptingly. Erik put his head in his hands, trying to block out the voice.

She hasn't seen your face, he told himself silently. If she did, you'd know that she could never love you. If you showed her what lies beneath the mask, behind the pretence, behind the lie…

She would run.

Christine chewed on the end of her pen, staring absently at her computer screen, where an abandoned game of spider solitaire sat. She felt… despondent.

The phone rang again. It had already rung several times that morning. Christine ignored it, as she had every time before. It was probably Stuart, but she didn't feel like talking to anyone. She just wanted to sit and do nothing at all.

The only problem was that every time she did sit and do nothing, her thoughts turned to the man in the apartment opposite. Christine was puzzled. She hadn't seen Erik in the past week and she… well, she missed him. She missed his company, his subtle but intelligent wit and conversation. She liked spending time with Stuart, but it certainly didn't compare to time spent with Erik.

It hurt, rather, that they hadn't seen each other in so long. He was always working late and seemed to be leaving earlier, so she didn't even have a chance to talk to him as they left for work in the mornings. Of course, she understood that he had an opera to work on, but still…

Christine got to her feet, intent on going to apartment 5a and talking to him. He'd be in, it was a Saturday and he never worked on a Saturday. She rapped on the door and waited for a while.

"Erik?" She called. After a few moments, the door opened slowly and Erik's face appeared in the doorway.

"Christine."

"Are you busy?"

"I am."

She frowned at his shortness.

"Erik, have I upset you?" She asked. He looked surprised.

"Why would you think that?"

"Well… it's just that I haven't seen you all week. I know you're busy with Il Muto, but you were before as well and we still found time to at least talk." The words tumbled out without her bidding. Christine felt herself go a little pink but held herself firm. Erik stared at her for a moment before allowing the faintest of smiles to grace his lips before moving back to let her in.

"My apologies, Christine. I have been so caught up that I have neglected you."

"I'll let it pass this time." She said in a teasing way, moving into the living room. He closed the door and jumped as her fingers brushed his cheek. His hand automatically caught hers and she grinned.

"Calm down. You've got ink on your face." She wiped the black smudge away and turned, leaving Erik to feel thoroughly foolish as he, rather reluctantly, released her hand.

"What have you been working on?" She asked, gesturing to the piano.

"A few solo pieces. Tea or coffee?"

"Tea, please."

As it brewed, Erik began to clear the music away. Christine watched him from her perch on the arm of a chair. He seemed… different, somehow. He wasn't moving with his usual grace and smoothness.

"Are you feeling alright?" She asked.

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"I'm not sure. You seem a little… twitchy."

"I'm fine." He assured her. She nodded and smiled.

"I saw all of the reviews for Il Muto. I told you it'd be a success."

"You're a wise woman."

"It's been said." She grinned. He poured her tea, adding milk and one spoonful of sugar, the way she always took it.

She stayed for no longer than a couple of hours. Within in that time, Erik found himself relaxing, even to the point where he was able to make subtle jokes, to which Christine would smile and reply in a way that made him feel an inexplicable warmth in his blood and bones. The radio was playing in the background and suddenly Christine smiled.

"I love Frank Sinatra!"

"I guessed that from the way I found you dancing down the hallway." Erik commented with mirth. Christine stuck her tongue out at him before titling her head to listen.

Something in your eyes

Was so inviting

Something in your smile

Was so delighting

Something in my heart

Told me I must have you

"There isn't anything that music can't say." Christine commented. Erik considered her.

"You think so?"

"Of course. That's why we have music. Because there aren't the rights words. You'd sound silly saying 'something in my heart told me I must have you'. It's like a line from a soap opera. But put it in music and…" She closed her eyes, listening to the song. "And it becomes love."

"You know much about love?" Erik asked quietly. Her eyes opened again and met his.

"I thought I did. But love is deceiving."

"Even true love?"

"I wouldn't know. I've never truly loved someone." Christine said quietly. The song ended and the DJ's voice announced the time. She stood up.

"I'll let you get back to work."

He walked with her to the door and Christine looked up at him.

"I'm just across the hallway, OK? Less than two metres. I'm not going anywhere, so feel free to come over at anytime."

"Anytime?"

"Even if it's the middle of the night and you've decided to take your anger out on another painting." She smiled. Erik smiled too, a little surprised at how easily she could turn such a bad situation into a joke.

"I'll see you later." She said, and disappeared. Erik closed the door.

He couldn't sleep. His eyes went to the clock for what felt like the millionth time. Erik groaned and closed his eyes, willing sleep to come. It didn't.

And then he heard his name, whispered oh-so softly. He lifted his head from the pillow and saw a slender figure in his doorway. His brow twitched into a puzzled frown.

"Christine?"

Slowly, so slowly, she moved towards him until she was sat on the edge of the bed. Erik sat up and met her eyes, not allowing himself to believe that this was true. Half of her face was cast in darkness, an intensity in her eyes that he had never seen before. Suddenly one her hands lifted to press against his cheek and he smelled that sweet scent that she always wore, could feel the softness of her fingers on his skin.

"Christine…" he murmured, his eyes slipping closed in spite of himself.

"Shh…" her voice smothered him. "Don't say a word."

And she kissed him, completely sure of her actions. Erik didn't know what to do; he was frozen to the spot. And suddenly all of his knowledge and experience rushed back, only to be completely flooded by an urgent instinct. He pulled her down, sliding down onto the bed, his mouth pressing hard against hers, desperate, pleading, longing. He could feel her slim body against his, her arms around him, her legs entwined with his.

"Christine-"

"Don't speak." She pleaded. "Don't speak, Erik."

His hand ran over as much of her as he could reach, trying to commit her to memory, longing to know all of her and wanting to know it now. Her hands ran through his hair and suddenly she broke the kiss to stare down into his face, her own face framed with wild curls, her eyes shining and mouth flushed with their frantic kisses.

Her fingers brushed against the mask. Erik didn't move as she slid her fingers beneath it and lifted it from his face. Her eyes never left his as cool air rushed over his now-unmasked cheek. Her mouth opened, not to scream, but to speak tenderly.

But Erik never heard those words that he longed to hear.

All he heard was the incessant beeping of the alarm clock. His eyes snapped open and he looked in confusion at the bedroom ceiling.

And then he swore profusely.

Christine was late. Her alarm clock hadn't gone off, the batteries having died during the night. She fell out of the front door to the building at Gaston Place, having apologetically called Stuart to say she wouldn't be meeting him for their usual breakfast.

She half ran to work and burst in through the doors. Several people looked up in astonishment and Meg grinned.

"Oversleep?"

"Just a tad." Christine called as she shot past to her office. She sat down at her desk and tried to compose herself, brushing her hair back into an acceptable condition. Firmin looked in.

"Late?"

"I'm so sorry, my alarm clock died."

"That's fine, Christine. You're the only member of staff who hasn't ever been late." Firmin pointed out. Christine smiled.

"Damn, there goes my perfect record."

"You may have to opt for less than one hundred per cent." He agreed, moving on. Christine turned on her computer and began to work.

At lunchtime Meg and Sorelli appeared.

"Coming to lunch?"

"Sure." She finished the final piece of editing and picked up her handbag. "Where d you want to go?"

"Let's go to the pub." Sorelli said. "I need hot food."

They walked down to the end of the street, where they occupied the end of the bar, looking over menus. Once they had placed orders and received drinks, Meg looked at Stuart.

"I was talking to Matt last night. He said Stuart's been in a really bad mood lately."

"What?" Christine looked at her, confused. "He hasn't been in a bad mood."

"I'm just repeating what Matt said." Meg said defensively. Christine sighed.

"I can not deal with this right now."

"What's going on with you two?" Sorelli demanded. Christine shrugged.

"Nothing."

"Maybe that's the problem." Meg suggested. Sorelli nodded in agreement. Christine glared at them.

"Why are you ganging up on me?"

"Because we're nosy." Sorelli said frankly.

Christine swallowed a mouthful of coke and sighed heavily.

"He wants to. I don't."

"Why? C'mon Chrissie, the man is fine." Sorelli pointed out. "If it was me-"

"You'd already have slept with him, dumped him and moved on." Meg cut in. Sorelli rolled her eyes but didn't dispute it. Christine traced the rim of her glass with a finger.

"I don't know. I just… OK, you can't tell anyone this but I don't think it's going to work out."

"What? Why not? Stuart's a sweetie!" Meg cried.

"I know! It's not him, it's me. I can't feel that way about him and he deserves someone who can. But I don't know how to break up with him, so I'm just going to wait and see if things get better." Christine said. "So don't say anything yet. I'm going to give it a little more time."

Their food arrived and the conversation was quickly forgetting and changed to something far more casual. Such as Sorelli's date with Steven from communications that night.

Stuart called Christine that night.

"Do you want to meet for dinner?" He asked.

"I'm sorry, I can't. I need to talk to Erik about the developments on the concert planning."

"Isn't that what office hours are for?" Stuart asked, sounding a little put out.

"I tried to call the theatre today but with the success of Il Muto, he just isn't available during the day. I'm sorry Stuart, but I have to get this sorted. I can't do anymore work until he's looked over and approved of everything."

In truth, Christine was glad for the excuse to avoid Stuart. If he was in the bad mood that Matt seemed to think he was, it was much easier for her to simply avoid him. Maybe she was taking the easy route out of the situation, but for the time being, she was OK with that.

Christine waited until about seven before gathering up her things and crossing to Erik's apartment. Once again, she heard music coming from within. She paused, not wanting to interrupt. Once the piece finished, she knocked. Moments later the door opened and Erik looked down at her.

"Hi Erik. Sorry to disturb you, but I couldn't get hold of you all day." She said cheerfully. Erik was well aware of the fact. He had noticed several missed calls on his office phone from Populaire Advertising and had purposefully not replied to them.

It had only been three days since that dream. But he could remember every detail vividly. Especially now that he had the original item before him, putting folders down on the desk and pulling out rough copies of her designs.

He brought them both coffee and sat opposite her to look over the designs. Christine seemed to be very excited about the project.

"This is the one I'm not sure about." She said, handing him a copy of the Hell poster. It was black with the hawthorn print in the centre, the same as the Heaven one. But instead of white angelic wings, the tree was engulfed with blood red flames.

"I don't know if that's what you were looking for." Christine commented. Erik examined the poster closely.

"No, it's good." He said after a few moments deliberation. "It'd well contrasted with the Heaven design."

"Great. I'll get that finished and sent to the other departments for mock-ups." Christine smiled. Erik looked at her closely.

"Christine?"

"Yes?"

"…What are you doing here?" He asked. She looked at him in surprise.

"Doing work."

"No, Christine. You know perfectly well that you could simply have faxed these to the Hawthorn. Why wait until this evening?"

Christine inwardly groaned. Sometimes she disliked his perceptiveness.

"I'm… actually, I'm avoiding someone." She said, shuffling papers uncomfortably.

"Stuart."

"…Yes."

"Why?"

"Because apparently he's been in a bad mood. I haven't noticed anything, but that probably isn't helping. And I didn't really feel like dealing with that right now. I'd rather be with someone who's going to make me feel comfortable. Someone I'm not going to have to pretend for."

She looked up at him at last.

"That's what I like most about you, Erik. I don't have put on a face when I'm with you." She said in a solemn tone. "I can just be me."

Looking back at what followed, Erik had no idea what it was the made him do it. Momentary insanity, intense longing or possibly the essence of what she had just said setting in, in entirely the wrong way. All he knew was that in a single instant, he had covered the short space between them and moved to kiss her.

But he never did.

Because Christine jerked back out of his grip, her eyes wide as she jumped to her feet.

"What are you doing?" She demanded, horrified. Erik stood and looked at her.

"Christine…" He didn't know what to say. Christine ran a hand through her hair, mind reeling. He tried again.

"I thought… lately, I've been feeling…"

"No. No…" She shook her head, face twisted into dismay.

"Christine-" He took a step forward but Christine had seized her papers and was heading for the door. Erik hurried after had and caught her arm before she had a chance to go through the door.

"Christine, stop!"

"Erik, let me go, you're hurting me!" She spat. Erik didn't release her.

"Just listen to me, Christine." He ordered.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She cried, tugging at her arm. It was painful, his grip like iron.

"I'm trying to tell you that I care about you, but you're not making it particularly easy!" Erik said angrily.

She stared at him, aghast. He didn't release her arm and said quietly,

"I'm not sure how or when I began to feel like this. But I know why. It is because of you, Christine. You are the only person who has… who has made me feel as if there is a reason for anything other than my music. You… you came out of nowhere and you've changed my life and-"

"Stop."

It was not an order. It was a plea. Erik looked at her. Her face was set in an expression of fuming anger, eyes blazing.

"Don't say another word, Erik." She insisted. "I have a boyfriend."

"Who you don't love! You have admitted it enough times and you're the only who won't believe it." Erik pointed out. "How many times have you told me how you feel about him?"

Because he's not the person you're meant to be with.

The words struck home with horrific force, as Christine realised their true meaning. How… how had she gotten it so impossibly wrong?

A shiver went through her and she shook her head.

"Let go of me." She said again, and now she was able to pull her arm from his hand. For a moment he stared down at her and he realised what it was that he had done, what it was that he had said to her, the madness that had possessed him slipping into cruel reality.

Christine gazed at him in fear, dismay and horror. And then she had slipped through the half-open door, leaving him, as he always was, alone.

Christine threw the papers onto the coffee table and seized her coat.

She had to get out.

She didn't look at the door opposite, the brass letter and number of 5a gleaming. She went straight to the elevator and walked out of the building, pacing swiftly as though she were going somewhere vitally important.

He cares about me.

Christine turned a corner, walking past a group of teenagers who ignored her. She kept walking, her mind hazy from the swiftness of the events that had just passed.

He cares for me.

"Christine?" She stopped and saw Stuart coming out of a building, car keys in his hand and clutching a file under one arm. It was the office where he worked. She hadn't even realised where she was. His face broke into a smile.

"Have you finished with Erik?"

"What?" His words startled her but she realised too late what he had meant. "Oh… yes."

"Want to go for a drink? I was just picking something up. I didn't expect to see you."

"Sure. I could really use a drink." Christine said hollowly.

They went to a pub a few doors down from his offices. Stuart ordered a pint of beer and Christine had a Baileys, wanting something stronger but not daring.

"Are you OK? You seem a bit off." Stuart asked as they sat down. Christine nodded.

"Yes. It's just… it's been a weird sort of evening is all."

"Did you get your work done?"

"Yes." She sipped at the Baileys and then put her glass down. Stuart watched closely as she tapped the side of the glass with a fingernail.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You're a terrible liar, Christine." Stuart said flatly. "Something is wrong. What is it?"

Christine smiled weakly.

"I don't know. I'm just tired, I guess."

"I'll take you home then. See if you can get some sleep." Stuart suggested.

Christine didn't know what to do. She did not want to go back to Gaston Place, to face him. But the only other place would be Stuart's apartment and she didn't want to lead Stuart into thinking that she wanted something from him.

"That's probably a good idea." Christine said.

She let Stuart walk her right up to her front door. He looked at her and smiled.

"I hope you're feeling better tomorrow."

"Me too."

He kissed her, his usual kiss. Sweet, loving, tender. Thoroughly Stuart-like. Christine returned it for a moment and then pulled away, guilt flooding her.

"Goodnight Stuart."

"Goodnight, Christine. I'll see you at breakfast."

She went into the apartment and waited for a moment until Stuart would have had time to get to the elevator. And then she did something that she usually never did at night, because she had never felt the need to before now.

She locked the apartment door.

A/N: An evil chapter, I know. My biggest fear with chapters where something big happens is that it happens too quickly. Has this all come about too soon? Is it even remotely realistic? I don't know. (Looks doubtfully at chapter) Please be brutally honest with this one. I really hope you liked this chapter but if you didn't I need to know what I'm doing wrong, OK?

BTW, seriously, I SO don't have time to keep writing these chapters at this rate! I haven't even finished the final chapter of 'Defensive Christmas' which is due up tomorrow when I'm working 12-5 tomorrow, going to church at 6 so I won't even have time for a shower, so I'll have to worship God being all stinky from work and getting hyper-excited for Christmas! But you all leave these reviews and I'm just... OMGOSH, THEY LOVE ME! MUST WRITE AND UPDATE AT INSANE PACE!

Oh, and I apologise for the dream sequence. I just want to hear the jaws drop and see how many threats arrive in my inbox.

Love

Katie