A/N Hey there, I'm back after a month and a half break for Year 12 and 11 examinations, but now I'm into full writing mode again. Here's the much sought after chapter, and thank-you to all my reviewers, (especially Froody, coz she's awesome,) who have been patient in waiting for this to happen. A nice looong chapter, and it's finally here! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters, they are the brainchilds and brilliance of Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay and Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Chapter fourteen.

Christine's eyes widened in horror as the full impact of what Madame Giry was implying struck her.

"Erik is… alive?" The whisper barely pushed past her lips as she struggled for breath against the sudden choking sensation, her head spinning wildly, threatening to envelope her vision in darkness once more. All these months Erik had been alive and Madame Giry had known… she had known.

Madame Giry's mouth set in a grim line, "Yes."

"How?" Christine's eyes fell, the tears burning behind her eyes pricked painfully, her brow furrowed as she fought for some sort of comprehension. She looked into Madame Giry's face. "How could you?" The tears dissipated as her anger grew, red clouded her vision and all she could see was Madame Giry's betrayal.

"How could you?!"

Madame Giry placed a hand on Christine's arm, trying to placate her as she watched her daughter's anger and anguish steadily rise. "Christine, I-" Christine ripped her arm free from her grasp.

"No! No more lies!" she screamed, "I don't want to hear anymore of your lies! You did this! How? H-how could.. how could you-" she started to hyperventilate.

"Believe me, I didn't have a choice, he-"

"No! You watched me cry myself to sleep for months! Months! And you never said a word!"

"Christine I had no choice! It was what he wanted!"

"What he wanted?" She seemed to shrink at those words, her grief and anger waged war with the utter joy she felt in her heart at finding out her Angel was alive and well. "What he wanted?" she whispered softly, struggling for breath as she batteld her anxiety. "What about what I want Madame Giry?" Tears slid down her cheeks, leaving burning tracks in their wake. "I l-love him Madame Giry, I love him." The words echoed through her mind; I love him Madame…. I love him… love him…

Suddenly Christine jumped to her feet and turned to leave the room. Just as her hand reached the door-knob, Madame Giry's reprimanding voice rung in her ears.

"Christine! You're in no condition to be going anywhere."

She turned. "I don't care! You can't keep me from him anymore. Can't you understand Madame Giry? I have to find him!"

And without another glance back, she wrenched to door open and ran out into the street.

XxXxXxX

The streets of London echoed with the sounds on Christine's footsteps. Dusk was settling fast upon the city, the soft yellow gleam from passing windows lit her way, like a thousand tiny candles. The vast expanse of the city lay before her eyes, its beauty taking on a more ethereal quality as the night drew near, the dust no longer choked her breath; the air was crisp and clean. It was as though she was seeing the world for the first time, through new eyes. The rhythmic beat of the city took on a whole new tone, as her skirts skimmed the cobble-stones beneath her feet, whispering a song of their own. The city was a cacophony of sounds, each unique and in unison.

The tears had dried long ago, leaving clean streaks down her dirty cheeks as Christine flew through the cobble-stone streets, one destination and one idea implanted firmly within her mind; the London Opera House. Several passers-by stared impertinently at her peculiar visage as she swept past them, uncaring of their brazen looks and subtle mutterings; she had a purpose.

A warm breeze swept down the streets, stirring the leaves and sweeping back the damp hair that clung to Christine's forehead. She glanced at her reflection in a passing window and stopped dead. She shuddered as she took in her appearance. Her hair hung in tangles about her shoulders, her eyes were red-rimmed from crying and the black from her khol make-up was smeared down her cheeks which were swollen like her lips. She screwed up her eyes in frustration. How could she see Erik looking like this? She looked no more decent than a common prostitute. She glanced down at her skirts; her petticoat was covered in filth and the white hemming was brown with dust. She sniffed slightly, wiping the back of her hand across her face and abruptly sitting on a nearby bench-seat. The stars were just beginning to make an appearance in the sky, the temperature had dropped considerably and Christine found her shivering despite herself. Suddenly it struck her how utterly foolish it was to have run out on Madame Giry just to find herself parked on a bench in the middle of London with no escort and no-one to know where she was.

A man suddenly stumbled out of the alley way opposite her, and Christine gasped with fright. The man had a filth-ridden bedraggled look about him, and walked, dragging his right foot in a sort of lob-sided shuffle towards her. Christine's eyes widened as she noted the near-empty liquor bottle hanging limp at it side. That was it for her. She stood abruptly and fled down an adjoining street, ignoring the shouted nonsensicals from the man at her heels. Stupid Christine, she reprimanded herself. Even if she were to find Erik at the Opera House, what would she have said to him? No doubt looking the way she did, the doormen probably never would have allowed her in in the first place. No. She needed a plan.

XxXxXxX

"Christine! Oh thank-God you're alright. I was so worried I didn't know where you were. Maman said you ran off!"

Christine extracted herself from the bundle of blonde hair that had flung itself at her the moment she'd stepped foot inside the house. Patrick kept his distance, still angered and his pride still hurt by the rejection Christine had shown his earlier.

"I'm fine Meg, really. I just needed some time by myself."

Madame Giry quickly appeared at her side, her face an arrangement of shock and surprise; she had not thought Christine would return.

"Christine?" she asked tentatively.

Christine turned warily to Madame Giry, plastering a fake smile across her face to keep up the pretenses of everything being okay between the two of them; for Meg's sake.

"Yes Madame Giry?"

Despite the smile, Madame Giry noted the slight coldness in her voice. Without reason to, no-one else would have suspected a thing. But no-one else also knew of the horrible pain and suffering Madame Giry had a part in inflicting upon Christine.

Patrick called to Meg from the kitchen, just as Madame Giry leant forward quietly, "may I have a word?" Christine nodded silently and followed her to her bedroom. Madame Giry shut the door behind them."I did not think you would be back. At least not so soon. Did you-"

"-see him?" Christine finished. Madame Giry shifted uncomfortable, both angry and grieved over the situation she had been forced into.

"No, Madame, I did not."

"May I ask why?"

Christine sighed, "I do not think it is time, and you were right; I really am in no condition for any reconciliation with ghosts of the past." She sat on the bed. "What I don't understand, Madame Giry, is how you could have harboured such a secret from me, when you knew the toll it was taking… how much I wished, prayed that he was alive. How could you do that?"

Madame Giry stood before her, "I do not condone my actions, Christine, but you must know – it was in part to protect you. Because of all the pain the Erik has inflicted on you, and you on him, that is why I did what I did. I didn't tell you that terrible lie, that he was dead to keep you away from him, or to hurt you. He couldn't bear being near you, and I could see that you couldn't rest knowing he was still out there, somewhere. He came to me, the morning after you returned to the Opera House… he had seen you there, and it nearly killed him." She gazed remorsefully at the tears making their way down Christine's pale cheeks. "He didn't want you to come looking for him Christine, so in the interest of self-preservation he gave me a slip of parchment and asked me to post it in the morning Epoque; I owned him as much, one last favour to an old friend. I thought it would give you some closure, some peace of mind, after all he had put you, and Raoul through. If I had known the devastating impact it would have had upon you I question whether I would have had the strength to go through with it," she paused, and knelt in front of Christine. "Christine, cherie', he doesn't want to be found. And I can never forgive him for hurting you… you don't know him Christine, you don't know all that he is capable of-"

"-and he doesn't know how much I love him, Madame Giry. I tried to deny it, believe me I did, but," she paused, wiping away her tears, "I feel hollow without him. He was my father when I needed him, my friend, my teacher, my angel… but he is infinitely more. His past doesn't matter any more, all that matters is that I find him. I must know, Madame Giry, I must."

Madame Giry sighed, hanging her head in acceptance of the one thing she had hoped to prevent. Erik had nearly destroyed this girl once; she would not allow him to again. It was time he faced the consequences of his actions.

"We need a plan."

At that precise moment Meg came bursting through the bedroom door, screaming wildly and waving a piece of parchment in the air. "Maman! Maman! A telegram just arrived from the Opera House!" she squealed, "I got the part, Maman! I got the part! They want me to perform at the next showing – next week!"

Christine and Madame Giry smiled sadly at one another. "Perfect," Madame Giry murmured beneath her breath.

XxXxXxX

"-I didn't think you would be able to accomplish quite a feat, Miss Giry, but it seems we've undermined your dancing capabilities. Well done!"

Meg blushed at the praise, stretching her nimble ballet limbs in her warm-down. Though she didn't speak much English, she understood enough to be able to accept their praise graciously. She stood to see her mother and Christine approaching. "Maman!" she cried, "did you see?"

"Oui, ma cherie', you were magnifique!" She kissed her daughter's cheek. Christine smiled proudly at her friend's accomplishment; in just six short days she had managed to perfect the dance sequence required for the next performance of Night-side Phantasia; the Prima Ballerina had quit after a heavy reprimand from their Maestro over her clumsy footwork during one rehearsal. Christine smirked as her thoughts trailed to their Maestro, it certainly sounded like Erik hadn't renounced the old ways. Her heart twanged painfully. It wouldn't be long now; Madame Giry had purchased tickets to the opera again, to support Meg in her debut performance on the London Opera House's stage. The performance was tomorrow night. It wouldn't be long now; before the ghosts of the past would be brought back to life… it wouldn't be long.

XxXxXxX

"-oh, Monieur Raynaud, are you quite sure you will not accompany us?" Meg queried, pouting a little and twirling a lock of her golden hair about her little finger.

Patrick smiled, growing used to their playful banter, "I am quite sure, Mademoiselle. Accompanying you would undoubtedly be the greatest and most pleasurable highlight of my evening, but I'm afraid it would be simply be impossible."

"Oh," she sulked, "well you're no fun." She turned her attentions to Christine, "Really, Chrissy, you ought to have made him come." Christine glanced over at Patrick, their eyes meeting for a fraction of a second before he turned away from her.

"Perhaps you should have invited Monsieur Raynaud a little earlier then, Meg, rather than presenting him with the proposition of going just as we are leaving," she winked at her friend. It was a lie and Christine and Patrick knew it. She didn't want him there any more than he wished to spend the night in her company; not when she knew what scenes might arise. The managers had guaranteed Erik's attendance that evening, and Christine was sure she wouldn't like the two of them to meet; scenes might arise unpleasant to more than just her. Besides, Meg seemed to be growing fonder and fonder of Patrick; between dance rehearsals, she had spent more time with Patrick than she had with Christine. While she missed her friend's company, she wasn't worried; if Patrick could make her happy than who was she to begrudge her for it?

"Yes, I totally agree," Meg said, interrupting her thoughts. "Oh well. Shall we go then?"

The carriage ride to the Opera House was a silent one. Christine couldn't find the courage to speak, as she sat idly playing with the midnight-blue satin of he dress, attempting to hide the shaking of her hands that threatened to betray her nervousness. She was completely lost in her own thoughts. She had not had the time, nor the resources to shop for a new dress, instead opting to borrow Meg's with a few minor adjustments here and there. Madame Giry sat opposite her, wearing her usual black garments and stern face. When they finally arrived, Meg was first to jump from the carriage, giving her mother a quick hug and racing up the front steps with a cry of "wish me good-luck!"

Madame Giry smiled after her, and then continued to gaze at Christine who had not moved. "Christine?" she asked gently. Christine's head shot up, panicking at the mention of her name, before she realized that they had arrived at the Opera House and began calming down. She was completely on-edge, like an antelope that's realized it's being stalked by a lioness. "Are you ready?" Christine nodded silently, her mouth was as dry as parchment as she stepped out of the carriage behind Madame Giry and began the long walk up to the front doors of the Opera House.

The bustle and glamour of the Opera House never ceased to amaze her, and Christine began to feel some of the tension drain from her muscles at its familiarity. She still believed it could never rival the Opera Populaire in all its glory, but it was a comfort none the less. She breathed deeply, trying desperately to steady her nerves, but it proved to no avail. With every flash of white or twirl of a black cloak, she felt her heart rate rise, the dizzying sensation threatening to take over.

Meg had disappeared, found her way backstage to prepare for the overture that would begin in half and hour. Madame Giry peered over the crowd.

"Madame Giry?" Madame Giry whipped around to receive Mr. Martineau, who made his way briskly across the lobby in his enthusiastic mannerr as usual. "A pleasure as always," he said, clapping his hands together. "How is Mademoiselle Giry this evening? Quite well I hope, and in form?"

"Yes, Monsieur, she is very much looking forward to this evening's proceedings. She has been working very hard."

"Excellent, excellent." He smiled as dollar signs flicked into his eyes, the thought of this evening's revenue quite palatable. "I don't think Monsieur Deveraux has had the honour of meeting with your daughter as of yet, but I'm sure that he will find her quiet well accomplished and suitable, if not more. He is a very peculiar sort of man, very hard to please – a real task-master!"

"Yes, from what I have heard I should very much like to meet him," Madame Giry said cryptically.

Mr. Martineau nodded in agreement, looking over the milling crowds, "I'm sure you would… - ah! Speak of the devil, there he is now!" And he disappeared through the crowd, seeking out the familiar white mask and black evening wear attire of his money-making maestro.

Christine's heart rate increased, suddenly realizing how foolish this would all appear. Madame Giry placed a hand on her arm to placate her. "Shh, Christine, everything will be alright." Christine wished she could believe her.

A few moments passed without any sign of them, and Christine believed Mr. Martineau had either forgotten them, or was unable to attain his maestro. Christine hoped it was the latter. She was both happy and disappointed when she saw him burst through the crowd, dragging a very annoyed and disgruntled looking Erik behind him. Christine froze; he had not yet seen her.

"Ah, Madame Giry. Madame de Chagny, it is my very good honour to introduce Monsieur Deveraux."

Christine had prepared herself, both emotionally and mentally for this moment. But it seemed as though every wall she had erected for him crumbled the instant her eyes met with his, and she knew, she knew that she would and could never be prepared. His deep amber eyes blazed with a furious yellow the moment they lighted on her chocolate orbs and in that moment words seem to fail him. Christine stared, her mouth slightly agape, not caring that she was being improper in front of Mr. Martineau, for Erik was staring back at her with equal intensity, his gaze never faltering. The world seemed to disintegrate around them.

No! Erik's mind screamed at him, but he could not move, his heart threatened to leap out of his chest and his breath caught in his lungs, his eyes smoldering with desire as the one thing he had ever longed for stood before him. Christine was too busy drinking in the sight before her.

He was just as she remembered him; the signature white mask, contrasting brilliantly against his ebony hair. The unmasked side of his face was perfect in every sense; everything from his strong, chiseled features, and high aristocratic nose, to his dark furrowed brow and brilliant gold eyes. It was his eyes that were exquisite, the one thing apart from his voice that had captivated her above all else. He was dressed from head to foot in superb evening wear, a crisp white shirt and gold cravat and the familiar black opera cloak.

Madame Giry looked between the two, deciding to be the first to take the initiative.

"Monsieur Deveraux," she nodded curtly.

The spell seemed broken in that moment, the connection all but dissipated. The eyes that had been staring at Christine with such desire; such love only moments before, now hardened, staring at her coldly through icy orbs.

Christine faltered and opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it.

"A pleasure, Madame de Changy," he said though gritted teeth, bowing curtly and pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles as society deemed proper. His eyes blazed furiously yellow, the pupils almost like slits as he gazed meaningfully at Madame Giry; his betrayer. The fury was evident in his posture; his back was stiff and rigid and he held his hands in clenched fists at his sides.

"You must excuse me," he bowed curtly once more to Mr. Martineau and the women, turning on his heel and sweeping off into the crowd; his opera cloak trailing behind him in an ominous fashion. His mind triumphing over his self-control whilst his heart screamed painfully, No!

"I'm sorry, you'll have to excuse Monsieur Deveraux there; he can be a little abrupt sometimes." Martineau shrugged, unable to offer up a more thorough explanation for his Maestro's odd behaviour.

Christine stood silent as a ghost, the pallor slowly draining from her face as she fought to comprehend what had just happened. This was not how it was supposed to happen, it was all going wrong.

Well what did you expect? Her mind mocked sardonically. Did you expect him to sweep you up into his arms? Kiss you as though nothing had ever happened? As though the last two and a half years never happened?

No, I didn't expect anything, I-

Sure you didn't… you broke him Christine… it's no more than you deserve.

"No…" she whispered.

"I'm sorry?" Martineau queried, staring oddly at Christine. She looked up at him.

"I'm sorry – would you excuse me?" and without waiting for his reply she disappeared into the massing crowds amid the baffled look of Mr. Martineau, and the understanding gaze of Madame Giry.

Christine fought her way though the crowd as politely as possible, trying her best to repress the urge to shove pompous women in evening gowns to the floor in order to clear an easier path through the masses. She assumed this was the direction Erik had headed, though she had no idea where it led. She was adamant though; she would not lose him so readily, not when she'd just found him again.

Finally she burst through a gap in the crowd and found herself shunted through a side door into a deserted hallway. The hallway was dimly lit, with only every fourth gas lamp alight, and a cold draft swept past her bare shoulders, making her shiver uncontrollably. Had Erik come this way? She leant her head against the walls and screwed her eyes up in frustration, why was this going all wrong? The faint ethereal sound of music floated down the hallway, and Christine's eyes flew open the moment the first note reached her ears. Gathering her skirts she followed the ghostly music transfixed, one foot following the other as the music drew her onwards. A small sliver of light spread across the carpeted hallway from an open door ahead, the music seemed to emanate from beyond the door and grew louder as she cautiously approached. She stood outside the door, her eyes had grown wide with wonder at the emotional quality of the music within, the heart-wrenching sorrow portrayed in a repeated pattern of notes and rests. Christine didn't know how long she stood outside the door, an age seemed to pass before the music suddenly ceased and Christine was wrenched back to her senses.

Suddenly the door was yanked open sending Christine spiraling into the hallway with a cry of fright. Erik stood framed in the entrance, an ebony-gloved hand placed upon the handle, his face half-covered in shadow.

"Christine," he breathed. That word was almost the undoing of him.

Christine stared back at him in wonder, still unable to fully comprehend the reality that he was really and truly there, standing mere meters away from her. "Erik," she whispered.

Erik suddenly withdrew into himself, his back stiffing and his eyes hardening, scrutinizing her in every possible way. Christine took a step back from him, unexplainably frightened by his steely gaze, backing up against the wall. This was it, there was no where to run.

"Madame de Chagny," he nodded curtly in her direction, peering around the doorframe, "you appear to have lost your party." He spoke with a coolness of tone that sent shivers up and down her spine. This was not the way she had imagine it. The way he regarded Christine, with impartiality, without feeling, hurt her more than she could describe. He showed no regard for her presence what so ever. He was silent, simply studying her as she fidgeted under his gaze.

"Erik, I-"

"Monsieur Deveraux if you'll please. What do you want Comtess?" He cut in, making his annoyance evident.

Christine stared up at him with hurt in her eyes. Erik's heart screamed painfully at him, but his mind remained as rigid as steel; he refused to give in.

"I-" words seemed to fail her. What could she possibly say that would erase the past, allow her to break through the cold and steely barrier he had erected between the two of them. She wanted nothing more than to fling herself at him that moment, telling him how sorry she was, how much she loved him, how she'd believed she could never love another… but she didn't. She took in his angry and annoyed expression, his lack of recognition with hurt in her eyes, pleading for some indication that he still loved her.

"I am a very busy man, Comtess. I do not have time to play children's games."

She winced at her title, and swallowed hard, her mouth parting slightly in an attempt to find words to express everything that needed to be said. There was so much between them, and she knew, she knew she'd broken his heart. But he'd broken hers too, be it willingly – knowingly - or not she had mourned his death, damnit! There was so much she needed to say, but he did not seem as though he wished to hear any of her attempts at explanation.

"Well, Comtess?" Erik was growing impatient. Please Christine, just go. Please, not now, just go…

"Don't call me that," she said bitterly. "I am no Comtess."

Erik was taken aback for a second, had she left the boy? He quickly recovered. While he was intrigued why she would not allow herself to be called by her marriage name, he would not allow her to get the better of him.

"My apologies, Madame," he smirked sardonically, "I really must be going-"

"-No!" Christine cried, staring frantically into his eyes, searching for any sign, any remnant of his love for her, any recognition, But his eyes were closed to her. She grasped at his sleeve, "No Erik, you will not do this to me again!"

"Again?" he whispered coldly. He looked down at her small hand clasped about his sleeve with disgust. "How did you find me?"

"I-I didn't know until I saw you in town," Christine confessed, following his gaze and retracting her hand slightly.

Erik slammed a fist into the wall, cursing loudly over his own inadequacy. What was she trying to do to him? Why couldn't she just leave him alone?

"I was wrong, Erik, I-"

"You what? You're sorry, is that it? Well sorry isn't good enough Christine! You… you have no idea…"

"I know I hurt you-"

"You don't know what hurt is! You don't know what it is to suffer Christine," he snarled bitterly. "You know nothing of pain! I'm sure your precious Comte was of great comfort to you whilst you mourned over my ugly demise. A great relief I'm sure it was," He loomed over her, his eyes menacing as he spat furiously. "Did he hold you? Whisper sweet nothingness to your ears?"

Christine closed her eyes as a frustrated tear worked its way out from under her lashes and trailed down her cheek. Erik's heart constricted painfully, screaming at him to stop, but his mind egged him forwards, demanding some sort of penance for her crimes; demanding its revenge.

"Why?" she whispered weakly, "why are you doing this?" The dam broke then.

"Why, Christine? Why?! As I recall, it was you who walked out on me! You killed me that day Christine, you tore out my heart and left me living long enough to see you trample on it! I was NOTHING because of you! I gave you EVERYTHING and you reduced me to NOTHING!"

"You can hate me for what I did Erik, but I hate you for what you've done!" Angry tears now spilled down her face as she stared at him defiantly.

"Ah," he laughed cruelly, "so young, naive little Daae has finally grown some character. I thought it would never happen."

Christine couldn't believe what she was hearing; how could he speak to her so cruelly?

"Well I hope it leaves a bitter reprisal in your mouth, Christine, I hope you choke on it, as you let me choke. "It's in your soul that the true distortion lies,"" he sang in a mocking sing-song tone. Christine turned abruptly from him, choking back the sobs as she shook uncontrollably. Erik's mind roared with approval, as he loomed menacingly above her, "You see, you were right all along Christine, I am a monster!"

She whipped around furiously, beating her fist against his strong chest. The muscle in his jaw twitched, as his eyes widened in anger.

"You gave me no choice that night! You threatened to kill him; you were a monster!" she screamed, her small fists clenched at her side. "I thought you were dead!"

The emotion overwhelmed her, and she fell back against the wall, anguished sobs racking through her body. A flicker of guilt raced through Erik's mind. He longed to put an end to it all, longed to take her into his embrace, and wipe away the tears. He knew though, he knew that if he allowed her back into his life, he would gladly give her his heart – just to have it torn out and shattered once more. There was a deathly silence between them, as Christine fought to steady her breathing.

"You gave me no choice that night, but if only you knew…" she whispered heart wrenchingly, "if only you knew..."

Erik turned his back on her, fighting the urge to comfort her in that moment. He closed his eyes in resolution, until the sound of her sweet voice broke his reverie.

"I believed you were dead. Please don't put me through that again, Erik, please…" her confession was so honest and she stood behind him, tears trickling down her cheek as she pleaded with him, but for what he didn't know. "I won't survive it…"

He kept his back turned to her. "I was. I loved you Christine and you killed me," Her hand rested on his arm. Tears were streaming freely down her cheeks, as all the pain they had inflicted on one another culminated in one final conflict.

"I'm so sorry Angel, I-"

Erik growled in frustration, yanking his arm free from her grasp, "Don't call me that you wretched girl! I am no Angel, and never was!"

"-I loved you too."

She saw his back turn rigid as his head slumped forward. She reached out to him, her fingertips slowly sliding up his back and over his shoulder, willing him to turn and face her. Oh God, Christine, please just go… just go. Erik sighed wearily, his heart thumping painfully within his chest and his breath hitched in his lungs at the feel of her caress. My God Christine, you will be the death of me.

"Please Christine, what do you want of me?" he said wearily.

Christine was shocked to see this sudden change in her Angel, from the terrifying Phantom to this broken and dejected man. He seemed to age before her eyes, as old as the world itself. She turned him gently around, her hand winding behind his neck; he was too tired and weak from her intoxication to object. His heart thudded wildly at her proximity, No! This was all too simple, she couldn't… he couldn't… Suddenly she was standing directly in front of him.

Christine gazed levelly into his eyes. "You can hurt me all you want, and you can hate me. But I love you," she whispered softly. "Only you,"

Erik stared down at her, her lips were slightly parted and he breathed the familiar scent of lavender. A raging torrent of emotion was waging war within him, his utter love and devotion of the woman before him battled the hatred and cruel reality that he was sure she didn't really know what she wants. No, I can't. He turned away from her, desperate to put as much distance between them. If he didn't get away from her there was no telling what he's do. He needed to protect her.

"Please go, Christine," he started to walk away, "I can't have you around me."

She watched him motionlessly for a moment, before her heart and mind screamed for her to take action; to stop him from walking out of her life again. This was it, there was no turning back now. She walked after him and caught him by the arm.

"No Erik," she flung him around and pressed her lips to his fiercely. Erik's heart threatened to leap from his chest as the intoxicating feel of her lips took hold. For one agonizing moment nothing happened, he was solid and immovable against her; as rigid as stone. It was all over. Christine was about to pull away, when Erik pushed his lips against hers with equal pressure and urgency. His entire being narrowed in that moment as he reveled in the feel of her flesh on his, the searing heat of her kiss, the one thing that had haunted his dreams for two unbearably long and empty years. It was all so simple, it couldn't be real. He felt her open up to him, and could barely suppress the shock of tasting her suddenly, so deliciously warm.

His hands went automatically to her waist, where he clutched her in sheer desperation. He knew he was signing his death warrant, as he felt her lips part, inviting him, enticing him inside. She felt his tongue flick past her lips, entering the warm crevice; the union with his tongue sent an electric shock through her entire body, and she shuddered, clutching at his shoulders in desperation. Erik's grip tightened on her waist as his mouth ravaged hers mercilessly. She pulled against him fiercely, desperately craving to vanquish every inch of space between them. Both of his hands crept up her neck, tangling furiously in her hair as he delved deep within her, desperate to explore every crevice of her, needing her, wanting her. She groaned almost fearfully as she fell back hard against the wall, trapped beneath him as they both fuelled their passion's fires. If he left her now she would die.

Erik's hands dropped behind her back, crushing her to him as her hands clutched at his neck, at his head. "Erik," she whispered coarsely, as his lips trailed down her neck, eliciting a gasp of shock from her. Erik sucked and nipped at the skin where shoulder met neck, his breathing ragged as he drowned in the essence that was Christine. He loved her so much it hurt, why was she back? Was this just some cruel game, to satisfy some sick pleasure of hers? His grip tightened painfully on her arm. She groaned fearfully; frightened by the height of his passion as she stood crushed between him and the wall. Two years ago she had fled from his passion; his obsession, his devotion had frightened her, but not now… now it was the thing she craved above all else, and she welcomed it with open arms. Erik growled in frustration, he hated her for abandoning him, for haunting his dreams, for torturing him with the sweetness of her kiss. Oh god, how he hated her. He stopped his assault on her neck, and trailed back up to her lips, where he crushed himself against her, bruising her tender flesh as he attempted to suck the very life from her. Christine went limp in his arms, but he couldn't stop himself. Her head was spinning wildly, and hot tears dashed from her lashes down her face, smearing against his cheek and mingling with his own furious ones.

Look at your pathetic weakness Erik… One kiss from her and you're ready to forget all that she's done to you… All that she still will do to you…

Erik crushed himself against her, attempting to drive the voice from his mind, to bury his self-doubts once and for all. This was his Christine…

…are you sure? How do you know the boy's not waiting for her at home…?

This was his Christine, he kept repeating… she wouldn't betray him… not now…

…She has once before…

He faltered in his assault of her. "Erik?" she whimpered, trying to get him to look at her. All that she still will do to you… "Damn you" he hissed, wrenching his hands clear from her waist, and stepping abruptly away from her as though she were poison. Christine mouthed wordlessly, her head still spinning wildly from the intensity of their unleashed passion. She stared up at him with immense hurt in her eyes, her fears of rejection manifesting in front of her eyes. "Erik, what-?"

"Damn you Christine," he hissed violently, standing to his full height, "I won't let you do this to me, no, not again."

Christine stared at him in utter bewilderment, "What? I don't-"

He rounded angrily on her, "This is my life now, Comtess, and you have no part in it!" He spat furiously. Christine's eyes welled with tears.He straightened his jacket, and turned on his heel, striding purposefully away from her. Please don't come after me, Christine, I won't have the strength…

"Erik!" she cried desperately after him, tears of rejection falling down her cheeks. She suddenly felt so unwanted, so… dirty. What would he think of her? Erik stopped mid-step, taking a deep-breath, his shoulders stiffening.

"Please, Erik… I love you."

He closed his eyes, the words he had longed to hear for so long reverberated through the hallway. No! He had a career now, a chance at a normal life… he couldn't risk Christine destroying it. He turned slowly to face her, gazing at her coldly.

"You don't know what you want, Christine. Go home," he said icily, and vanished through a side door, leaving Christine alone in the hallway. She blinked after him, the full weight of his words breaking upon her shoulders as she broke down, sliding down the wall in a fit of anguished sobs. Oh, God Erik, will you ever trust me again?

A/N: Poor Christine... Unfortunately I'm in the predicament of being uncertain of whether I should continue this story and frankly whether it's worth my time. 14 chapters and 33 reviews doesn't really match up, and besides my love of writing, the only reason I write this story is for the reviewers who have had the decency to write me over suggestions and who have been supportive and encouraging. Feedback is what makes a story worth writing; why write a story if people aren't going to tell you what they think? So, I'm leaving it in the reader's hands now, so please review.
As always, cheers.
- Wing

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