Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Mystery Guest I'm so glad you asked about more background story, I was about to give it to you.

Yeah I love reviews. I don't know if there we'll be any song this time, as much as I love it, my story is almost a musical here.

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Chapter Seven

Amentia

1884

The drip was incessant, ever since the damn place had been standing empty it had been decaying slowing, the entire opera house was going to end up on top of him. He opened his eyes pulling himself out of the deep thought. He was growing weak, and he knew it. There was no food nor had there been for, he couldn't even remember. With the Garnier empty, there were no twittering ballet rats to steal from. He did not eat much, he had even made her believe he didn't eat at all, though she believed in a lot of things that turned out to not be true. The depression began to return, be reached down, his hand scanning the stones blindly for his opium pipe. He had gotten off the stuff for a time, as it made him cough. When he needed to sound like an angel he had not touched it, it almost killed him, which helped in part for his occasional blind rage that he called upon when being the Phantom.

He cursed loudly when he found the burner had gone out, and the beautiful porcelain was empty. He propelled himself from the armchair and stalked into another room. Two of the doors in his "house" were locked. He never wanted to see what was in them again. He grabbed a bag and reached in almost to the bottom. There was not very much brown gummy happiness left in the bag. He had gotten a hold of a great deal when he had traveled in Persia. Only those close to the Shah were privileged enough to have pure opium. He stuck the blob in the bowl and lit the burner. He began to shake slightly waiting for it to heat, blowing on the hot coal to speed the process, trying desperately to keep all thought out of his mind, until it was numb again. Finally, the blessed smoke began to come through the pipe, and with a few deep breaths, he was relaxed and carefree.

He had treid many times to relieve his stress other ways, when she was there he would write music, the melodies that could come out of a withdrawal were amazing. He contemplated the fact that he needed more and all the different ways he could get more. Surely, the most interesting was going back to Persia, maybe go the few places he had not been. He could visit the states, he had not felt the urge to go there before, but the hustle of New York now sounded incredibly appealing. He could outwit the authorities, terrorize the city, and see the famed opera house there. He doubted it would be anything compared to his.

He lay back and closed his eyes, not caring that he was on the dirty stone water front. He began to slip and the water lapped at one leg gently. It almost felt like a small hand pulling him. He imagined that his heart had slowed enough to kill him. He had finally ended all the agony. He could never take his own life. He had promised long ago, in a time forgotten, fro God knows what reason, but he kept to the promise none the less. Maybe it had something to do with him already being doomed. Doomed, that was an interesting word, so black and white, no room for someone like him. Now the pretty boy, he had no trouble with the word doomed, he knew how to define it, He wasn't doomed, and the monster was. See now, wasn't that easy. The thoughts drifted off. His eyes rolled back in his head and there was peace. No wait, there was that annoying lapping of the water, he figured that he was slipping into the water more and more, because the lapping was now at his sleeve. He tried to think if his legs were in the water but he couldn't tell for sure. It was getting really annoying, it felt like something tugging incessantly at his sleeve. His back prickled uncomfortable, he assumed he entire body was going numb. He welcomed death. The words on his lips would not come. His tongue was heavy and there seemed no reason to work any harder at it. His head lolled back and forth, he wondered what made it do so when he was still. He started to see visions of an angel. It was finally over. He held his arms out to the angel to take him. He looked closer, and angel had brown hair, no, she was wearing black not white. It was a demon, sent to collect him, not an angel. He swung haphazardly at it. It made a soft grunt noise and was gone for a time. Successfully staving off the devil he began to feel sad that it was not an angel. There was the angel, hovering over him again. A beautiful face, soft eyes, soft arms encompassing him. No, it looked like her. The strange angel looked like her. Angel he managed to whisper. It shushed him, it hummed, the voice of an angel. No, no, no, it was the devil ,it was trying to trick him. He felt helpless, he kicked out the flailed a bit, no he was too tired. It called his name, loudly. The voice, the angel voice, it was familiar. And then with a sudden jerk he recognized it. CHRISTINE. He sat up and saw a figure on the floor. The angel, the demon, the lapping, it all came clear. He had kicked her, he thought she was a demon, he had thought she was an angel. Had he said angel, or had she? His mind was still foggy.

She got up slowly. Saw him and rushed over.

Erik, are you alright? What did you do to yourself?"

He sat there dumbly as the mothered him. The anger built up in him. She had snagged the only peace he could hope for out of his hands. She had taken everything from him, and now she denied him death as well. She probably was sitting there delusional, thinking he was taking his own life, out of love for her. She shouldn't be so arrogant. To think that no one could ever get over her. But you can't, his mind told him, he mentally punjabbed the voice. The side effects of the opium had left him cool. He had no hot anger to expend upon her. He rose stoically, as if he had not been helpless the moment before.

"Get out"

"What?" she said, feigning ignorance as to what he had said.

"I said, Get Out, you no longer have any business being here, you chose your life, go live it."

"But Erik, how can you send me away when I love you so."

"I would apologize for being rude, but I haven't any empathy left. Just like I haven't any love left for you, my dear," The words were ice cold, calculated to cut into her as deeply as possible, he was always good at hurting people when he chose, hell whenever he was around people, even with his birth. He had always thought that the woman standing before him looked a tad like his dear mother, unable to give him love, but then who could?

"You took all the love I had with you, and you drowned it the water before you."

"I made a mistake, I love you." But the words fell on deaf ears.

"I believe I already told you that the feeling is not mutual, I believe it never was, you are still a child Chirstine, I only now look appealing because you do not have me, you believe you can control me, twist me, toy with me and then once you've had your fill, you will go back off into the light and leave me here broken. I will not DO THAT AGAIN! Now Leave before I'll do something that I can add to my regrets." The last sentence brought him back to icy indifference. He knew it would hurt her more than his fiery anger.

She fled, tears streaming down into the water, simply fled, swimming through the water, soaked through. She ducked under the partially opened gate and disappeared.

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Ok that was fun, when I wrote the part about him being high, I was all relaxed just letting the words ramble on. I started to fell a little dingy myself. It was weird.

The title, Amentia, means being out of your senses, I thought it fit. I don't know if can keep this pace though, this was a 4 in the morning fluke, maybe that why I could write the high-Erik so easily.

Yay, review, pretty please!