Thank you so much for the support and encouragement. It made me want to update again :) I hope you like this one. It starts slow, yes, but it'll get more plot heavy later on. Romance is my genre and I like to focus on it. I hope you like Erik and Christine. They're a bit different than others I've read or wrote but Erik's past is darker than he appears right now.
Christine's ankle was healed and just fine by the next day but she was reluctant to do anything except lounge around all weekend. After the horrible week she'd had, and the depression that was threatening to pull her under, she was happy to watch old movies on her grandfathered television and never change out of her pajamas.
She couldn't bring herself to practice her music book, she just didn't have it in her. The last lesson was still heavily weighing on her mind and she briefly wondered if she should just give it up now and save herself the eventual heartbreak.
That dream she'd had about singing professionally was far away and out of her reach, if it had ever been there to begin with. Singing in the car at this point felt much safer.
Even so, when Tuesday came around, she forced herself to go to the lesson. Poor Anne had put more effort into her than anyone else ever had. Trying one more time was the least she could do.
"Christine! I'm so glad you've made it, my dear. And just in time too. I hear there may be a severe thunderstorm this evening. We'll try to make it quick, hm? Wouldn't want you caught up in it," Anne told her upon her arrival, smiling gently under her glasses.
Christine easily fell back into her role of student around Anne as they ran through scales and warm ups. She didn't allow herself to think of her worries and just focused on the music and the happy melody that Anne picked out. She held onto the song, desperate to feel that happiness, but it was like looking through a window. Unobtainable.
After her lesson ended, Christine was given a different music book to look through. "I want you to pick a song. Any song. One that speaks to you. We will run through it next time, all right? I want to see that light in your eyes."
Christine swallowed back a lump, still wondering if she should quit while she was ahead, before she submerged herself again into the darkness of despair. However, she had a hard time voicing her thoughts while Anne smiled hopefully at her, and found herself agreeing before hopping into the Uber to head back home. True enough, the clouds were dark and heavy, threatening to wreak havoc on the town any second.
To her surprise, when she got home, Meg was standing outside her door and gave her a big wave from the stairs.
"Meg! What are you doing here? It's going to storm!" She scolded as she ran up the stairs to her.
Meg laughed, waving her off with a roll of her eyes. "A storm isn't going to get you out of your promise, dear Chris. You said when you moved that we'd still have movie nights. Now, hurry up and unlock your door, those clouds look really scary."
Christine laughed and let them in, feeling a heavy weight lift from her chest as she did so. Meg went to her kitchen and began to cook popcorn in the microwave and Christine threw her smock and bag down on her bed.
"Wow, you even brought snacks? How prepared you were," Christine said with a light laugh, going to the fridge and grabbing a water bottle. She was parched after singing.
Meg threw her a grin over her shoulder. "That's me, always prepared." She leaned against the counter as the popcorn began to pop. "How's lessons going?"
Christine took a drink of her water and shrugged. "They're fine."
Meg raised an eyebrow, not believing her. "Fine? Just fine? Don't sound too excited."
Christine laughed. "It's not that, it's just... it's hard to get back into it. You know since..." she trailed off, her thoughts growing dark and gloomy like the clouds outside.
"Since your dad isn't here anymore?" Meg speculated correctly. The microwave beeped and she pulled open the door to retrieve the bag, shaking it as she did so. "I guess I understand. But... doesn't singing in general make you happy?"
Christine sighed and slid a hand through her hair, but her fingers tangled in the messy curls. Meg grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and poured the popcorn into it. "Well yeah, of course. I love to sing. Music was such a huge part of my life growing up, I couldn't have imagined giving it up for anything, but now, I find myself getting disappointed when I don't feel how I did before. Does that make sense?"
"Not really but I think I understand what you're getting at," Meg told her, handing over the bowl. "You're looking for that same feeling you got when you were younger and you don't feel it anymore. Right?"
Christine nodded, glad that Meg sort of understood. It was far more complicated than what she'd said but her feelings were all over the place and she didn't think she could put them into words just yet.
Meg took out a bottle of water from the fridge and they made their way to the couch, sitting next to each other as the sound of heavy rain surrounded them. "Well maybe you don't feel it anymore because you're not a kid. You're older now and have more life experience. Your dad isn't with us anymore and you're no longer in school. And you're in a different place in your life, trying to recreate something you once had."
Christine's shoulders slumped and watched as Meg grabbed the remote from the arm of the couch closest to her and turned the television on. Was she doing that? Trying to recreate how music once made her feel? Surely the thrill of music couldn't just disappear from someone who had felt it so strongly at one time.
"Should I stop, Meg?" Christine softly asked her. Meg tore her eyes from flipping through the channels to look back over at her.
"That's up to you, Chris. Only you know what you want."
What do I want? Christine's heart clenched tightly and her hand automatically went to her chest, where it beat painfully. What I want is for everything to go back to how it was.
No more was said about it and Meg found a romantic comedy on one of the cable channels. They settled down as the storm outside brewed, eating popcorn and chatting about random things. Christine let herself forget for a night and just enjoyed having Meg around after so many lonely nights.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Christine said as they cleared their bottles and popcorn mess after the movie was over. "I finally met my downstairs neighbor."
"The one with the dog? You told me." Meg said, coming up behind her while braiding her long sleek hair. She had dressed down into her soft plush pajamas for the night.
"No, the other one."
Meg's eyes widened with interest. "Well? Was he as strange as that guy said?"
Of course, Christine had told Meg about her run in with Joe at some point and she was surprised that Meg had remembered. "Honestly? Even more so," Christine told her with a short laugh. She threw the bottles away and dropped the bowl into the sink to be washed later.
"How so?"
"I fell up the stairs and twisted my ankle the other day coming home from work and my bag accidentally hit his door. He came out, probably thinking someone had knocked and found me in a heap on the ground."
Meg immediately got more eager. "What does he look like? Was he hot? Oh please tell me he was hot."
Hot? Christine conjured the image of her neighbor in her mind and suppressed a laugh. No. Definitely not hot. Although if he was, she wouldn't have been able to tell. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "He wore a mask that covered everything but his eyes and mouth."
Meg stopped and blinked repeatedly, as if unsure if she heard correctly. "A mask? Like... Michael Myers or Zorro?"
Christine did laugh at that. "You watch too many movies."
Meg just cracked a grin and finished her braid, securing it with an elastic.
"It was more like Zorro, but covered his whole face, like I said."
"I wonder if he is into role play or something," Meg commented, going into the bathroom and washing her face.
Christine followed and leaned against the doorway, thinking about it. "Maybe. His voice was pleasant to the ear. Like... nothing I had ever heard before. You could listen to it all day and never get sick of hearing it."
Meg paused, water dripping down her face to give her an odd look from the mirror. "Okaaay."
Christine shook herself from the memory of his voice and gave her a sheepish grin. "Anyway! He carried me up here because I couldn't walk."
Meg stood up straight at that, grabbing the towel and spinning around to look at her with wide eyes. "He carried you? Oh my god, it's just like a Jane Austen movie!"
Christine rolled her eyes, suddenly feeling like Meg was reading way too into the situation. Perhaps she'd think differently if she actually saw him. "All right, now I know you've been watching too many movies. Does your mom know you've been slacking on your ballet?"
Meg scowled and turned back around to finish drying her face. "How old is he?"
Christine shifted uncomfortably at the question, not appreciating where it was going. "I don't know and even if I did, it's not like that, Meg. I'm not looking for a relationship right now." She left the doorway to make her point and went to her bedroom, changing into her shorts and baggy t-shirt to sleep in.
Meg followed after a few moments and climbed onto the bed. "I know you're not. I was just curious. He just seems kind if he carried you up here like that."
Christine sighed and threw her dirty clothes in her small cloth hamper. "I suppose it was kind of him. I... it was just really embarrassing is all. I don't even know his name."
Meg smiled and stretched her long legs out. "Well, besides the mask part, he doesn't seem all that strange."
Christine shrugged and headed for the bathroom to wash her face and teeth. Something was strange about him but she just couldn't put her finger on it. Maybe his eyes? Or perhaps it was the mask. She wasn't sure.
Christine didn't tell Meg about the piano she heard that one night, still slightly put off by how it had affected her. Besides, she didn't think her friend would understand.
oO0Oo
The next night, Christine had tied up the trash bag in her kitchen and forced herself to walk it down the stairs to the big dumpster at the back of the complex. Ever since she'd seen those creepy yellow eyes, she'd been putting it off for as long as possible. Unfortunately, it had begun to smell and the last thing she needed was her poorly circulated apartment stinking.
Christine tried not to look around her as she walked to the back of the complex, too afraid she'd see the eyes again. She threw the bag into the dumpster with a little difficulty balancing the lid open and tossing the bag at the same time. Dusting her hands off on her work jeans, she glanced up at the stars that should have been beginning to appear in the night sky. It had been raining for a few days now and it left behind thick, bulbous clouds that refused to part and allow her to see Orion for comfort. Her mood grew somber and she kicked at a rock as she walked.
Once closer to her apartment, she lifted her head and froze.
There they were again. Those glowing yellow eyes, this time by the mailboxes. The hairs on the back of her neck and arms stood up as she tried not to panic.
Trying to figure out what to do to avoid them, the street lamp near her suddenly turned on and illuminated the owner of the eyes.
Gasping aloud in surprise, she blinked several times to come to terms with what she was seeing. It was no animal in a tree, or some sort of creature of the night.
It was him.
He was staring at her in a way that made goosebumps run along her arms. In the dark, he looked like he was straight out of a horror movie. Her heart quickened at the thought.
Christine quickly reprimanded herself. This was a man who had, just a few days ago, carried her up the stairs when she had been injured. His eyes were startling. They glowed. Actually glowed. Like two bright yellow lights from a flashlight. Yet, they seemed to dim with the brightness of the street lamps. Was it only in the dark that they glowed so acutely?
He was an imposing black figure, staring intently at her and he was still wearing that mask.
She cautiously approached him, trying to ignore the way her legs shook. He wasn't a serial killer, was he? She swallowed down some of her fear and kept farther away from him than she normally would with the intention of speaking to someone.
"Hello," she greeted hesitantly.
"Good evening," he replied, his voice just as melodic and pleasing to the ear as it had been before. An involuntary shiver ran through her at the sound. It both intrigued her and freaked her out.
Never had she been adept at small talk, especially with a man appearing like he had the means to kidnap her. She steadied her voice. "It's a lovely night."
"Is it?" He didn't seem too convinced of her observation and she remembered too late that the sky was covered in thick clouds threatening to cause a downpour at any minute.
A small red rash flamed upon her chest in mortification. She stuck her hair behind her ear. "Thank you again, by the way. For helping me the other day."
"It is no matter."
Christine grew increasingly uneasy under his strong stare and she looked away awkwardly. Well, I said what I needed to say. "Alright, um - good night then." Intending on leaving him there, she took a few steps toward the apartment.
"Are you taking lessons?"
She stopped and turned back around to face him. "Lessons?"
"Forgive me. For your voice," he explained softly, the night air carried the sound and caressed her in a way she didn't understand. He finally took a couple steps forward and she fought with herself to stay where she was. "I heard you a few weeks ago. I can tell that you're working on your voice."
Christine swallowed a large lump down her throat and fumbled with her hands. "I am." This was so embarrassing. "I'm not that very good you see, so I—"
"Not very good?" He countered quickly, baffled by her words. She broke off, startled by his tone. His eyes widened substantially behind the mask, seeming to glow brighter. "Your voice is unlike anything I have ever heard."
Just like that, Christine's whole world felt like it had been shrunk down to that exact moment and she felt her vision get blurry. Many people had praised her for her natural talent but never once had someone said such a thing to her and with such passionate sincerity. It shook her deeply and she was left staring dumbly at him as he continued to defend her voice.
"It is out of practice, yes, but the potential... it is there. I can hear it," he told her, an overly long finger tapping near where his ear was covered by dark hair. "Your voice is so clear, so pure that with a little work, it could sound truly like a gift from God. And I… I am sure your instructor is helping you with such a thing." His mouth drew into a thin line, clamping down on the glimpse of excitement that had filtered through his voice briefly, dizzying her.
Christine forced herself to nod, completely stunned speechless. "I… yes. I'm working on getting better. Slowly. I can only go once a week after work."
"Ah, yes. You are wasting your talent working at... that salon," he drew the word out in distaste and she blinked with confusion. How did he... oh right, she had been wearing her smock that day he helped her. It had the logo of the salon on the breast pocket.
"I can't pay my bills by singing alone," she told him with a small, nervous laugh, while sticking her hair behind her ear. "I wish I could. Maybe in another life."
"I disagree."
"How would you know?" His arrogance had her skin prickling. He didn't even know her.
"I am in the music industry," he said simply.
She wasn't surprised by this revelation. He had played the piano that night so beautifully, he had to be a professional. Perhaps that was why he wore the mask, to hide his identity from the public. It didn't explain why he lived in a cheap apartment complex however.
"You play the piano, right? I heard you the other night," she admitted, her fingers fidgeting in front of her. "You're really talented."
His mouth snapped shut and he briefly looked away, for the first time taking his eyes off of her since she'd noticed him. Was he… embarrassed? "I didn't know anyone was listening." A gloved hand went to his mask, adjusting it slightly.
Christine found the action slightly endearing, as it made him seem more human and less like the serial killer from a horror flick. She gave him a small smile, her nerves beginning to somewhat relax. "I suppose we are even then. We seem to have made a habit of hearing each other when the other isn't aware."
He stared at her, as if unaccustomed to teasing. She laughed nervously again. "Well, um, good night. It was nice talking to you," she told him, putting a hand up to give him a little wave.
He didn't respond or react for that matter, so she ducked her head and turned, successfully making it up to her apartment.
It wasn't until she was inside with the door closed that she realized that he wasn't nearly as scary as she'd made him out to be. And now she knew those yellow, glowing eyes belonged to him. She shivered at the reminder. How did someone's eyes glow like that? Perhaps it was some sort of mutation.
Christine stared down at the music book Anne had given her. She still hadn't chosen a song. She picked it up and sat on her couch, flipping through the songs with fresh eyes, recognizing a few from her early days.
"Your voice is unlike anything I've ever heard."
His velvety voice came back to her and she struggled to shake it off. He truly believed such a thing. She frowned to herself, brows drawing together, wondering how a stranger such as he found her voice to be in any way appealing or to compare it to the heavens.
It was unbelievable and she wouldn't have believed him if she hadn't heard how he had said it. He had been almost beside himself with excitement as he spoke of her voice. It made her want to prove him right.
Her body grew warm and a blush filtered across her cheeks, her heart quickening. She dropped the music book and placed her hands on her cheeks. For the first time since she had begun singing again, she felt the drive to continue.
Not because of her father. Not because of what others expected of her. Not even because of how she felt as a child.
It was because, inside, she wanted his words to be true.
Laying in her bed that night, she had a hard time falling asleep. She tossed and turned, wishing she could turn her brain off. She checked her phone. It was nearing midnight and so she threw an arm over her eyes as if it would block out her inner struggles.
That was when she heard it.
She stilled, listening intently, trying to figure out if she was hearing correctly or if it was her imagination.
Yes, it was a piano. It was him. It had to be.
She slowly removed her arm from her face and pulled the blanket up to her mouth, staring at the ceiling as the unfamiliar melody ventured through the vents and swept around her room.
Eventually, she felt her eyes drooping, her brain finally shutting off, and fell into a deep sleep.