Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom

Okay, I'd just like to thank all of you who gave me nice reviews. Although I prefer constructive criticism, compliments are nice as well.

As to some people who find it appropriate to post reviews on how much I suck, go ahead, tell me how bad it is, tell me it's the worst story in the world. But I would appreciate that if you're going to, tell me why it sucks, why it's the worst. Not just "OMG!THIS SUX!" But I'll have you know, you're not going to convince me to stop writing. Have a great day!

And about the Mary Shelley, Charlotte Bronte, I wasn't quite sure on the details of how their books were published. I'm sorry if I've made any mistakes.

Chapter 6

"No matter – a girl of your sense will not object to the voyage or the distance."

"Not the voyage, but the distance: and then the sea is a barrier--"

"From what, Jane?"

"From England and from Thornfield: and--"

"Well?"

"From you, sir."

I closed the book. Mr. Rochester had just been telling Jane that she was going to have to be a governess for several children in Ireland. Jane didn't want to go. Jane was in love with Mr. Rochester.

I reread this part several times and although I was past it, I read it over and over. I don't know why because it made me sad each time I read it. But the part was beautiful. How simply Jane put it, but her feelings came across so well.

I put the book down and picked up my charcoal. I tapped my fingers against the table in an effort to help me think of something to draw. Nothing worked.

Finally I got an idea. I started out with two eyes, working them to the point of perfection. Then the shape of the face, then a body…then a mask. Yes, I was drawing Erik. I just wanted to know what his face looked like. And why he wore a mask all the time. Was he hiding something ?

Today marked a month since I had first set foot in Erik's house. An entire month. I wondered if my father was still looking for me. And I didn't care.

As for my mother, ever since the day at the graveyard, I was fine. I had more of a normal mood. Of course, I wanted it to have been different with my mother, to have her actually be my mother, but there was no changing the past and I would have to move on. There is no point in living in the past, it's not good for anyone.

And it seemed that upon coming here, my moods had altogether improved. Maybe they were better when I wasn't either ignored or terrorized.

I started shading, making Erik look three dimensional.

I was humming. Humming the song Erik had sung for me. It was beautiful, but I couldn't quite remember what he had been saying; all I knew was that it was in a different language. I had a feeling that Erik had written it himself. It was too passionate not to have been. And that's what he was: passionate. If there was one word to describe Erik, that would have been it.

Erik. My friend. I thought of that a lot. Just to remind myself that I did have reason to live whenever I felt there wasn't.

I looked up the word "friend" in the dictionary. It is defined as one who someone knows, likes, and trusts. There was also a bit of history on the word. The word literally meant "lover". And this puzzled me. I then looked up "lover" and found out that it meant "One who loves another, especially one who feels sexual love." And I was sure it didn't mean that in our case.

I wasn't even that sure what sexual meant. So of course, I looked it up. "Implying or symbolizing erotic desires or activity." And then after one more word, I understood the entire business. "Erotic: Of or concerning sexual love and desire."

So basically, there were two definitions of friend. A relation of kinship and one of sexual love. I hadn't even thought too hard on what I was looking up. But when I thought of the second definition of friendship, I blushed. And I'm not even sure why. That didn't apply to me in any way.

Did it? I didn't know what constituted "sexual love." Did you have to be in a relationship in which sex was involved to have a sexual love

No. Of course it didn't apply. Erik and I were friends. Strictly the kind with just an understanding and trust. We weren't even romantically involved, let alone sexually.

The next time I saw Erik, which was in the drawing room, I asked him something.

I sat down across from him. He looked distracted by something.

"Erik?"

"Yes?" He said, seeming to be thrown out of some thoughts.

"I'm sorry, am I disturbing you?"

"No, believe me, I'll tell you when you're disturbing me." He chuckled a bit, showing me some of the rare laughter of his.

"Anyway, my question…it might be a little personal, can I still ask?"

"Yes, but I won't guarantee an answer."

"Well, you've experienced the emotion love, what is it like?"

At that he sighed and sat back in his chair.

"Of all the questions, ma biche…"

"You don't have to answer--" I started to say but he interrupted me.

"No, it's not that, it's just that it's an awfully hard question to answer. I'll do the best I can." He sat a few minutes before beginning to speak.

"Love, well, it's almost like this. You're in the darkness, you can't see anything, but the thing is, you don't realize that you can't see because you've never seen. And then one day you see a small light in the distance. It's the first thing you've ever seen so you try to make your way toward it. And at that point, there are two outcomes. Either the light engulfs you and you begin to be the light or the light goes out and you never see the same light again. But you always remember it. That's because each light is different, and some brighter than others. You may see other lights, but they're always unique, and after the light goes out, you never see it again."

"That could be considered both a happy and sad story, depending on the outcome."

"How right you are. How right you are…"

"Do friends love each other?"

"That depends on several things, how close you are and what kind of friends you are. Because as you are aware, there are different types of love and different kinds of friends."

"Can you give me examples?"

"Well, for friends, there are the ones with purely a feeling of attachment to the other, and there are lovers, they have a romantic relationship. And as for love, there is love just between regular friends and there is romantic love, also known as sexual love."

I didn't know what to say so I said nothing.

"Ma cherie, you sometimes puzzle me." He laughed again. I cocked my head to the side to indicate confusion. "It's just the things that we talk about."

"Erik?"

"Yes?"

"I'm getting tired. Will you sing to me? I love your voice, you are an angel."

"Alright, ma biche, let's get you to your room before you fall asleep. But honestly, I am no angel." I think by this point I was a little tired, so I was acting more on what I wanted than what would have been proper. I took his hand and at first I was afraid he would pull away but he didn't. We just walked to my room., hand in hand.

He pulled back the sheets for me to lay down and I did. Then he sat down beside me and began to sing.

"Bonne nuit cher enfant

Quand tu dors dans mes bras

Le monde tourne en rond

Et le jour reviendra

Jours de larmes, de sourires

Jours de peines ou de joies

Mais ce soir tu t'endors

Comme un ange dans mes bras

Bonne nuit cher enfant

Quand tu dors dans mes bras

Le monde tourne en rond

Et le jour reviendra

Jours de larmes, de sourires

Jours de peines ou de joies

Mais ce soir tu t'endors

Comme un ange dans mes bras"

I was barely awake at this time. Erik was still holding one of my hands, I didn't let go, but he didn't refuse the contact. With his free hand he stroked my cheek, wiping away the few tears that fell during the song.

"Like an angel in my arms…" He sang to me. Erik stayed with me until I feel asleep.

I was working on my picture of Erik, when he knocked on my door. Quickly shoving it in the desk, I allowed him entrance.

"Did you sleep well last night?"

"Very. Thank you, Erik." I smiled at him.

"May I ask what brought up those questions last night?" Just what I was hoping he would ask. How was I supposed to explain that I was thinking about my relation to him. That would be a great conversation.

"Oh, the reason, Erik? Well actually I was thinking about us in a sexual relationship."

Stop it! I told myself. You weren't thinking about a sexual relationship with him, you were merely thinking of what a sexual relationship with anyone would be like.

"I was just curious." I said, not really lying.

"That's all?" He sounded skeptical.

"Yes." After I answered this, his eyes seemed to drop to my desk. There was nothing interesting there since I had taken the drawing away.

"What's that book?" Oh wonderful I thought, Now he'll know for sure why I was asking. "May I see it?" I couldn't very well say no, it was his book. And I handed it to him. He opened to the page my marker was sitting on and read aloud from the exact spot I was reading earlier.

"'No matter – a girl of your sense will not object to the voyage or the distance.'

'Not the voyage, but the distance: and then the sea is a barrier—'

'From what, Jane?'

'From England and from Thornfield: and—'

'Well?'

'From you, sir.'" He shut the book and put it back down on the desk. "It's a good book, are you at this point in the book?"

"No," I answered without thinking. Because it was the truth.

"Then why is your marker there?"

"Because…" I fidgeted.

"Because you like reading this part? Is this why you were asking about love?" He was incredibly perceptive and it irritated me to no extent.

"Yes…" I looked down.

"Don't be shy, ma biche, love is a very common thing to want, I'm sure you'll find love." He crouched down beside me, "Who wouldn't like such a pretty, bright girl, such as yourself." I could hear the smile in his voice.

I smiled back at him.

"Erik, thank you,"

"Thank you for what, ma cherie?"

"For letting me stay, for giving me a friendship, for…for showing me what love is." I meant a friendly love and I believe that he knew what I meant as well.

"Roxanne…how could I not let you stay?"

"I'm sure there are plenty of other girls in Paris, suffering just as much as me, if not worse."

"There may be, but they're not you. And you're the one who I met. Those other girls will have their chances, this is yours. I want you to learn to be free, to learn what it's like."

"You're too kind to me," I said.

"Would you rather I be hostile?" He laughed. He had such a nice laugh. His laugh was exactly what a laugh should be.

Then out of the blue he asked "What have you been drawing?"

"How did you know I was drawing?" The I realized. "Oh, my hands." My hands were covered in charcoal.

"May I see? I enjoy looking at your drawings." I tried to resist but I have a feeling he could have made me do anything with that voice of his.

"Yes," I opened the top drawer to the desk and pulled out the drawing. He took it from my hands and for a moment he just stared at it.

"Me?" He asked.

"Yes," I said, rather embarrassed that he had caught me. He had caught me twice in one day. First the book, now my drawing. He put the drawing down.

"Roxanne, do you know why you're so beautiful to me? Because of your rosy skin. Because of your brown hair. Because of your sparkling black eyes. Because of your fragile delicate body. Because you are so trusting. Because of who you are." He let his hand linger near my cheek. "Remember when you asked why I lived alone?" I nodded. "I'll show you." And with that he put his hands up to his mask.

Well, that's it for today!