As always, mad love for my beta/PR Agent, Erik, he's had more to do
with the success of this story than he'd ever let anyone convince him.
If you wish to live in peace, you must not begin by taking away my private box.
From "The Phantom Of The Opera" by Gaston Leroux.
It was a long night. No one slept, save for Mandi who passed out at three forty-seven.
The four had sat in the sparse living room, few words were spoken, Darren and Erik seemed to communicate to each other through subtle shifts in body language and pointed glances, and Christine had nothing to say as she watched Mandi going through the effects of the drug.
It broke her heart to see her friend's eyes grow wide and wild with irrational fear, only to grow heavy and lethargic moments later; Erik held her protectively in his arms as she rode through the waves of emotions.
Mandi clung to Erik's neck and nuzzled against him, occasionally leaving a biting kiss. She watched him accept this treatment stoically, rubbing Mandi's back and whispering soothing words to her until she was overcome with exhaustion.
Now Darren sat next to Christine on the faded sofa, ready to take care of her should the stress of all that had happened became too much for her. She barely noticed him as she watched Mandi and Erik, her face pinched with concern. Watching him hold her, Christine suddenly felt guilty for being so quick to judge the masked man. There was nothing skeevy, or off-putting about him now. Though she did wonder why he hadn't taken the mask off; she had thought he simply wore it for the show.
She shrugged the pointless thought off; if he wanted to appear mysterious, let him. She stood with out a word and walked into the kitchen, feeling the questioning eyes of the two men following her every move. She ignored it as best she could and slipped through the doorway.
She didn't bother look up at the sound of footsteps behind her as she filled a smudged glass with water from the sink. Christine didn't want to speak; she was terrified that she would simply break down in tears again. She drank half the glass before the person behind her broke the silence. "She's going to be alright, Christine."
She spun slowly and faced Darren as she leaned against the cold edge of the Formica countertop. "How do you know that!" she demanded, her voice becoming a strained whisper. "Has this happened before?"
Darren held up his hands quickly, almost defensively, to calm her. "No, no, of course not! I just meant that I know how this drug works," he hastily explained taking a step forward, as though to embrace her.
Christine turned away from him and set the glass down in the sink. "You're sure she'll be alright?" she asked softly as she faced him again; she hated the tremor that ran beneath the words, and she cleared her throat with a slight grimace to hide it.
He crossed his arms loosely over his chest. "Yes I'm sure. Erik wouldn't let anything happen to her."
Suddenly Christine was tired of all the vague laurels that Darren hung around this "Erik's" neck. "And what if he happens to her!" she snapped suddenly in a hissed whisper. "Christ, she's nearly comatose, and he's fuckin' high! I saw how he was acting with those other girls!"
Darren narrowed his eyes at her, his jaw dangerously tight, and she instantly regretted the hasty words. "I'm going to take a moment to remember that you're exhausted, worried, and totally out of your depth, so that I don't hit you," he growled softly. Christine tried to step back at his tone, but was stopped by the counter. "You haven't got a Danny LaRue what your talkin' about little girl, and it would be in your best interest not to make bogus accusations, fool that you are." He stepped closer to her and held one index finger stiffly before her nose as he continued speaking. "Erik would never hurt Mandi; they're closer'n siblings or lovers."
He could have continued to harangue her for those thoughtless words, but a third voice stopped him. "Let 'er alone Mate, she's got every right not ta trust me."
Erik stood leaning a shoulder against the door jam, his right arm hanging loosely while he absently rubbed the back of his neck with the other. Even with the mask covering so much of his face, Christine could see the weariness pulling at the corners of his lips and dulling his eyes. She was hit with another wave of guilt; he had heard.
Darren took a long breath and then turned to face him, rubbing a hand over his scalp. "How is she?" he asked softly.
Erik sighed and rolled his shoulders as he took one step into the kitchen. "She's dead to the world," he answered softly, holding Darren's gaze. "She'll sleep the rest of the night." And then suddenly he turned to face Christine. She felt her heart jump to her throat when his eyes fell on her and his attention focused. Even with the weariness clouding them, his gaze was frighteningly piercing, and she uncomfortably noticed that he had yet to put a shirt on. Her own eyes rebelliously followed the planes of his torso and she felt a blush spread across her features as she looked back up at his face. "She probably won't remember any of what happened," he said evenly without acknowledging her embarrassment. "And because nothing happened, I think it would be a good idea if we didn't tell her; it'd only hurt her."
Darren nodded in the corner of her eye even through Erik was speaking to her. She bit her lip as she thought about what he had said. Part of her didn't like the idea of lying to Mandi, but really what would it solve to put her through that kind of emotional pain? After a moment she nodded her agreement and he nodded once in reply before turning and walking silently out of the kitchen.
Darren hurriedly followed. "Erik, where are you going?"
"For a walk," he answered without looking back.
"You're not going to Bucket's are you?"
Erik spun suddenly on his heel and glared at the other man. "No, and I want you to have flushed the rest of the fuckin' Charlie down the shitter by the time I get back," his voice suddenly sharp in the quiet room as she listened from the kitchen.
Darren's voice was confused as he replied. "Do you mean—"
"Yes, that's what I fuckin' mean," Erik hissed back softly. "I'm done with it, and now I'm going for a walk to clear my head." Then his voice became gentle again, as if with the flick of a switch. "And try and make sure that other girl gets some rest too."
Christine stood frozen as she listened to the door open and then close; even though she knew he was gone, her heart refused to slow. Darren reentered the kitchen and reached out briefly to touch her arm, but then pulled back as if he had thought better of it. "I need to go through the apartment and find where he stashes all the coke," he explained simply. "You can help me, or go lay down in one of the bedrooms."
She was too stunned to answer right away. He was talking about cocaine as if it were nothing! Christine could barely begin to process that the drug was anything more than a bogeyman her parents threatened her with, let alone agree to search an apartment for it! Her stomach gave a rolling lurch and she braced herself against the counter. "I think I'd better lay down," she whispered.
Darren placed his hands on her shoulders for a moment to steady her. "Yeah, of course, you've gotta be beat; the bedrooms are down the hall on either side, pick anyone you want."
Christine all but dragged herself down the dim hallway and picked the first doorknob she found. She could see little else except the dark shape of a bed on the floor; it was probably shoddy, but she didn't care. Sitting on the edge of the king-size mattress, she peeled off the Doc Martins, reflecting briefly that she had indeed been glad she was wearing them. Christine flopped bonelessly down onto the bed, letting the breath whoosh from her lungs; she very nearly purred. It was not a shoddy mattress; it was damn near heaven. With a monstrous yawn, she pulled the worn comforter over herself and curled into a tight ball.
She was asleep instantly.
