A/N: I am so sorry to my beloved readers, for being absent for the past two weeks. I just got back last night, and believe me, it is not easy to return to typing stuff when your fingers have lost two weeks practise! I hope you like this chapter, I promise the plot will take a turn somewhere in the next chapter. Please review, I love all of your reviews, you're all so kind :)
Disclaimer:I do not own the Phantom of the Opera or any of it's characters. More's the pitty.
Kristen could not have prepared herself for the sounds she heard coming out of that instrument. He had not even replied to her request, he just simply played. Her heart had never danced to a song before, but this music seemed to consume her, to imprison her within it's sound. The song was laced with fury, sexuality, and a strange hint of doom. How on earth had anyone come up with this arrangement? Not only was it the music, it was him. No one could have played this song like that and she was sure of it. He was the genius behind it all and he was the one who gave the music feeling.
With each ivory key struck, she seemed to plunge deeper and deeper into it's thrall. She could only sit and listen, with her ears beseeching more and more, when she knew the song was coming to it's massive climatic ending.
Erik himself had wondered why in the hell he allowed himself to play for her. Looking over at her, he could tell she was deeply affected by the piece he justplayed. There were tears in her beautiful nonfunctioning eyes, and she starred into the empty direction of the organ.
"Erik..." she projected softheartedly. She had never felt so touched in her life, such doom was the music, such doom and such longing.
"Kristen I... I'm sorry. I should not have played such material." He returned, with great remorse. He remembered the way Christine had been so fooled, and so interned by what he played. It had made her his puppet, he could not believe that he was playing for Kristen the same sort that he played for Christine, only this music was new, it was from after his heartbreak, but before his awakening. Kristen, however annoying she could force herself to be, was like a light, piercing it's way through the blackness of hell's night, however much he wished not to admit that to himself, with every moment that she stayed there, she was becoming a part of the lair, and perhaps it was becoming dangerously like she belonged there. No! God no, he could not allow himself to become attached to the poor girl. He had never really had a friend before, not a friend like her. Not a young woman.
Certainly it was only human nature to be attracted to another, but it was not in his nature to expect kindness.
"No Erik! you must be mad. Have others heard your work? Have you ever played for anyone?" She queried, "I have never heard such... beauty."
Beauty, he thought, how Wry. "The only Opera which I have performed for a public audience was the very Opera which nearly resulted in your demise, as well as the demise of an entire Opera house full of people." Kristen listened to him curiously. He was a mess of emotion. A complete mess of chaotic feeling.
"It was a beautiful Opera." She said thoughtfully, thinking back to the night, back to the opera before the destruction of the Populaire. "Erik... what happened between you and Christine?"
"No."
Kristen frowned. That was certainly the most peculiar answer she had ever heard to a question in her life.
"What?" She asked, with an accent of confusion.
Then there was an uncomfortable moment of silence. She could not tell what he was doing, if he was moving or if he remained. She could usually hear everything, but then again, he was the Phantom. She could not be sure if she was hearing his silence, or if he was simply being still.
He would not let himself get angry with her. His voice... he did not want those above to hear it. And then there was his stupid... stupid... mind. He could not be mad with the poor young woman who sat in the room with him, and it scared him most because he was always able to be angry with people, even with Christine.
"That is none of your concern Kristen, your ears have already ascertained too much from this organ itself. Why must you prod for answers which are not of your regard? I cannot tell you what happened that night, it is an event of which you will never learn of." Somehow his voice had reached a whole new level of pain. She could not decide whether it was dejection or enrage, but something within her was scolding her for even inquiring.
She sighed. He would never open up about it. She figured that the young Ms. Daae had declined him and left him, but it was only a mere speculation of what evidence had given her to work with. Why would Daae leave a man who could work such music? Who could create such excellence?
"If you would speak of it, perhaps it would not haunt you so" She said. He closed his eyes, his teeth ground together in their fury.
"Kristen, why do you care?" he sighed out, tired of these little pursuits of hers to command him. She was far too ungrateful of her position.
She frowned, and in a voice of exhaustion and frustration, she said "Fine, Erik, I'm sorry that I care that my rescuer is the single most sad creature I've ever encountered on the face of this earth. I cannot understand how you keep me here and shun my friendship. I guess it really is useless to help a helpless person."
And clearly she had gone too far in her words. Without a moment between her last word and his next breath, he was at her in a mad ferocity. There was nothing she could do, but endure his closeness. "You've heard of the Phantom, no doubt" He hissed quietly, "You've heard of his wretched hideousness. You cannot expect me, of all sad creatures, to open up about..." He willed himself to speak on, but he could not.
All words had fled his mind. Her poor broken eyes were wide, and tears rimmed her lids. Like a pitiful frightened puppy, she sat before him, curled up and whimpering, almost shaking.
"I cannot see to judge you by appearance Erik." the tears which fought with such might to stay within her eyes had fallen in a condemned finality, she sniffled somewhat. Her features became scrunched into the face of someone suffering floods of emotional anguish, and she blinked, allowing the flow of further crying tears. In a faint whisper, she managed to get out, "You're frightening me Erik, with your fury." Her inhalation of breath was scourged by trembles.
Once again, he cursed himself. It surprised him greatly that she could be a stubborn little mouse one moment, and a frightened child the next.
"I just hate to see people so sad." And she truly above all, hated to see such a genius speak of himself in such a way. "And I'm sure you are not so wretched as you say..." It was clear to him that she was begging something, and it sounded to him like she soughtforgiveness. She knew itherself that she had insulted him, and she had meant to as well, which was why she felt so bad, but he was just so impracticable, being so sad with not an explanation, being so furious and then falling towards the same emotion which was always there.
"Truly Kristen, your words are foolish" he muttered. He was knelt before her now, he had sunk somewhat to the floor upon witnessing her fear. But she shook her head, as even more tears fell from her lovely crying eyes.
"I can only see your soul Erik. But please don't frighten me any more" she said, her scarred brow knitting together in an immensely saddened frown. He sighed. Now he felt absolutely horrible for the poor girl. She had only her imagination to reveal to her what he was, and for him to lunge at her was just evil. Pure evil. The same evil he somehow wished to vanquish, ever since realizing that it was he who frightened the blind girl, and not his face.
"Kristen" he said quietly, in his deep and beauteous voice, and opened his mouth to say more, but fell silent, in a loss for words. Two seconds later they found themselves in a comforting embrace, her fears dwindling and his emotions admitting defeat. It was a hug that would have perhaps been made by siblings, however, made by friends.
"I'm sorry Kristen" he whispered to her, "I'm sorry." He couldn't understand what it was about seeing her afraid, that made him so unable to keep his hold on his system of beliefs. She accepted this affection, becausehow could she turn it away? he was clearly taking back the anger he had bestowed on her... for the slightest moment she had even forgotten his previous words. The Phantom! was holding her. Her brow against his shoulder, her temple against his neck, she allowed her tears to fall, crying out the pain of this and other fear.
"No Erik, I'm sorry" she said, as their embrace finally ended, "I should not have said those things. I did not mean them. I won't ask any more questions" she said, "And you don't know how grateful I am to you, for taking care of me. I promise I won't be a problem to you any longer."
With the way she was speaking now, he could swear she was desperate, when it was him to blame for every wretched thing which had happened to her since her stay at the Populaire. "Have you heard of Joseph Buquet?" he asked her, standing from the couchwhere she still sat.
"Meg told me of him" Kristen replied, her sobs were quiet and hidden by now, although her tear stainedface still betrayed her tears.
"He was a problem. If you were a problem you would not be here." God he couldn't believe the words that were coming from his mouth. He could have never imagined being kindto such a little nuisance, but he could hardly call her a problem. She was simply a victim, as was he. He could not look upon her with hatred, for she possessed many of the ill fated memories that he perhaps possessed, though he didn't dare say she had gone through half of what he had in his life.
"Come, you should return to bed." he said, taking her hand and helping her to hold onto him for the same support she needed when she first entered the living quarters. She accepted his assistance, the pressure on her ankle still a blinding pain, but she swallowed it back. She deserved it any way, after speaking to him so harshly.
Upon returning her to her bed, he stood there for a small while, and just looked down upon her, until she had to ask, "Is everything all right?"
He knelt by her bedside, and looked towards her, taking her hand, "Kristen, I truly admire your courage, and your strength. If you can believe me when I say this to you, I will try never to be cruel towards you again. I know the way I spoke to you was wrong. You could not know..."
It seemed to him that he was cut off every five seconds with her...
"You wear a mask" she said. He was speechless. Oh God in heaven why had he just made that promise to her? She had reached out to touch his face, only to discover the thin layer of plastic which covered that cursed portion of his visage. Now he wanted to lash out at her once again, but something had settled within himself over the course of the past few days. A mix ofthis girl'sfear and of Christine's tragic words. He could not continue to be so cruel, he could not persistin being such a monster... to this young lady, any way. She may have been sent to him by a strange and laughing fate, but she was there none the less, and she was kinder to him than any other human had ever dared be.
So upon allowing her curious hand to wander his face, he simply nodded, "You've heard the stories" he said, "You are lucky you cannot witness my curse." She frowned and sighed,
"Don't ever say I'm lucky for the loss of my sight." She replied somewhat hurt. "It makes no different whether a thing is beautiful or ugly any more, because all I can see now is the darkness, and that is not luck, Erik, that is burden. You're not the only one in this room with a scarred face, either" She made point to mention, taking her hand away and slowly easing herself into the bed, her wounded back still sore. "I was burned to an extent that I will never see."
"People don't scream when they see your face." he countered.
"How many people have seen me since the fire? A doctor, my own mother and father, and the Giry's, who are by the way, the nicest of the people in the world. Perhaps someone I don't know would scream at my burn scars." She said, her back slightly leaning against the headboard. She raised a hand to touch her scars, she could feel them, twisted, however few they were, they were still there. He could not believe that she was actually taking it into her liberty to assure him that she was possibly as ugly as he, when she was one of the most attractive girls he had ever laid two eyes on.
"Kristen, you're not nearly as scarred as I." he said. It was then that she sat up in bed, ignoring the pain she was growing accustomed to, and looked towards him.
"Can I see your scars?" she asked. Of course she did not mean to literally see, he knew she was asking to feel the flesh beneath his mask, but could he allow it?
"You don't want to" he replied to her, "Trust me, it is better that you do not."
She gazed up into the direction of his voice, "I do... want to" she said, quietly, and shyly. There was much silence now that haunted them both. "Please Erik, you can see me, and my scars."
She felt her hand taken into another, larger warm hand, and placed against a face of rugged features. Her eyes closed as she allowed her hand to roam the uneven ridges of his disfigurement. In her mind, it was becoming all too clear, why it was that he wore a mask. He had granted her that wish, and he expected her to cower away. He watched as she examined his distorted flesh, how curious could a young woman be? However awkward the situation may be, he had never before experienced that sort of touch to his hideous face, even if Christine had once dared to approach him.
"Wow" it was the only word Kristen could find to utter in her quiet astonished voice. "How..."
"I was born this way" he answered, predicting her question ahead of time, his head was lowered, in realization of another moment of saddening sentence.
She continued to investigate the wonder that was his face, until she felt her heart begin to pound. She had to take her hand away, she realized she was becoming a bit obsessive. Sure, conforming people would have an extremely difficult time accepting a man who looked this way into their society... but what a characterhe was!
"Why do I continue to grant you your silly wishes?" he said, "When they always end up causing you some sort of grief." He noticed her withdraw her hand,
She, on the other hand, shook her head slowly, "It's... amazing" she said. He then frowned,
"You find my disfigurement amusing?" he asked, with a slightly bitter tone.
"Not amusing, amazing" she said. "I've never met someone so, different... so... " She was fascinated. So the stories were true, the stories of the Phantom. "I've been meaning to congratulate you, Erik" she said, "On your ability to scare the hell out of the people up in the opera house." She smiled a rather mischievous grin, "If I could do that I wouldn't be down here helping some pathetic little blind girl. I heard your voice that night, when you told me to leave..."
"Yes, and you're the only one who survived never listening to my warning" he answered, "You're the only one who ever yelled back as well" the left corner of his mouth was lifted in a rather dry smirk, which she would not have been able to detect.
"I'm truly... fascinated." she told him. "You must be the only man on earth capable of what you do..."
"You enjoy watching others suffer?" He asked with no emotion.
"When it's all in their head's, yes, it's rather comical" she replied.
Erik watched her. Who on earth was she? This unusual little creature. Was there more to her morbid enchantment towards the stories and his history that he had yet to learn? No one had ever been interested in the activities of a murderer and a supposed mad man. She may have been mad herself. He rose from his knelt position,
"Sleep now" he said, "I will return when you awake."
And he left her in the room to obtain the rest she needed.Placing a hand to his brow, he paced the confines of his lair. Kristen... his thoughts were disordered. As he starred up at the images of Christine Daae that surrounded his home, he felt tears burning in his eyes. He had never felt like this before, never felt obligated to restrain rash actions. What was happening to him? He was turning into something weak, something weak and lonely. As if he wasn't already the loneliest of "sad creatures". She had labeled himquite correctly. Sad creature.
He looked to his organ, then looked back to the velvet curtains which concealed her bed chamber.
As Kristen was drifting to sleep, she could hear the faint sound of the organ, playing the softest music, soft enough to be a lullaby.
A/N: Thanks to my most loyal reviewer, L2C, I did go back and make some corrections. You see, i've been away so long that the moment I got back to the computer, I began pouring my heart out into the next chapter of the story, and I must have been too occupied with getting it up for you to read that I forgot to check it over, (And there are some keys on my keyboard that don't work unless you push them hard, grrrrr,) Thank you so much for telling me about the mistakes... keep doing it in the future, I know that i'm rather clumsy when it comes to making things perfect :p, I've always been a bit loving towards things that were less than perfect. Hugs Phantom
