In the last chapter I rearranged song lyrics from Green Day and twisted a line from the musical Into the Woods. Call me lacking in the creative department, but this time I'm using Wicked.

Chapter 16

They walked arm's length from one another, both of them staring straight ahead. Erik felt Christine's eyes on him several times, but she said nothing. Erik knew what she was waiting for: She wanted him to speak first.

Erik had no desire to speak. He wasn't sure why he had decided to follow her—or why he had made up the absurd story that someone was following her. No one was following her. In fact, no one was even near her and he knew why. She was dragging her feet and muttering to herself. She looked quite insane.

A large part of him—a quite large and swollen part of him, wanted to be closer to her, to ask her to stay with him despite all that had happened. He wanted to take the blame and kneel at her feet and do whatever she said. But another part of him—equally large and also engorged—was quite upset.

"What are these feelings, so sudden and new? I felt the moment I laid eyes on her.," Erik said to himself. "My pulse was rushing, my face was flushing…fervent as a flame…I wonder if it has a name. Yes, I think it does..."

Loathing. Unadulterated loathing.

For himself. Maybe this wasn't so different after all.

Christine stopped once they reached the park. "It's been a half-hour," she said sullenly.

Erik glanced at his pocket watch in the dark. If they turned back now and remained silent, he would never see her again. It would be far too humiliating to approach her at a later time, and since he had spirited her away once, he couldn't do it again. She would expect it the second time. And seeing how the first instance hadn't exactly gone as planned, he wasn't keen on repeating his mistakes.

Or was he?

"It's been twenty-six minutes," Erik corrected.

Christine's brow furrowed. She shifted her weight and squinted at his watch. "I remember quite distinctly that the time was…" She paused. Erik held his breath, lingering on her words. He would not argue about the time. If she wanted to leave, he would see her back and slink away, suffering as much humiliation as he could tolerate. "Oh, no, you are quite correct. It has only been twenty-six minutes. We have four minutes remaining. I apologize for my mistake."

"Then I shall sit a moment," Erik proclaimed.

Christine scuttled along and sat on the opposite end of the bench, which Erik didn't know what to make of. Was she being respectful or was she being calculative? Slumping in his seat, he stared straight ahead and decided that it would be her choice on how they spent the next 280 seconds…or, now, 255.

"Meg had a man in my bed," Christine blurted out.

How did one respond to a conversation that began like this, Erik wondered. He crossed and uncrossed his ankles, tapped his fingers together, and at last cleared his throat.

"Why?" he choked out.

Christine shrugged. "I never asked. Seems like I should have, doesn't it?"

"Indeed."

"He was hiding beneath the covers," Christine informed him.

"Perhaps you should change your bedding before you retire for the night."

"Perhaps." Christine paused and began tapping her hand against her leg. At last she turned to him and said, "Erik?"

He looked at her as well. "Yes, Christine?"

"How did you first come to live by the lake?" she asked.

With a ragged sigh, Erik sat forward and rested his forearms on his knees. "What does it matter?" he mumbled.

"It matters more than Meg and her lover," Christine offered. She paused again and scooted closer. "And it matters to me."

"Why?" he snapped.

"Because you're a human being," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "And because I want to know about you."

A long, uncomfortable silence followed. Erik thought that he could manage to sit in that same spot and count every single blade of grass at the park before he would give an answer.

And then, without warning, the answer came on its own.

"There was no place left to go," he said.

Both Erik and Christine stared at one another, blinking in surprise.

"I beg your pardon?" she said.

"I had traveled the world. There was no place left to go."

"Why that particular floor?"

Erik changed her question. "Why not closer to the living?" he growled. "Why do you think?"

Christine didn't answer. She scooted closer again and placed her hands in her lap. "Don't you ever feel…lonely? It's a solitary place; I don't recall anyone ever mentioning the lake before, or a house for that matter."

Erik did feel lonely, especially once he had met Christine. Before her, days were average and uneventful. He scared the hell out of the managers and received payment, which bought him everything he needed to sustain life. This had gone on for years with little change. He lived, he allowed everyone else to live, and no one upset his balance.

Then she came along. The intricate balance was ruined forever.

"Do you enjoy living alone?" Christine asked.

Erik shook his head, having no idea how to voice his thoughts without appearing child-like. He swallowed hard and studied the ground, wishing the night were darker. More than ever, he wished for a trapdoor and an easy escape.

"Have you ever considered working for the opera house?"

A grim smile touched the corners of his lips. "The opera house works for me."

Christine nodded. "That's not quite what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" Erik countered.

He knew his harsh tone was undeserved and he regretted it immediately but made no attempt to excuse himself. He was no good at face-to-face encounters and conversation. Why didn't she understand that? Why didn't she understand him? Why was he not making sense to himself anymore?

"I thought perhaps it would be easier for you as a musician to live closer to the stage, as then you could more easily sell your work," she said, speaking rather loudly. "But, of course, that's only a suggestion from an insolent child."

"Don't make suggestions," he snapped.

This was by far the most infantile conversation he could imagine taking place in all of Paris.

"Don't tell me when I may or may not make suggestions," Christine bit back.

Fire rose up the back of his neck, his jaw set in an unmoving scowl of utter wrath. No one spoke to him with such a sharp tongue. He wouldn't have it.

"Christine," he said between his teeth. "You shouldn't dare to invite my anger. You should know my temper by now."

Her chin raised defiantly, her eyes narrowed on him. "And you should know how stubborn I am by now, Erik."

Erik rose. His legs were stiff. Other parts of him that shouldn't have been stiff were also stiff.

"I live where I must because the world has outworn its welcome. I have attempted to be compassionate, but the world shows no compassion to me. I have attempted to live an ordinary life, but I am always a freak. And now? Now I live in secret, doing what I must to keep what little I have. Is that the answer you wanted to hear?"

"Is it the truth?" she asked.

"Yes. Are you disappointed? Do you wish you had never come to Paris?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Do you want me to hate you?" she asked.

Her question caught him off-guard. Without thinking it over, he shook his head. The last thing he wanted was to become her enemy. Before she could say another word, he turned away from her.

"I think our four minutes have passed," Erik said through his teeth.

Christine rose to her feet as well. "It's only been three minutes," she spat. With both hands, she pushed on his chest and forced him back onto the bench.

Erik was sprawled out, completely flabbergasted by her actions. He sat unmoving as she stood over him.

"You give me one scrap of your entire life and expect me to nod and be content? Have you lost your mind? I will not give up so easily," she said.

And then she pounced like a lion on a steak, threw her arms around him, and didn't let go.