Paladin123

"Sit down right this moment and listen to me, for God's sake," Erik barked.

Sophia, who'd imagined he'd simply allow her to slip away, stood up straight and gawked at him. His firm tone made her heart jump and stopped her tears, and before she realized what had happened she found herself seated across from him with her hands in her lap and her eyes staring out the long windows.

Despite the situation, the room was remarkably comfortable. The air was warm and moist, the perfect condition for all of the beautiful plants that adorned small stands and tables. Blue and white china, small wooden figurines painted in bright colors, and an old doll in a lace dress adorned a shelf above a brazier. She studied the room as though she'd never seen it Before, which helped her avoid Erik's penetrating gaze.

"I've made a mistake," he said quietly.

She didn't mean to, but she grunted. From the corner of her eye she saw him spread his hands along his thighs, along the muscular, long legs she'd caressed that morning. Tears threatened again as she thought of how foolish she'd been to allow this man into her bed, to touch her. Her arms folded, protecting herself from all the pain she felt was already inside. As much as she wanted to hold herself responsible, she simply couldn't muster an ounce of regret. She'd liked the way it felt to run her fingers through his hair, to have his mouth on hers, on her shoulders and breasts. She'd loved the way the length of him felt in her hand, the velvety soft flesh, the unexpected warmth and musk of him and the fascinating feel of him, soft but hard as stone.

He cleared his throat, and she wondered if he'd said something else and she'd missed it. Embarrassed, she picked lint from her skirt and pretended she didn't care, though suddenly she found herself quite interested in what he had to say.

"I know you overheard what I said while you were standing outside the parlor door," he started.

"Are you accusing me, Monsieur?"

"Accusing? No, I'm not accusing, I'm stating what I'm fully aware of, Sophia, and if you would like to say that I'm mistaken, then please do so at once."

She didn't say a word. He was correct, and now she felt completely asinine for her eavesdropping.

"Sophia," he said, the harshness in his tone disappearing. "Her name was Christine Daae, and I was her teacher—her voice teacher, as I believe you overheard."

She merely nodded, shocked by his willingness to confess or explain, or whatever he was doing.

"We lived in the Opera Populaire in Paris," he said, his voice thick with hesitation. "She lived in the dormitories with the other dancers and I…I lived in the cellar."

"The cellar?" she blurted out.

His gaze lowered and he nodded. "The fifth cellar, the deepest hole in the earth," he answered. His hands gripped the arms of the chair. "I lived there for many years. Alone."

"Why?" she asked, horrified, unable to imagine living without sunlight and trees, the smell of grass in the summer and the heady scent of rotting leaves in the fall.

"Polite society would not accept this," he mumbled. He turned his face to the side as though to display the mask, though she couldn't help but notice how flushed the unmasked side of his face appeared.

"Why didn't you return here?"

"Because I didn't think I was wanted here," he answered. The pain in his gaze broke her heart, which made it impossible to stay angry at him for firing her. "And in the opera house, no one knew I existed."

"But you just said you taught Christine how to sing," she pointed out.

It took him a moment to answer, though when he did, he looked her in the eye. "She didn't believe I was real."

"But that's absurd—"

"I let her believe I was a ghost."

"Why?" she asked, horrified. "Why would anyone want to be mistaken for dead?"

"Because it was easier not to exist than to be seen as imperfect," he answered. "Because I was incapable of telling her the truth." His tone grew angry, his hands curled into fists. "Because I knew all along that the moment she saw me it would be over, and I was right." He exhaled and closed his eyes. "I knew from the beginning that I was completely wrong."

"How did you teach her if she didn't think you were real?"

"Through a mirror," he said. "So that she couldn't see me."

"How long did you do this?"

"Far too long," he answered. He lifted his hand and worried his chin. "Because she was unprepared for the truth."

"That you were real?"

"That I wasn't an angel of music," he replied.

Sophia's brow knit. "But how could she possibly think you were an angel, even if she didn't see you? Pardon me for saying so, but it doesn't sound like a believable story. What sort of angel would live in a cellar?"

He looked deeply ashamed of himself, as though by her words he realized how ridiculous the scheme truly had been all along. "An angel wouldn't," he replied. "But a man who has nothing would take what he could."

"Then why weren't you honest with her?"

Erik sat back. "Look at me, Sophia. How could I be honest with her?"

"You were honest with me," she whispered. "Weren't you?"

-o-

He released a ragged breath and closed his eyes. "I couldn't be a ghost here," he said, his voice seemingly not his own. Deep inside it felt as though he listened to someone else speak of his shame and of the darkest moments of his life.

"That doesn't answer my question," she said.

"I've been honest with you," he told her, meeting her eye. "Even when I didn't want to be honest with you, I've done so, Sophia."

"Why wouldn't you want to be honest with people?"

He exhaled. "It's not a matter of what I want."

"But why?"

"Because no one would ever listen to what I had to say," he growled. "Look at me! You know the answers to these questions. They're all here." He pointed to the mask and watched her draw back in fear. "It kept me from the rest of the world."

"But being a ghost or an angel or whatever it was you had others believing brought you no closer, did it?"

Her words made irritatingly perfect sense to him, but he still couldn't admit it. "It made it easier."

"How?"

"It just…did."

She looked at him, and saw through the thin veil of words.

"At least I thought it did," he muttered. "Nothing back then made an ounce of sense, in case you haven't understood that yet, but I did it for…for self preservation." He waited for her to reply, which didn't come. "I did it out of cowardice, which in the end got me nowhere."

"It brought you here, didn't it?"

He smiled at her, appreciating the words of an optimist. "It brought me to you."

She didn't soften or smile as he had hoped. Her expression showed no sign of being impressed by his words or more forgiving of his plight. He held his breath, half-expecting her to roll her eyes or laugh at him.

Sophia grunted. "You were better off in Paris," she mumbled, not allowing him an inch.

They sat in silence, and Erik tried to remember why he wanted to please her. His initial anger had turned to passive shame which kept him sitting across from her with his gaze cast down.

"I would still be there if it weren't for…certain tragedies," he said, remembering it all at once from the day Raoul de Chagny showed up to win his childhood sweetheart back to the last moment he'd dragged Christine into his world and forced her to make a choice. He couldn't even begin to imagine grabbing Sophia by the arm and locking her inside his bedroom. He could, however, imagine grabbing hold of her and gathering her in his arms.

Suddenly he stood and looked down at her. Her lips parted in surprise, but she didn't move away or, thankfully, scream in terror.

"You're wrong, Sophia. I'm not better off in Paris. I was alone and miserable there, and I will never go back, not to a place where I made the worst mistakes of my life. I was a fool, Sophia, a damned fool. That isn't what I want to be, that isn't what I ever wanted."

"Erik," she gasped.

He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to her feet. Once she stood before him, he realized how hard he'd started to breathe and how breathless she'd become. Her cheeks had turned bright red, her eyes the deepest shade of green he'd ever seen. With his confidence restored, he held onto her, drew her to him until he'd crushed her to his chest. The warmth of her would not allow him to turn away and lose her.

"What would have happened to you if I hadn't returned here? What would Karl have done to you? What would he still be doing to you and to Sabine? To the little girl as well?" he shouted.

Her lips trembled and she slowly nodded. "If you want me to thank you for what you did—"

"No, that isn't what I mean. I need you, Sophia, more than you'll ever need me. I didn't let you go because I didn't want anything to do with you. I want you here, but not as a servant who slips in and out of my bed. I want you as mine, as a proper woman in my life. If you don't want what I want, then tell me now, Sophia, tell me before I…" He sucked in a lungful of air, his gaze trained on her lips. His heart beat so fast he could barely breathe, barely speak, but he had to tell her what he'd wanted to tell her for months. "Before I kiss you and don't take no for an answer."