This chapter is dedicated to LeChatNoir for her birthday; RAAA CHAT!
And as always mad props and love for my beta, Erik.
None will ever be a true Parisian who has not learned to wear a mask of gaiety over his sorrows and one of sadness, boredom or indifference over his inward joy.
In Paris, our lives are one masked ball…
From "The Phantom of the Opera" by Gaston Leroux
He never used to party. He used to hate them. But with the coke still singing in his veins, Erik sat like a king and smiled charmingly at the small harem around him.
He loved women, and he loved them even more when they draped themselves shamelessly across his thighs and couch arms and lavished him with affectionate kisses and touches.
Erik regarded the women through half-lidded eyes; none of them were of any real interest. None of them were putting their mouths to good use, and the sight of a total of eight fake tits was not a turn on in his mind. Fuckin' plastic surgeons, they like to pretend they're gods. Think everyone should bow to them…fuckin' bastards…
His hand clenched the frayed end of the sofa; these were not women around him, these were painted dolls with plastic bodies and hollow heads. There wasn't a single one that he gave a flying fuck about aside from how quickly he could get them to scream his name. But he wasn't so noble as to turn away prime pussy when it came calling.
Still, what was the point of this lifestyle? He hadn't dreamed of being some stoner punk in a dead-end job.
Dammit, now he was over thinking things again, and at twice the speed of normal against because of the Charlie. Christ, why couldn't he just be normal?
He needed to get laid. He needed that affection, that total acceptance that comes in those precious moments of skin against skin. The cruel, dirty, spiteful world disappeared when he bedded a woman. He had to hear her whisper his name in total bliss; it made him feel normal.
Still, no matter how high or horny he was, he wasn't desperate, and beyond that he made it a rule not to fuck any girl that looked like a living petri dish of whatever STD was in vogue.
And then, just as quickly as the depression had hit him, it was gone and Erik was suddenly bored and restless. He shifted in the chair and looked around the room for Darren. After a moment, he spotted him across the room chatting up a face on a stick. Seeing that Darren was more entertained than he was, was not something that Erik was going to take lightly.
Christine had been prepared for the worst, and all of her fears were quickly realized as Mandi darted off in search of liquor and drugs and left her leaning defensively against one filthy wall. She looked fearfully around the room and was fairly certainly that she could spot each of the seven deadly sins being exercised with abandon in the various crowded, shadowy areas of the room.
Luckily she was able to discourage any and all hopeful boys that approached her with her patented 'deer-in-headlights-oh-dear-God-please-don't-hurt-me' slack jawed expression. She'd perfected the expression years ago when she realized that people were far less likely to bother her if she looked at them as though they were monsters.
She sighed heavily let her head loll forward, her straight blond hair falling into a protective curtain. Her thoughts sunk into the cement floor. Why was she here? She was no punk. She was a scared little girl from the upper class in a pair of borrowed Doc Martins!
"Are you gonna bogart that wall all night, or can I join you?"
This time the terrified look was genuine as she flinched at the closeness of the strange voice. Glancing up, she almost sighed in relief when she met the concerned gaze of the band's bassist. She took it as a good sign when his eyes remained on her face.
Christine brushed her hair behind her ear and gave him a small smile. "You're Darren right? One of the guys that Mandi's moving in with?"
Darren's mouth split into a wide, symmetrical grin and he leaned his shoulder against the wall. "Yeah that's me," he replied with self-deprecating roll of his eyes. "So how'd you like the show?" Christine watched his dark eyes flick over across the room. Her own gaze followed and rested on that boy, that singer, that 'Erik'. He sat languidly in a sofa, knees spread, belly curled as he slouched, one arm tossed over the back of the sofa, long fingers digging into the frayed material; his other hand rested across the toned torso and would occasionally slide across the bare skin. She couldn't decide he if looked bored or annoyed, but Christine had yet to meet a boy who would be bored with four tarts perched around him.
Darren must have seen the distaste flicker over her features because he chuckled softly. "I know it doesn't look like it right now, but he's not a bad guy."
She would have made a snide comment about how perfectly wholesome Erik looked, but something about the sincerity of Darren's voice that made her pause. He almost sounded desperate, and she found it odd that he would want to convince a total stranger.
Christine shifted her weight and unconsciously tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I thought the show was interesting," she started lamely. "But I don't really listen to…this type of music."
He gave a small indulgent laugh and ran a hand over his clean-shaven head. "No kidding. You stick out like a sore thumb in this crowd."
She knew damn well that stuck out like Darth Vader at a Peace Corp convention, but that didn't mean that she wanted to hear it. "Mandi said I looked the part," she replied defensively.
Darren flashed her another warm smile and gave her outfit a neutral once over. "Sure you look like a punk, but Darlin' you act like a Christian thrown in the lion's den."
That won him a quiet, but genuine laugh. "Yes, it is rather intimidating," she admitted. God, he had a righteous smile! Too bad her 'rents would have fatal heart attacks if she ever brought a Negro home. Which may be all the more reason to do so, a wicked little voice spoke up, and Christine flashed a small grin back at Darren. He really was cute.
They fell into an awkward silence, as is common in such situations, and Christine found herself trying to spot Mandi somewhere in the sprawling indulgent crowd. Darren rubbed his hand over his scalp again and glanced at the ground before speaking again. "So, uh, you're Mandi's friend?"
Christine snorted softly at the sheer cheesiness of that question and raised an eyebrow at him. "So, uh, you're one of the random boys that Mandi's moving in with?"
Darren blinked once at the repeated question and then laughed scornfully at himself. "Yeah, déjà vu. Sorry. And I'm not random, you know. Mandi and I grew up next door to each other, and my parents took Erik into foster care when he was fifteen," he explained with a casual shrug. "So it's less like she's moving in with strangers than just her older brothers."
She smirked and looked pointedly at Erik, who was currently occupied with trailing his mouth along the contours of one girl's neck. Christine refused to admit how appealing the thought of such treatment suddenly was. "Right, because nothing says protective older brothers than promiscuous sex and drugs."
Darren looked genuinely hurt as he turned to her. "Look, I know he doesn't look like a model citizen, but you can't judge him when he's like this. He's a good lad, really. And I don't drink or get high myself."
Christine flashed him a deeply skeptical look. "That so."
He frowned at her. "Yes, I'm Muslim."
Suddenly she felt rather stupid indeed. "Aw geez, I'm sorry, I didn't know."
Darren had the rare ability to be able to laugh at a person, without making them defensive. "It's alright, but that does prove my point doesn't it?"
She smiled easily back at him and nodded. "Alright, alright, fair play."
Darren flashed her another heart-stopping grin and rubbed the back of his head and neck in what she realized could only be a nervous habit. He looked as though he had something to say, but he suddenly froze, his smile gone.
Christine looked over and realized that Erik was staring at them. There was something off about his gaze, something angry…but it didn't look like he was specifically angry with her or Darren. There was a vague sense of tension and displeasure around him.
Darren gulped softly as he watched Erik stand and approach. She had been uneasy when she first noticed that ambiguously dangerous gaze, but now she was utterly creeped-out. Erik moved with a stilted, rapid, almost twitchy gait; he looked like he was trying desperately to move gracefully through a briar patch.
Darren took a half step closer to her as Erik came nearer. "Let me talk to him," he said quietly, lips barely moving.
She stood stiffly and unconsciously backed up against the wall; ready for whatever may occur.
But nothing happened, Erik was intercepted about two and a half yards away by a busty girl with perfectly feathered black hair. Christine was surprised at the disappointment mingling with the relief. What would he have said?
Kitty's arms fitted easily around his waist as she slipped next to him. "Erik, you haven't called in two weeks," she said with a criminally sexy pout. "I feel neglected."
All thought of Darren and that mysterious bird disappeared with the first inhale of Kitty's lilac perfume. He wrapped an arm around her waist and lowered his head to hungrily kiss her exposed neck and shoulder. "You're right Kitten, I've been a proper wretch to have treated you like this," he purred against her olive skin.
Here was a woman who understood the rules! Kitty ignored the mask, didn't demand commitment, and was an animal in the sack.
She slid one graceful, soft hand down his belly, down over the front of his kilt, and gave him a promising grope. Erik growled and pulled her tightly against him. "I'll just have to make it up to you, won't I?"
Kitty threw her head back in a throaty laugh, her crimson lips pulling into a lustful grin as he led her across the room. She had a beautiful mouth, and he had plans for it.
Perhaps tonight wouldn't be a total waste, he thought as he led his lady into one of the private rooms.
Christine turned away with a look of disgust, ready to demand how Darren could possibly defend that little display. To her surprise, Darren's expression mirrored her own; when he caught her eyes, he gave a slight grimace. "Ok, I know he might look like a right, skirt-chasing bastard, but he is more than that."
Once again, she was struck by the sincerity of his tone, and she suddenly realized that he wanted her to agree with him. And just as quickly as it had sparked, the urge to be catty died away. After seeing the look in Darren's eyes, it would be like kicking a puppy and that's just not kosher.
"He's an amazing singer," she admitted with a small shrug.
She smiled slightly as he almost literally sagged with relief and that easy grin returned to his face. "Yeah, he really is. He's a genius, you know—"
Christine didn't get the chance to hear the end of Darren's thought though.
All activity in the room stopped at the sound of raised voices. Even the near-catatonic stoners perked up and turned to look at the closed door.
Christine frowned; she could hear Erik's voice, hoarse and wrathful. She glanced once at Darren, but he was staring hard at the door. "X-ray vision on the fritz there, Superman?"
He gave her a tight-lipped smile. "I just wonder what's wrong."
Several people jumped as the metal door shuddered against its hinges under a heavy impact. There was a moment of silence before a pathetic groan came from the closed room, and the shouting started again. This time a woman's voice joined Erik's.
She barely heard Darren give a murmured 'aw shite' before he started jogging across the room. Christine made a move to follow him, but stopped as the door was violently kicked open with a loud bang. She watched in shock as Erik dragged a teenage boy out by his t-shirt.
Erik hauled the kid, no older than nineteen, up to look him in the eye, and the fact that the boy's feet hung a few inches above the ground wasn't lost on anyone.
Erik was terrifying, his eyes burned out through his mask, his lips were pulled back in a snarl, and every muscle was tight with his rage. The boy was sniveling and wriggling in his grasp, blood flowing freely from a badly broken nose; Christine couldn't hear what was being said.
Darren took a few more steps forward, but Erik paid him no attention; he was only aware of the boy. Giving him a violent shake, Erik brought him even closer to his face and roared, "YOU DON'T TREAT WOMEN LIKE THAT!"
Christine's hand flew to her mouth suddenly; what had happened!
Darren was moving again, but Erik gave an inarticulate growl and threw the boy away from him in disgust. The young punk flailed his arms as he went over the ratty sofa and crashed down hard on the table.
A few people were spurred into motion and they rushed to the boy's side; whether to admire the damage or help remained to be seen.
Erik didn't give the chaos a second look as he spun on his heel and returned back into the dark room. Darren ran to catch up with him. "Erik, fer chrissake what's happened?" he called.
Christine moved forward to hear the answer, but Erik's response was cut off by a screech from the girl Erik had escorted into the backroom. She came tearing back out of the room and threw herself at the whimpering punk, scratching and slapping him. "You little fuckin' cunt! A fuckin roofy! You sick fuck!"
Christine's hand flew to her mouth suddenly. No! She watched as all the women in the room narrowed their eyes and began to circle the now terrified and bruised boy.
She looked around for Mandi and began to quietly panic when she couldn't find the cheerful blond. Christine found herself running over to the darkroom. No, no, no, no, not Mandi!
She skidded to a halt in front of the door as Erik and Darren walked back out. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of Mandi in Erik's arms, clinging drunkenly to his neck.
"Oh God! Is she alright?" she cried, trying to move closer to Erik. Darren intercepted her, placing his hand on her upper arms and pushing her gently back.
"She'll be ok," he told her quickly. "Erik found her before the bastard could do anything."
Erik looked up from Mandi at the sound of his name and locked eye with Christine over Darren's shoulder. He looked older again, and worried, despite the glassy quality of his eyes. After a moment he looked back down at Mandi and pressed a reassuring kiss to her forehead, holding her protectively.
Suddenly, the weight of what could have happened if Erik had not walked into that room hit her like a wall, and Christine began to shake and cry.
Darren wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. "Hey, it's ok," he told her as they moved to the exit. "It's ok. Come on, you can stay at our place tonight."
She nodded weakly and looked at Erik and Mandi again; Mandi was slurring quiet words into Erik's neck as he held her. He met Christine's eyes again, and she realized that Darren was right; there was more to this strange masked man.
He cast his mismatched eyes back over to Darren and nodded to the door. His voice was hoarse from the night's events, but his words were beautiful to Christine. "Let's get these ladies someplace safe."
