Author's Note:
Dear Readers,
I am not dead. I have not stopped posting.
Firstly, I would like to thank you for your patience. I know it has been WAY WAY too long since an update. In my defense, I had a chapter going, it was going great...and my computer updated, got corrupted, and I lost everything, chapter included. It was very hard to start over again and work on another chapter. I slaved over the previous one. But, I did!
It took me several weeks to get another computer and then a few more weeks to write this. BECAUSE YOU GUYS WERE SO PATIENT THOUGH, I wrote a really long chapter filled with angst and fluff and stuff for y'all. You have earned it.
A big thank you to my Beta Reader, Mary the Canary. I hollered at her last week and didn't give her much time to work. She was very helpful and this chapter is much better for her work! Thank you!
If all goes according to planned, this book will be done by August. I'm heading off to college and I want to wrap up my writing as I don't know what my life will be like then. I don't want to make promises I can't keep.
Again, thank you for your patience, and please review and let me know what you think! Even if it is hate for how long this thing took.
sarahandmarquis
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Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. I do not! I do own Dalir Gul and this story plot.
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Reviews:
ArtemisBare: I agree. Pre-Calc can go do that all day and leave us alone. And, thank you! I love when I can create something unique instead of rehashing all the same story and plot. Yeah, I can understand you there. I suppose that's the reason it's called fiction. Reading about realistic life would be pretty boring and frustrating. Hahahaha! I appreciate the follow and I hope this is well worth the wait. Thank you for understanding!
Not A Ghost3: That he does. We shall see what he decides to do...
E.M.K.81: We shall see what happens...(I'm curious to know to.) That's an interesting idea about the legal side. I hadn't thought about that. Thank you for the idea. And, I don't know what Erik would do. I'll ask him.
Child of Dreams: *joins you* NADIR, HE'S YOUR BROTHER! Family before work!
PhantomFemme du Pantages: In my next books, I probably won't be as strict because I know I went overboard with it. This book is less of a book and more of an experiment to see what will happen when I try to remove them completely. I know I won't write another book with this sort of constraints. And, thank you! Yes, he has quite a choice before him. I wonder what he'll pick? About Raoul, I agree. He would just make problems. We can have a no-Raoul fanfic. Thank you and I hope you keep enjoying it!
sleepypants2: Thanks! They're going very well and I'm so happy to be seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.
Phanma: That is some of my favorite fluff! Friendship fluff is wonderful!
Lunacat: Thank you! It's been going great these last months.
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WORDS: 3143
"WAS" COUNT: 1
"WERE" COUNT: 2
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Chapter 15
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When are you coming?
Erik paced back and forth in front of the door, glancing out the window every second or two, He searched for that battered blue Monte Carlo to appear among the trees, park at the tumbled-in bridge, and wait for its owner to return to it after her visit.
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I'm on my way. U know I shouldn't text while driving.
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I am sorry. Please drive safely.
But hurry.
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Give me ten minutes and I'll be there. Just don't have a panic attack on me.
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You know me surprisingly well.
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I should hope to shout! I'm parking. On my way. :D
Christine sent the message quickly and clambered across the seats to slide out the passenger side door. Tucking her phone away inside her purse, she loaded her arms with the groceries from her latest shopping trip and began the walk to the house.
By the way he's talking, I'm walking into a full-grown man in panic mode. She tripped a little on branch and caught herself against a tree trunk. Shaking her head, she laughed to herself and hurried along towards the house. Dying grass stalks stabbed at her boots as she picked her way around the gopher holes, recent additions since her last visit.
Before she even reached the stairs, the door opened, and Erik appeared in the doorway, about to say something.
"Erik, before you say anything, help me carry this stuff in the house. There is nothing to worry about. Everything will go fine." She passed him a few bags and gave him a reassuring smile.
"But-"
"No buts," she replied, marching with purpose into the kitchen. "I won't allow for those." Erik hung back at the doorway as she gathered the spices she needed for her recipe. She fluttered about the kitchen, a lovely white butterfly determined to lift the panic that had fallen over the house. Growing more despondent by the moment, he muttered,
"There is nothing you can do about any of this. I was a fool for thinking that this night could go well." Pausing in the middle of her noodle boiling, she turned off the stove with a click and walked over to him, her face softening. He hung his head and refused to look her in the eyes.
"Erik…" Trailing off, she reached down and took his cold, lean hands in hers, winding their fingers together. She looked at the thin, black leather gloves before tugging at the tips of them. They slid off his skin and she tossed them onto the table. "You have to stop wearing these gloves. They can't be good for your hands. Your circulation is awful." She rubbed his hands and felt his weak pulse miss beats.
"I really shouldn't. You're too kind in your accepting of them." He led them hang limp in her grasp, his stomach tying itself in knots at her warm, comforting touch.
"You accept my hands. Why shouldn't I accept yours?" She glanced up at him, her blue eyes daring him to respond. He barely hesitated,
"Your hands are b-beautiful…just like y-you." Gently, she turned her hands palms up, his resting on top of them.
"So are yours. Just like you."
"Christine, I'm not beautiful. I'm beyond hideous. Inside and out. You have no idea." His hands started to shake. She gripped them tightly, her white hands curling around the corpse-like appendages. You're only here because I pay you.
"Trust me, Erik. To me, you're beautiful. Your hands are beautiful. Your eyes are beautiful. Your music is beautiful. No matter what happens tonight, I won't leave. I won't change my mind about you. I'm here until you hate me and drive me away." She released his hands and wrapped her arms around his neck, folding him against her in a warm embrace. He shook quietly, his tears silent but obvious to the woman pressed tightly against him.
"I-I c-couldn't h-hate you." His fingers trembled as they ran through her golden hair. "I l-like you v-very much. You m-mean so much to Erik. He is so glad he chose you. Please, never leave. Please." His strong arms tightened around her, his hands tangled in her hair.
"I won't. I won't leave." She leaned back and looked up at him. "Come on, let's fix supper and face tonight together. Keep an open mind and you might regain a friend. If you don't, then you have neither lost nor gained anything. Do you believe me, Erik?"
He stared down at her perfect, pure face and found himself absentmindedly wondering how her jaw would feel tucked against his bony palm. The temptation to touch her soft skin nagged at him before he dropped his hands, clenching his fists at his sides.
"I believe you, Christine." he said, bowing his head slightly and conceding to her greater wisdom about humans. "Can I help you with anything?"
"Could you fry the meat?" she asked, gesturing towards the hamburger meat sitting on the cutting board. "I have the spices and I need it cooked to put into the goulash." Grateful for something to do, he hurried to find a pan and set to work. Moments later, the grease started popping, filling the kitchen with its pleasing aroma. Christine began to quietly hum, and Erik chimed in with her.
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Dalir stood in the doorway of the kitchen and listened to the pair, lost in their own world together. She peacefully swayed while stirring the noodles, and he tapped out the melody on his leg while flipping the hamburger. Unwilling to interrupt their bonding, he leaned against the doorframe and enjoyed the perfect harmonizing. He has potential to be so much more than a killer. He'll take on the mantle of a saint to please her. Even if he doesn't know it yet…
As the song faded away, he cleared his throat, managing to scare them both. Christine squeaked, and Erik's hand landed in his pocket, a dead giveaway to wear his weapon of choice lay. Chuckling to himself, Dalir stepped into the kitchen.
"Sorry for barging in, but the door was standing wide open." Christine laughed and stepped forward, giving the man a quick hug.
"No problem. How are you?"
"Better than ever. Something smells wonderful."
"Yes, I'm making goulash. Is the hamburger done, Erik?" she asked, turning away from Dalir and poking her head around his shoulder to see the condition of the meat.
"It is." He drained the grease and she took the skillet from him.
"Then, I'll take over. Shoo!" She waved her hands in the direction of both men, pushing them out of the kitchen. Erik tried to object, but she shushed him. "For one night you have a personal cook. Take advantage of that. Now, git!" She laughed and closed the kitchen door once they had stepped out. After a moment, they heard the lock click into place, permanently barring them from entering the kitchen until she allowed it.
Laughing at the lovely girl's actions, Dalir turned to his adopted brother.
"Looks like we've been kicked out. Let's go sit down, Erik. I spent all day touring the town and my feet are killing me." Following his suggestion, Erik showed him to the dining room table, allowing him to choose whatever seat he wanted. Dalir sat down with a contented sign and leaned back against the straight back chair with his hands resting on the table.
"This house is beautiful. Did you build it yourself?" Erik nodded, looking proudly about at his creation.
"Yes, would you expect me to let anyone else touch my designs?"
"No, can't say I would. So, tell me. What have you been doing all these years?" Dalir asked, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. I know some part of what you've been doing, Ami, but I hope you have something honest to your name.
"Some of this, some of that. Many short employments. Currently, I am a movie and video game composer. Nowadays with video games becoming more like interactive movies, the score has become very important. And, of course, the movie industry is always looking for that next Academy Award for best original score." Proud of his achievements, Erik found he had no trouble talking about his work. The tightness in his shoulders faded, and the twisting in his gut loosened. Maybe it won't be so bad?
"Have any of your movies won that award?"
"A few. Almost all are nominated." He replied modestly, studying the intricacies of the woodwork. "Even after days of work, my pieces are still very flawed. Anyone with a musical ear could understand the mistakes."
"Now you sound like you did years ago." Dalir chided. "And, if I remember correctly, you were genius even then. I can't imagine you've regressed in your skill."
"It is possible. Many of the great minds hit their peak young and tumble quickly. If I follow their lead, my career will soon be plummeting." He rose from his seat and walked over to the cabinet hanging on a near wall. Opening it, he sorted through some bottles and pulled down an aged bottle of sherry and two glasses.
"Erik, you are far different from them. If anything, you will only rise as time goes by. Again, you're too hard on yourself." Erik shrugged and poured him a glass of the ruby red liquor and passed it to him.
"What have you been doing all these years?" he asked, turning the subject away from himself now that it reached a too-personal level. Graciously, Dalir let it slide and sampled the fine sherry.
"Working. Unlike you, I have no natural talents that lend to an easy life. But I've been able to make a decent life for my family." Erik opened his mouth to inquire further about his job when the kitchen door burst open and Christine breezed out, three bowls of goulash steaming on a tray.
"Supper is served!" She floated around the dining table, leaving a bowl and set of silverware before claiming a spot for herself. "We have water and southern sweet tea to drink. Preference?" she asked, glancing between them from under the stray locks of golden hair that had drifted out of the messy bun.
"Water." Nadir replied, smiling at the sweet girl.
"Water, please, Christine." Erik answered, focused on the meal in front of him. Gooey with cheese, the goulash would be interesting to eat with a mask. He poked at it with his fork, trying to think of the best way to eat it without ruining the porcelain or at very least covering it in cheese and tomato sauce. If only I could wear my other mask for this. But, I will not put these people through the torment of seeing any part of my face. It's bad enough that Christine has seen my hands.
Moments later, Christine fluttered out of the kitchen, closing the door behind her with her boot.
"Here you are." She passed them their drinks and slid into her own seat, stirring her bowl of goulash. "What are you waiting for? I promise it's not poisonous." Laughing to herself, she took a bite, nodding approvingly of her own cooking. Nadir sampled the food and made the appropriate comments regarding the flavor while Erik ignored them, focusing more on the fork and bowl in front of him. The smell had wormed its way under his mask, making his stomach growl at the scent. Ducking his head, he lifted his mask just the slightest bit and popped a few noodles into his mouth. Chewing slowly, he swallowed and took another tiny bite, repeating the process.
"Erik." Christine spoke up, breaking his concentration with her compassionate voice. "Do you have another mask you could wear?" she asked. Erik's stomach flipped and threatened to relieve itself of its contents.
He tried to answer her, but his throat locked up, only a strangled breath of air escaping. As if she noticed his building panic, she continued,
"Neither of us will mind if you put on something more comfortable and easy to eat in. It'll be cold long before you're finished, and goulash isn't great cold." She leaned forward on the table and laid her hand on his arm, her pale fingers lightly pressing into the fabric of his suit as a comforting measure.
"I-I…do have a less-covering m-mask." he mumbled.
"Will it be easier to eat in?" Christine asked, tilting her head to the side. A golden curl tumbled over her forehead and she pushed it away. He nodded, preferring to watch the light bounce off her hair. "Then, go put it on. We'll wait for you."
Shaking, he rose to his feet and walked to the door. He paused, gripping the doorway so tightly his knuckles turned white. His eyes found hers. She nodded encouragingly. Erik disappeared up the stairs, leaving Christine and Nadir by themselves at the dining room table.
"You didn't ask him to take the mask off." Nadir remarked, looking at her curiously. Christine glanced over at him, a bewildered look covering her face.
"Why would I ask him to do that?"
"Aren't you curious what's under the mask?"
"I suppose I am. But I'm not going to ask him to show me. He trusts me so much already and I'm not going to ruin all that by asking something he'll never want to do. If he ever shows me, it'll be because he wants to. I only know bits and pieces of his past, but I know enough to know that it would only hurt him. And that's the last thing I want to do." She stared at the doorway, a soft smile covering her face. While she paid no attention to Nadir, he arched a graying eyebrow in her direction. When Erik stepped through the doorway a moment later with a hand over his mouth, she blushed before giving him a bright smile.
Uncomfortable at the center of attention, Erik hurried over to his chair and sat down, pretending to cough to keep his hand over his mouth. He kept his eyes on his meal and felt both the eyes of his dining companions leave him. He took several deep breaths and stared at the food, no longer hungry for any of it. Closing his eyes, he removed his hand from his mouth. I can listen to their gasp of horror. I can't bear to see it.
His ears were met with quiet conversation between Christine and Nadir. It is as if they don't even notice. Bewildered, he looked up at them, confused at their agreeable reactions. Christine even smiled in his direction and asked him a harmless question, a subtle invitation to join them.
They accept me.
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Well into the night, Nadir said his parting pleasantries and left after accepting Erik's invitation to come back a few days later. Christine waved at him as he walked into the night and turned to face Erik who stood awkwardly in the hallway. His head hung low as he attempted to cover his face with shadows. His new mask had shocked her a little when he first walked in before supper. Of all the things I expected, that wasn't it.
The new mask arched between his lips and nose, revealing his mouth to the viewer as well as a square chin and the beginning of a bony jaw. What concerned her most though lay in the middle of the new opening.
His lips were cracked and raw.
Whenever they moved, the thin skin pulled and split. Through the entire evening, she had noticed this and flinched in pain more than once when a tiny bit of blood appeared from one of the cracks. I know whenever my lips split I'm miserable. Erik, you must be so uncomfortable all day. Taking his hand, she led him out of the hallway to the couch in the living room. Snuggling under the sheepskin blanket, she patted the spot beside her.
Without a word of disagreement, he sat down and fumbled with the blanket as she tucked it around him, determined he would be warm. Boldly laying her head on his shoulder, she asked,
"Erik, would you mind if I asked you a personal question?" His muscles tightened beneath her head.
"Whatever you would like, Christine." he responded numbly. She started to ask her question and stopped, not liking how he answered her.
"No, not whatever I like. I asked you if you would be okay with it. If you're not, tell me." Gently, she patted his arm and closed her eyes, waiting to hear the rumble of his voice in his chest. She didn't have to wait long.
"Is it about my face?"
"Sort of," she answered truthfully. Erik was silent for a while before he whispered,
"Ask away."
"Do your lips hurt you?" She felt the play of muscles through his shoulder as he nodded.
"The skin is thin and… I have a bad habit of biting my lips." He looked down at her and dared to reach forward, lightly caressing a lock of hair. "Don't worry about it though. I don't notice them much anymore."
Christine opened her eyes and looked up at him, frowning.
"Of course I'm going to worry. You're hurting. Do you think I will be able to ignore that?" Erik almost shrank away from her.
"I could wear my old mask." He offered, subconsciously reaching up to cover his mouth. "You wouldn't have to see this. I know it's ugly." He didn't care to be reminded of the general hideousness of his face. Besides, she shouldn't have to see any of it. If she doesn't see, it won't bother her.
"Do you think that I can forget you're in pain just because you cover it? And don't call yourself ugly. I don't see any ugliness. I only see wounds that require healing."
"Then you are not looking hard enough and Erik is too much of a selfish coward to convince you otherwise." Sighing, she left that battle for another day and wrapped herself closer to him.
"One day, one day you'll see yourself through my eyes. But, for now, just trust me." She smiled up at him. "Next time I come visit I'll bring petroleum jelly and we'll see if we can heal your lips. The last thing I want is for you to be in pain." That soft smile covered her face as she burrowed into his bony arm and blinked sleepily. With her eyes closed, she didn't notice the tears pouring down his cheeks as he listened to her gentle words.
You are too good to me. Looking down at her blonde curls draping over his arm, he lightly stroked it. I think I love you.