Ok, sorry I haven't updated in a while, but I've been really busy. But I realized that this seemed to be headed the same way my other story went, and I really didn't want that to happen, so, I'll try to finish this one, but don't expect very frequent updates.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters other than Amy. Damn.

Chapter Three

Later…

I slowly come to, disoriented. Where am I? I look around and it all comes back to me: the fire, the tunnel, someone choking me… I feel a hand on my shoulder and spin around. It's the Phantom, staring down at me. If looks could kill… He doesn't have his mask on, and his face fascinates me. I know it's rude, but I can't stop staring. It's like nothing I've ever seen before. It seems so out of place on the rest of his body. I blush as I catch myself staring at his chest. But who wouldn't stare? It's… perfect. Not that I have much experience in judging men's' chests. But still…How could Christine think he was ugly? I guess she fixated on his face and not the rest of his body. I bring my eyes back up to his face and realize that he is still glaring at me.

"Are you planning on telling me what on earth you are doing here, or are you just going to stand there staring. I know it's ugly, but I would have imagined that your mother taught you better manners than that." He pauses and his scowl deepens. "Well?"

It takes me a while to find my voice. "I…I…The fire. The roof was falling, and there was no where else to go. I can leave." I try to stand up, but he pushes me back down.

"Do you think that I would let you leave so you can go running off to tell everyone where I am? I think not." He grins evilly.

"So, what am I to do then? I can't just stay in this tunnel foreve--" I stop talking as a terrible thought comes to me. He could kill me now, and no one would ever know. They would all think that I had died in the fire. He laughs and I look up at him in shock.

"Do you really think that I would kill you? Well, yes, I suppose you do. Is that what they say about me in the dormitories? That I kill little ballet girls just for fun? And grind their bones to make bread? I would have thought you smarter than to believe such rumors, Mademoiselle Giry." I must have looked confused, for he continues "You wonder how I know your name? I know everything that goes on in this Opera House. Everything, down to the number of ballet shoes ordered each year. So, naturally, I know everything about you. I know that when you were five, you stole a pastry out of the kitchens, and that you still feel guilty about it. I know that you couldn't cry at all when your father died, no matter how hard you tried. And I know that although you are her friend, you are insanely jealous of Mademoiselle Daae, and that you would love to watch her crawl. Am I not right, my dear?" The endearment at the end sounds as if it is the worst of insults. It infuriates me that he knows all this, and knows that he's right. Before I realize it, I am yelling at him

"So? You think you know all there ids to know about me? Well, you are not as mysterious as you may think. For everything you may know about me, I know something about you. I know that you have exactly 1379 paintings, drawings or sketches of Christine to date. I know that the ring you bought her was an aquamarine, not a sapphire like she thought it was. And I know that however much you may care about her, she will never, ever love you. Who could? If you were as mean to her as you are to me, maybe you deser--" He cuts me off.

"Oh, and what makes you think you know anything about this, Mademoiselle? What would you know of love, when the closest you've ever come to it is a peck on the cheek?" He has hit a nerve, and he knows it. Damn him.

"Well maybe I am not as "experienced" as I might be, but who are you to talk? When Christine kissed you just now, that was your first kiss ever, I'll warrant. Am I right?" I stare at him, daring him to refuse.

"No." He won't elaborate. I look at him and realize that while we were yelling at each other, we got closer to each other, so that there is barely an inch between us. He seems to notice this at the same time I do, for he locks eyes with me, his gaze turning suddenly very sensual. My knees start to shake.

"Never been kissed before?" he murmurs, looking down at my lips, "Well, that can be easily fixed, can't it?" And before I can even think of what to say, much less say it, he is kissing me, and I can hardly remember my own name, much less why I was angry with him. Oh God… he definitely has kissed someone before, no one can be this good at this naturally. His hands come around my waist, pulling me closer to him. My brain is trying to come up with reasons arguments for why this is wrong, but the rest of me has already made up its mind, and blocks my brain out, for a while at least.

please review! they make me want to update.