The girl was in his home.

Erik watched her as she waited in his living room. Her posture was rigid; her expression tense, as if she were fully prepared to bolt out the door. His skin felt clammy as he watched her, and he could barely understand May's explanation for the thundering of the blood through his ears.

He stood in the kitchen, watching Christine as she fidgeted on his sofa. Her worn out shoes and the ankles of her jeans were wet. She wore a faded sweatshirt, her pale hair was windwhipped. Erik swallowed at the sight of her, and lifted the telephone to his ear. When he spoke, it was a strained whisper. "May…I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

He heard a sound of exasperation on the other end of the line. "Damn it, Erik, open your fuckin' ears! I said, I've sent over that girl you like. She's yours for the night, so enjoy. It's freezing out, so get on her and warm her up. Break that ice of hers," she laughed.

Erik angrily hung up on May's giggling. How could she have done this? Christine turned to look at him, her striking azure eyes locking with his from her place in the living room. An awkward silence hung above them, and neither had the courage to break it. Erik took a deep breath- he was the man, he had to take control of the situation, reassure the girl that she didn't have to do anything with him…

Christine clenched her toes. Her feet felt frozen, and her body was wracking with small shivers- the remainders of the chill from the streets and her fear of Erik. He hadn't spoken when he'd opened the door, but his eyes had widened at the sight of her and his lips had parted. The man had taken a quick step backward, as if in a silent, though obviously surprised invitation. Christine hadn't said anything to him as she'd stepped past him to enter; there was no need for words.

They both knew why she was there; she just wanted to get it over with and get away from him. And now here she was, waiting for Diamond'scourage to come to her.

She couldn't help but glance around. The man in the mask was obviously rich, judging from the look of his apartment. Christine didn't know how to judge different designers of furniture or how to distinguish one artist from another, but she knew what she liked. The panoramic view was wonderful, a full wall of windows- for a minute Christine felt like she was on top of the world, or if not the world, she was on top of New York City. She imagined that it must be how the wealthy felt every day.

The décor of his apartment was modern, though it held a distinct eclectic feel to it- nothing matched, but it all came together to make a home, albeit a very lonely one.

Christine heard the man click off his phone and she turned to look at him. Adrenaline fueled her pounding heart. What am I doing here? How did it come to this?

Because the man was standing in the kitchen, the lighting was perfect to highlight the contours of that striking, ghoulish mask. It covered most of his face, though it left enough of his features available for her assessment. He had light skin, dark hair. Christine could see that his eyes were an interesting hazel color, very bright. He was tall; he had a strong build beneath his sleek Armani suit. The man might have been two decades older than her, but he wore his years better than men half his age.

Christine willed her heart to slow down; she felt the salty sting of tears in the corners of her eyes. It will be all right, don't let him see…Diamond, I need you!

As they were both longing and straining to reach for courage, to grasp the hammer that would shatter this tormenting silence-

Ding-ding-ding

Erik jerked at the sound, and it seemed as if the small noise had lifted his tension completely. He turned to look toward the oven timer, and then looked back toward his guest. Christine's brow furrowed as the visible side of Erik's mouth tilted up into a small, painful smile. "I was just making some dinner, would you care to join me, Christine?"

'I've gained an appetite for destruction this past year. I'm ready for the serve the first course, Mr. Latour…'

Erik had moved into the kitchen, she could hear the sounds of scraping plates and silverware. Christine took a deep breath of relief, but she knew it wouldn't last. The man could be deranged for all she knew- he might have offered her dinner but there was nothing to stop him from brutally raping her when the plates were cleared.

Not knowing what else to do, Christine stood up and walked to the kitchen doorway to see what he was doing. He was in there, serving two plates of lasagna. Her stomach chose that moment to roar to life, both reminding her and announcing to this bizarre stranger that she hadn't eaten since early the day before- she already felt weak from lack of food, her hands were shaking at her sides both from stress and hunger.

Erik had been comparing two bottles of wine, one red and one white, but he looked up in time to see her rub an embarrassed hand over her protesting belly. "You are hungry, Christine. I can hear it. You can go back to the living room, and I'll set out an appetizer if you'd like," he suggested.

Christine nodded and turned back, catching a glimpse of an alcove to her left, where there was an elegant dining room. Despite herself, Christine was surprised that it was so small- the man must not often entertain, but Christine didn't delude herself. She wasn't this man's dinner guest, she was his whore.

She sat down and couldn't stop her mind from wandering. 'How is this going to go? Why is he going through the trouble of serving me dinner- he knows why I'm here, so why bother with this seduction charade?

She crossed her legs and clenched her toes. He's bigger than I am. Older. Stronger. He might hurt me. No one but May and the doorman knows that I'm here. God. He could kill me and no one would even notice that I was gone. I would be just one more dead Jane Doe whore…

Erik moved from the kitchen and came into the living room with a small plate in hand. "Here you are," he said gently, setting the plate down on the coffee table before her. "Dinner will be ready in just a few more minutes, Christine."

It was strange that he was working so hard to please her. She gave the man a small smile to appease him; after the horror stories she'd read in the newspaper and heard in the dressing room at Mama V's, she knew that sometimes the…clients could get violent if they felt the girl they pay for was acting cold or ungrateful.

If she could just get through the night without being hurt…

She found her voice. "Thank you, Erik,"

He looked up at her with wide, bright eyes and returned her smile. The man was as close to her as he had ever been, and close enough to Christine that she could see the tense set of his lips and the slightest traces of scars at the edge of his mask. 'The mask is hiding more than just his identity from me,' she thought.

"My pleasure, Christine,"

Erik then turned back to the kitchen to finish preparing their dinner, leaving her to pick at the plate of vegetables that he'd left for her and to wonder why he seemed so grateful just to have someone else in his home.

The wait was not long; Christine had only just willed herself to relax when Erik approached again. "Dinner's ready, Christine," he informed her softly. He held out his hand to her, the way a gentleman would. She looked up and swallowed, praying that the sudden wave of fear didn't show on her face. Christine stood up and put her hand into his, allowing Erik to lead her into the dining alcove beside the kitchen.

She hesitated at the sight of the table. Erik had set two plates there, and poured them each a glass of the red. There was a classical CD playing softly, Christine recognized the 1st movement of Mozart's 40th symphony. The lighting overhead was favorable, but Erik had taken one step further and placed a candle in the center of the table. He moved to a chair and pulled it out for her. Christine's heart had started to jump up into her throat when he settled into the chair beside her own.

Erik smiled and inclined his head toward her plate. Christine's mouth was already watering at the sight and scent of the large piece of lasagna on her plate. It was homemade, she could tell, and she found it strange that a man of such wealth would bother to cook for himself. Her fear and uncertainty were forgotten momentarily in favor of her appetite. It was delicious, as she knew it would be.

Half way through dinner, which had been silent, Erik spoke up. "Are you enjoying your meal?"

Christine nodded. What would be the point in lying? "Yes, very much actually. You made this yourself, didn't you?"

Erik gave her a half-smile and if she was not mistaken, he sat up straighter and might have even puffed out his chest in a small show of pride. "I did. You could tell just by the taste?"

"Lasagna bought from the store doesn't come with its own garlic and basil on top like this has. It adds more flavor, plus this cheese is fresh, it's never been frozen." Christine rattled out easily.

Erik appeared both impressed and pleased. "Christine, I'm surprised. Were you ever in training to be a chef?"

She shook her head. "No…not a chef. Do you mind if I ask what it is you do, Mr. Latour?"

He held up his hand, "Please, would you call me Erik?"

She nodded, "All right, Erik then."

His eyes blazed. "Thank you. It pleases me when you use my given name."

Her heart thundered. God, he wants me to please him now…

Erik answered her original question, "I do a few different things, since you brought it up. I consult on the reconstruction architecture around the city, I assist in scientific research for NYU…but most of all, I do music. I compose, I play, record, and there are times when I work with vocalists and musicians," he finished mildly.

Christine felt baffled, "You…you must have a fantastic resume," she said with a laugh.

Erik returned her small laugh with a chuckle of his own. "Well, one likes to keep busy, I suppose."

"Have you worked abroad?"

"I…yes, for a number of years, actually," Erik replied, a quick flash of regret passing over the visible aspect of his face. Christine wondered if he'd received the scars he kept hidden while abroad, hence his regret.

"I've always wanted to travel,"

"What's stopping you? Why not 'seize the day', as they say?"

Christine glanced up. "It's not that simple," she snapped at him. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. She had been awake for so long, and she knew what was coming. The anxiety was destroying her from the inside out. "Erik, I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I just…" she felt her throat tighten and the salt stung in her eyes. "Are you ready?"

Erik's expression was odd, a mixture of confusion and some kind of compassion for her obvious distress. He didn't like to see her upset. "I…yes, I am."

She took a deep breath. "All right. I'll just go get ready. Do you mind of I use your bathroom?"

Erik nodded. "Go right ahead. It's down the hall, to the left."

Christine nodded and stood from the table, heading off down the hall. Once she found the bathroom, she locked the door and leaned over the sink. She knew she wasn't going to be sick, but her stomach and throat were constricted into knots. Her head was held in a vice of tension and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Oh God, what have I become…? It was never supposed to be this way! Life wasn't meant to turn this corner- how could I have let this happen? I can't leave. He'll tell May, May will fire me and make sure I never find work in another club again, and if I can't find work, where will that leave her?

She took several breaths and turned the faucet. The water hit her face and chilled her, refreshing and reviving her quickly. Christine closed her eyes and literally swallowed her mounting self-disgust.

Squaring her shoulders, Christine stared into her reflection and glared at the young woman who stared back at her. 'You know what will happen if you don't go through with this. Suck it up, whatever he has in store for the rest of the night. If he wants that, then you'll have to suck it up too. Work him, just do whatever he wants…he holds your future in his hands, think of that when he's fucking you like the whore you've turned out to be. Use that thought to get through the night.'

Christine stepped out of the bathroom and headed into the living room, only to find Erik waiting for her. He stood up from the sofa and smiled briefly at her, "You look…different, somehow," he stated as he gave her a curious once over.

She shrugged. "What do you mean?"

He frowned. "I'm not sure, really. Harder, maybe. Nevermind, it must be a trick of the light. Or maybe you are just tired, my God, it's nearing four in the morning! I'm sorry, I should never have kept you this late."

Christine didn't know what to make from his words. Hadn't she been sent there because he wanted her either in his bed or on her knees?

Erik took a large container off the kitchen counter and motioned towards his front door. "I've already called you a taxi, I'll walk you out to the lobby,"

Christine was so baffled that she went ahead and followed him to the elevators.

There was a taxi already waiting at the front of the building, and Erik knew that it would continue to wait while he said his goodbyes to the girl, Christine. He glanced at her- since the moment they'd met she had seemed both tense and exhausted. Her stomach had announced her self-neglect, her eyes had held wariness of him for the entire night. Things had been awkward between them for the most part, but there had been those few precious moments over dinner when they had spoken to each other with ease.

It was enough to give Erik some slight hope that Christine might, if given enough time, come to trust him.

He handed her the container that held the remainder of the lasagna he'd made. "Here," he said as he handed it to her. "I think you could use a home cooked meal,"

Christine blushed with what he thought might be embarrassment, but was in fact deep shame. The man was giving her his leftovers like she was outside begging on the streets! She felt humiliated and cheap- she had never felt lower than she did in that moment. Christine knew that her shirt was faded and old, and she was well aware of how worn out her shoes had become. She knew her hair was ragged and dry, and she knew that May was right about everything she'd said to her…but Christine had always at the very least, been able to put food on her table.

Still…she couldn't voice her outrage, there was no outlet for her anger. She couldn't allow Erik to know how painful his kindness was to her. Christine took the container from him and smiled. "Thank you. It really was delicious,"

Erik could have sworn he'd seen something in her eyes just then. Some little twitch, or tick, but he dismissed it as being a trick of the light. "I'm glad you thought so. I…if you would like to come by tomorrow night as well, I would be happy to have you," he said, leaving the future of their relationship to each other fully within her control. He wanted her to come back, desperately, but Erik wouldn't beg for her time.

Christine sighed then, and because they were no longer secluded in his home, and the doorman was seated behind the desk, she felt safe enough to voice the thought that had been heavily weighing on her mind. "Why would you want me in your home, Erik? Why me?"

The man didn't launch into any explanations, and he didn't get angry. He only told her a simple truth. "It just gets very lonely eating by myself every night, Christine."