Sorry for the late update, but this semester is really working me hard, so I'll write when I can.

As always mad props and love to my Beta/PR Agent, Erik.


"...after what happened between us yesterday, after what you said and what I was able to guess, I hardly expected to see you here so soon. I should be the first to delight at your return, if you were not so bent on preserving a secrecy that may be fatal to you...and I have been your friend too long not to be alarmed..."

-From "The Phantom Of The Opera" by Gaston Leroux


Erik was woken by the sound of bottles being smashed and thrown about. Each high-pitched shatter sent a bolt of pain through his ears, into his skull where his brain was throbbing against the back of his eyes. He flinched and grimaced with each crash, burying his wretched head further under his pillow with a faint whimper.

Jesus fuckin' Christ on roller-skates, he thought dully, whatever happened last night had better a'been worth this hangover.

A few blurred images passed before his mind's eye, but he could grasp none. Sleep was now hopeless and he rose up on his elbows to glare hatefully at the morning light. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he rested his eyes in the heels of his hands before passing his fingers through his lank hair and donning his mask. Erik had the distinct feeling that he wouldn't be pleased with whatever was causing that racket, nonetheless a morbid curiosity pushed him forward and out the door.

Leaning heavily on the smooth wall, he made his way down the hallway toward the kitchen; his head throbbed hotly with every step, and he flinched at every crash. Trapped at the end of the hall by the irrational urge to stay in the shadows and be unseen, Erik rather wished he had a talking Great Dane to help with this mystery. Closing his eyes and taking a steadying breath he walked into the kitchen and froze.

Darren stood next to an aluminum garbage can and was throwing each bottle of booze he discovered in to it with an angry grunt. He snarled as he moved through every cupboard, muttering furiously, "Stupid fuckin' wanker!" Throw, crash! "I'm not gonna take another minute of it!" Throw, crash! "Never again!"

Erik stood in the kitchen doorway with a blank look, jaw agape, and stared uncomprehendingly at the sight; the fuck is goin' on? He looks like he's gone barmy. He took a slow step forward, wincing as Darren flung a bottle of Gosling's into the can. "Oy! What d'ya think yer doing?"

Darren turned to face him with a stony expression, "I'm getting rid of the booze, what's it look like?"

He furrowed his brow under the mask and glanced at the bin. "But why? Why's the rum gone?"

Throwing his hands in the air, Darren spun around to grab another bottle and then fling it violently into the dustbin, causing him to flinch and take a half-step back. "Because I'm tired of cleaning up after your tanked ass! I'm sick of it!" he snarled.

"Whoa, whoa, what are you talking about?" Erik threw his hands up defensively. He was officially clueless; all he knew was that he had a hangover and Darren had gone barmy.

All he got for his confusion was an incredulous look. Darren shook his head slowly and released a short, bitter laugh. "You don't even remember do you? Do you?" He could only shake his head 'no' and Darren laughed scornfully again. "Of course you don't! How convenient!"

Erik felt a sense of dread well up in his gullet and he leaned heavily against the door frame, wracking his fogged memory. He thought he remembered something about John Players fags, but that made no sense, he never smoked them; he realized his throat hurt a bit.

"What did I do?" he asked tentatively.

"What did you do? You went fuckin' mad!" Darren yelled, throwing away a bottle of vodka. "You sexually harassed Christine, then insulted her, and then started singing and yelling in the street like a lunatic!"

Erik's blood went cold and he fell against the counter's edge, placing a hand over his heart as he stared at the floor. No, no, no, I'd never do that. Sexually harass? The very words made his stomach lurch in disgust. He shook his head weakly and murmured "No, I couldn't have."

The black man frowned deeply as he continued dumping bottles into the garbage. "You called her a 'cow' Erik, and only she knows what you did before I got there," he told him softly.

Erik closed his eyes tightly as his own voice filtered through his throbbing head and haunted him.

"I wonder if you're that feisty when a bloke's got a leg over ye,"

"No," he whispered weakly, shocked at himself.

"I am not worthless, you stupid cow."

He curled his fingertips into his scalp, pleading slightly for the truth to go away. It can't be!

"Rex tremendae majestatus
qui salvandos salvas gratis
sale me, fons pietatis!"

Erik gasped softly as the memories crashed over him in a sickening wave, and he promptly leaned over the dustbin to empty the meager contents of his stomach. Oh fuck, you monster, you fuckin' monster! He raged at himself as his stomach lurched forward again. Look what you've become! Suddenly there was a cool hand on his shoulder, and he choked back a sob as the contractions passed. Darren handed him a damp cloth without a word.

Standing shakily, he was hit by just how far he had fallen; he'd always drunk, but never like this. He'd just wanted to get through the coke withdrawal, but now...now he just didn't know anymore. Raising his eyes to look at his friend, still pulling down bottles. So many bottles, half-finished and then left forgotten until he went on another binge; they were all his. Darren had quit drinking over a year ago when he rediscovered his religion.

"D...I'm sorry," he muttered miserably, leaning back against the counter and wrapping his arms around his stomach.

Darren sighed slowly and turned to face him, rubbing his palm over his scalp. "I know you are Mate, but it can't go on. It just can't."

Erik nodded and reached out to grab the nearest bottle. He regarded the whiskey label and felt nothing but scorn for the liquid within; he threw the bottle into the can. "I know it can't," he said softly before turning away and leaving the kitchen.

Just as he crossed the hall, Mandi burst through the front door, eyes blazing and her uniform from Gordeep's wrinkled. She caught sight of him and came storming over. "Christine told me what you did, you fuckwit!" she spat and then slapped him roughly before turning on her heel and stalking away. Erik blinked in surprise and tasted blood from the force of the blow, but did not follow her. He walked slowly to the sofa and sat, putting his head into his hands. He was going to have to get used to being sober again.