A/N: To my dearest Lurkers and Readers, thank you for continuing to love this story, regardless of how painful it might be, sometimes. As always, I've poured my heart and soul into this. Trigger Warning: this chapter contains extremely disturbing content. Please read at your own discretion.

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"Call my name"

The rain poured down the glass of the skylight, casting teardrop shadows against the torn up walls. She thought about the oncoming storm as she stroked his hair, her slacks wet with the tears from his eyes. Rain washed away dirt and silt, crushed up pieces of pavement and cement that did not belong, which tattered the beauty of the world. Or was it perhaps the opposite; was the disposition of the crumbs and unwanted things needed…for it could not make things disappear, but simply leave them misplaced, much like the feelings that clenched in the deep of her stomach…

Christine was filled with an elusive sense of wonder as she sat, the tinkling piano recording devoured and silenced by the wind and water. This damaged, vehement, destructive man lay powerless in her lap, and her fingers commanded him, stretching out over the scars on his ears, touching the skin with love and grace. She thought of the hysterics that had poured from his mouth, the screaming and crying and hunched shoulders…a man that had stood so immobile, so powerful, was now reduced to ashes. She did not know what it was, that she felt…was it compassion, was it forgiveness, or love? Love was so foreign to her – she had not loved anyone or anything, besides Rosie…but loving him, her Erik, was something that made her insides squeal with ethereal delight. Yes, he was shattered like a mirror; she could see the pattern of shards everywhere he walked, everywhere he had spit venom and shouted until he was hoarse. But he did not hate her – he had kissed her, deeply…yet something made him apologize, made him pull away from intimacy.

Christine so desperately wanted to kiss him again; the amount of alcohol she had consumed made her feel erratically impressive…but a golden clock upon the wall betrayed her plans, showing half past nine…she knew she must go, and soon…

For the longer she waited up here, in heaven with Erik, the greater her punishment would be from down below. She sighed, stroking his curls one last time, trying to memorize their silky, haphazard waves with her fingers. "Erik," she said softly, settling both of her hands at her sides. "Erik, I must return home…"

Erik lifted his head slowly, looking up at her meekly with a tearstained face. "If you must," he muttered, pushing away from her instantly as if to distance himself, to protect himself from her barrage of empathy and compassion. He stood up, his full height leaving her in shadow, placing the discarded mask back onto his face. She almost hated the mask, suddenly…how it hid his distinct expressions…how it kept her from seeing his true self. "Let me walk you down," he stated blandly, his eyes no longer filled with sadness, but with an impassive, blank stare. "Come," he held out a hand for her to take, and she grasped it immediately, savoring the strength that pulsed from his calloused skin.

Christine stood up, knowing in her heart that he could not walk her down – it was too risky, and she did not want another fight to break out at her expense. She swallowed nervously, still clutching his hand as she looked up at him. "I should go by myself, really…it's just a small flight of stairs."

Erik sighed noisily, a scowl twisting upon the stitched side of his mouth. "I see."

She released her hold on his hand, turning away from him to grab her coat that was draped over the couch. Christine pulled it on and made her way to the double doors of the penthouse – her heart screamed inside of her chest, a lament of caution and worry…but even more so, a sadness that took over her like a silent disease…a melancholy of knowing she must part with him, that she could not lay with him and listen to the rain. Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes, and she bit her lip hard, forcing them to retreat – she could cry later, once she had faced Raoul and all his sinister glory.

"Wait," Erik murmured, just as she was reaching for the door handle. Christine turned around, her expression mournful and with a slight pout. She stared up at him, and his eyes were ablaze from behind the mask – a sudden and swift turn of emotion. He stalked forward slowly, closing the space between them, pressing her up against the right-side door. He slid his hands inside of her coat, gripping her waist with demanding fingers, pushing himself against her, into her. She gasped at his hunger and ferocity, the way he moved his body into her own, as if they were not separate but one, aching being. A hand left her waist and moved her hair to one side, leaving the curve of her neck vulnerable. She felt him lean in, his chest heaving with heat and starvation – all of a sudden she understood that he wanted her…very, very badly…something he could not hide behind his leather mask.

Erik began to trail feather-light kisses up the side of her neck, planting them deliciously with small flicks of his tongue. She moaned softly, pushing back into him, feeling the tense coiling of his muscles; the passion that was now exploding without care or thought.

His kissing became rougher, and he suckled at the skin just beneath her jawline – it was rapturous and dangerous, these kisses that he gave. Something deep within her responded to his affection – something dark and delectable, something she had felt only in dreams – and she moaned louder, crying out for him to push harder, to suck harder.

Suddenly, Erik's lips were in her ear, whispering a quiet, delicate lullaby; "I do not regret the kiss that we shared…I've wanted it badly, ever since I saw you…half night sky, half archangel…just tell me when I can see you again. I'll do anything you ask of me."

He pulled away from her slowly, his hands releasing her hips and sliding down the sides of her legs. Erik knelt before her, his hands moving in slow circles against the back of her calves, staring up at her wildly. Christine's skin hummed with an electricity that surged in sync with the thundering rain, and her heart rejoiced over and over again – he did not regret her, nor the kiss…and even though he had pushed himself away, he now knelt before her, begging her silently for another moment alone…one they could spend together again. The edges of her lips could not help but crease into a smile, and her spirit was dancing and singing – he was kneeling, for her, as the rain poured from above!

"I can try to sneak out tomorrow night," she whispered, stroking a hand down the smooth leather of the mask. "I can come to the skylight…if you'll be there to lift me down."

Erik nodded fervently, his golden eyes bright with childlike glee. "I will be at my piano, waiting…I will leave the panes open so you can call my name."

Christine could not help but to giggle – the alcohol made her braver than ever before. "If you are playing passionately, good sir, how do you expect you'll hear my call?"

A smile twitched at the corners of his lips. "I have very good hearing, little dove."

"Then it's settled," she whispered, "but it might be late…depending on the circumstances."

"I will wait all night if I must," he murmured, bending his head into her hands. Christine kneaded her fingers into his tousled hair, one more time, before pulling away from him. She opened the right-side door and stepped through, stopping once to look back at him before she closed the door. He was still kneeling in his doorway, his eyes glowering like coals from behind the mask, his lips slightly agape. "Tomorrow," he whispered.

"Tomorrow," Christine repeated, shutting the door quietly. Her head was still swimming with the hot, wet urgency of his lips, and she scolded her body wordlessly, for now she was approaching the staircase. She must be smooth and elegant, not betraying anything to Raoul's prying and wandering eyes…she must be the essence of grace. High upon the fumes of Erik's touch, she descended the staircase to her flat in a dreamlike state, feeling the buzz of liquor and venom slither beneath her skin. She would lie to him, much like he did to her; but she must be better than him…she must beat him at his own game.

Christine slid the key into the lock, pushing the door open quickly, as if she had merely been wandering home from Rosie's. There was smoke that swirled about the air, and a familiar clinking noise; a glass being filled with fumbling hands. She shut the door behind her, pulling her coat off and hanging it on the rack. Before she could look up or turn around, she heard soft laughter coming from several feet away; Raoul was settled upon the sofa, his legs crossed and lazily placed upon the coffee table. Blue eyes burned at her through the haze of smoke, and she smiled back at them, a tiny piece of her feeling defiant, unafraid. He likes you…Erik likes you! Maybe could even love you…think of it!

"Christine! What a pleasant surprise," Raoul crooned, sipping brandy from his rocks glass, a cigarette pluming smoke from between his fingers. "Come sit, my darling…I haven't seen you all day!" His voice was laced with bitterness and arrogance, and she braced herself for the discomfort of his direct eye contact. She made her way around the coffee table, sitting next to him while leaving a slight bit of space between them.

"I've been at Rosie's," she explained, almost too hastily – and Raoul smiled, sipping from his glass as he nodded. "Interesting," he replied, cocking his head. He stuck his cigarette in the side of his mouth, reaching his free hand up to stroke a tendril of her hair. Christine held back a disgusted shiver, forcing a light smile to stay upon her lips.

"May I have a drink?" she asked politely, and Raoul tipped his chin, his smile widening. "I shall get it for you," he responded jovially, jumping up from the couch as her soft wave of hair fell through his fingertips.

"You know, I've just thought of something quiet peculiar. A…a dilemma, if you will. You see Christine, it's been raining for an hour…but your coat and hair are completely dry." He poured another glass of brandy, sauntering back over to the couch.

Christine's heart plummeted, cursing herself for missing such an obvious observation. "Rosie's mother has a driver. He took me home," she reached out for the glass greedily, and he released it with long, pale fingers, but he did not join her again on the couch.

"So," he continued slyly, his voice on the verge of a whisper, "if I were to phone Rosie's mother, she would confirm that yes, indeed she does have a driver…the one that drove you home…the reason you are perfectly and completely dry while it pours?" His eyes were molten and livid already, but a smile stayed plastered upon his flushed cheeks.

Alcohol could not save her. Bravery and courage drained from her blood like rain washing bits of plaster and dirt away – she was ensnared in a terrible lie, her mind still running over the events of Erik's mouth upon her neck…she drank from the glass with desperation, her eyes dropping to the plush carpeting. "I…I…"

With one swift movement, Raoul knocked the glass out of her hands, and it flew several feet, crashing down into the carpet and discharging the brandy like blood from a wound.

He snatched her face with a hand, dragging it closer to his, his nose almost touching her own. "Or maybe…maybe you were somewhere else. Somewhere nice and dry. Do you want to tell me? Or would you like me to guess? You know I love guessing games, my love!" He tittered with laughter, his blue eyes stretched to an open, inhuman length – the devil with sky-colored eyes.

"I…I was…" she whispered, tears beginning to flood from the pain of his fingers digging into her face. The words would not form in her mouth – she cursed only herself for falling into such an obvious trap. She tried biting her bottom lip to stop the tears from falling, but he pinched it with two fingers and twisted sharply, chuckling as he did so. Christine whimpered in pain. Raoul released her lips and crawled toward her on his hands and knees – a livid, precarious nightmare in the form of flesh – bending into her, crushing her body with his own; trapping her like a caged animal. "Please stop," she whimpered, desperate to pull her face away from his. Raoul let out a low growl, ripping a hand through her hair and clenching a fist upon her scalp. He pulled her hair back, still pressing his body into hers so that she could not move. "Did you let him fuck you?"

Christine's chest was heaving, and her head still swam with golden eyes and a man that knelt while the rain struck the earth. "No," she whispered, hot tears running down her cheeks.

"Did he touch you? Oh, I know he touched you, Christine…your skin is flushed, and your neck…" he removed her hair from the side of her neck, and threw his head back with laughter. "He left me a little mark, right here…just…for…me," he shoved a finger into the side of her neck, and she gagged uncontrollably, her eyes crinkled in a river of tears.

"Were you a good little slut? Did you suck his dick, Christine? Did you make him come?"

He pulled back upon her scalp harder, and she began to sob. Raoul released his hand from her hair, sending a stinging and crushing slap across her face. She fell into herself, covering her face with her hands, still sobbing wretchedly.

"Be quiet," Raoul warned, standing up from the couch while snatching a new cigarette from his pack on the table. "You know what I think? I think I'll leave my own little mark. Something for him to find, next time…you know, like a gift, Christine! Oh, think of it. How gallant of me!" He puffed out his chest, slamming a fist into himself like a painted martyr. "The man with the fucked up face likes my little slut…oh, and I suppose you couldn't wait to see him, because you forgot these," he motioned to the bottle of pills, sitting next to the ashtray. Christine cried harder, pulling her legs up against her chest and burying her head.

"Look at me, little slut…Look. At. Me."

She lifted her head, her eyes a haze of redness and tears, slowly wandering up to his. They were met with the fierce and ugly joy that was her husband's face; a gleeful, childlike demon with a toothy, wide smile. Raoul picked up a lighter dramatically, clicking it with his thumb and bringing a small flame to life. He held the cigarette to his lips, lighting it as he stabbed it between his front teeth. He seized her by the neck, squeezing slightly with one hand, while taking the cigarette in his other.

"A little mark won't hurt, will it?" he asked darkly, bringing the smoldering end of the cigarette closer and closer to the base of her throat. Christine squirmed and kicked, but he pushed his body onto her again, immobilizing her…and the mean, red end of the cigarette came closer until…

It seared like a knife plunged into her flesh, and his hand ground it into her skin, harder and harder. Christine let out a terrible scream, her vision blurring from the searing and unbearable pain. She could hear Raoul howling with wicked laughter, and she screwed her eyes tight from the monstrosity of his smile. It felt like the base of her throat was on fire, and she could not move, and the pain was too great to bear…

"Erik!" She screamed, not caring or knowing if she would receive another burn from Raoul. She could not care. She needed him, now. All of his words came rushing back to her, and she focused her mind upon the visage of his powerful body, his swift, deadly movements, tossing Raoul down the staircase like a ragdoll…

Her protector.

She screamed his name again, as loud as she could. A second burn pierced her sternum, and she was surrounded by darkness, her consciousness fighting to stay awake, to continue screaming his name…but her body weakened under the second burn, so badly that she began to break inside; a million pieces of glass, a thousand shards of rain. The last thing she could remember before darkness engulfed her was Erik's soft voice in her ear, gentle and teasing after bestowing small, devoted kisses up the side of her neck…

I'll do anything you ask of me.

…

A/N: I know this was a hard one to read. Any thoughts, emotions, opinions and/or feedback are so very appreciated. Also, don't kill me for the cliffhanger. Love, L.