She had barely gotten through the second line when he stopped her.

"Stop!" he said loudly, pressing some particularly vicious-sounding chords in frustration. "No, no! Where is your focus today, girl?"

"I'm sorry," she said tiredly, rubbing her eyes with her fingertips. "I'm really sorry."

"I do not want apologies," he said. "I want focus and dedication."

"I know, I know," she replied hurriedly. "It's just…Well, Raoul is pushing school at me again, and the nurses told me that my dad lost weight this week, and…I'm just stressed right now. I'm sorry."

Erik's yellow eyes were narrowed, and she could see his chin clenching in displeasure. "Have you told this…boy of yours that your path is music, and music alone?"

"Of course I have," Christine said, her elbows on the piano, her chin in her hands. "But he just thinks it's unrealistic of me. He doesn't think that I can make a living by singing."

"He believes that music is about money?" the Phantom sneered. "Is this what you believe as well? Do you believe that you are here only to become wealthy?"

"No—not at all! I know, Erik. I know. Music is—singing is…It's the only thing I can do now. What I've felt while I've sung here is more than I can ever describe. I don't want to do anything else. I feel like I can't do anything else. But Raoul doesn't understand. And maybe he's right. I mean, singing is so competitive. Even if I sing, I'm just scared that…I won't earn enough to…you know, stay alive. I have to have a place to live and things to eat. I have to pay the hospital bills and stuff." She felt her cheeks go red at her monologue, and she stared at the lid of the piano. It didn't shine. There wasn't a gleaming reflection looking back at her.

"Music will provide everything you need," Erik then said. "You would die without it. I have seen it in you—you have felt it as well. If you continue to live for music, then everything else will fall into place."

It all sounded completely crazy. Music couldn't provide for her. She couldn't sing and have food and an apartment magically appear in front of her. She couldn't just ignore her problems and sing and expect everything to sort itself out. But…she knew what Erik was saying. She understood his true meaning. Music was now essential to her. After feeling what true music really was and experiencing it in her own body, she couldn't simply give it up.

"You should not be attached to that boy any longer," Erik then said curtly. She looked at him in shock.

"You mean Raoul?" she said. "You think—you don't think I should date him?"

"If he cannot understand the music, then he will never understand your decisions," the Phantom said. "You have chosen an ignorant Philistine, and he will drag you down into mediocrity. He will force you to spend your life doing something worthless...coerce you into doing some banal desk job…"

Christine felt a huge urge to remind the Phantom that he killed people for a living and that doing a desk job would probably be a better lifestyle for her if she had to, but…that wouldn't go over very well, she was sure.

"I like Raoul," she said softly, not wanting Erik to yell at her anymore. "He might not get a lot of the things that I do, but he's always been supportive of me. He just wants what's best for me."

"No," Erik argued. "What is best for you is music. He cannot ever understand that."

"Maybe not," Christine agreed. "But he'll support me."

"Oh?" He stood, his fingers curling around the edge of the piano. Christine resisted taking a few hasty steps backward. She tried to stand her ground. "Is discouraging you and making you doubt your potential supportive? I have half a mind to command you to end your relationship with him."

"Erik—you can't do that!" Christine said desperately. "Please don't! I like Raoul a lot. I know you probably don't get him, but he's a really great guy. He's even letting me live with him because—"

"You are living with him?"

She blanched, completely unprepared for his reaction. Trembling a little, she said tremulously, "Yeah, I am. I don't…have anywhere else to go. I had to use all of my savings to pay the first hospital bill. I…don't have any money for rent or food." She began to blush. It was embarrassing. "And you won't let me get a job. I don't have anywhere else to go. Raoul is…the only person I know who'll help me like this. I don't want to live with him, I really don't, I feel so awful for using him like this. And I know it's not right for me to live with him like this before I'm married—but we sleep in different rooms and…" She trailed off, realizing what she was saying, and she blushed brightly and cleared her throat awkwardly. "I'm just trying to say that I need Raoul. Until I start earning money, I need him."

The Phantom watched her closely, and then he said curtly, "As I said before, the only thing you need is music. The music will provide."

It was easy for him to say that, she thought to herself miserably. He killed people for huge amounts of money—he was probably rich. That left enough support for him to obsess about music.

She wished the same could be said for her. As she got off the bus at the hospital, she walked along the few blocks, the cold winter breeze lifting up a few of her curls. She smoothed them down as best she could, hurrying into the somewhat-warm hospital and walking to Gustave's room. Every day he spent in here was another huge sum of money on the upcoming bill. Still, she knew that he couldn't leave. Not yet. He needed the best medical attention possible to get well, yet his health was coming with a painful and very visible price.

As she sat down by him, she frowned deeply. He was whiter than she was comfortable with, and he was asleep. That worried her; she wanted him awake during the day. Why wasn't he falling back into a normal sleep pattern?

A nurse walked in a minute later, and Christine looked over at her.

"Has anything changed?" she asked anxiously. "He looks…pretty bad."

The nurse nodded. "We're aware, Miss Daae, and we're monitoring him carefully. He's had a couple fevers in the last few days."

"Why haven't I been told this?" Christine demanded instantly. "Why is this happening? He's here to get better, not get sicker!"

"Fevers are there to help people get better, Miss Daae—to fight off infection and kill bad things inside the body. Right now your father's fevers are small enough not to be the cause of much alarm. He's probably simply fighting off some small infections. But be assured that we're watching him carefully. If his fever rises, we'll be here. All right?"

Though she still felt something tugging at her and worry gnawing at her, Christine nodded, and the nurse left after taking Gustave's pulse and temperature. After watching him for a moment, Christine sat down next to him and took his hand, holding it firmly. With her free hand, she lightly toyed with her cross necklace.

"I wish you were here, Pappa," she said softly. "I miss you so much. I want you home with me. I don't want you to be sick anymore. Please get better—please."

It was late by the time she got back to Raoul's apartment. He was on the phone, and he waved at her when she walked in. She watched him for a moment, recalling her lesson from earlier that day.

Even though Raoul didn't understand music the same way she did, he was still a good man. She cared about him, and she liked being in his company. Was it really such a big deal that he didn't share her passion for music? Lots of couples had differing interests, and they worked out perfectly. She and Raoul had disagreed before on lots of different things, but, in the end, they were still together. And if he saw her perform and saw how much she needed to, maybe he would stop pressuring her with school. She wanted to go to school…but she wanted the music more. And she still wanted Raoul. Didn't she?

When he hung up his phone, he approached her and hugged her, saying, "Hey. How's your dad?"

"He's had some fevers," she said, trying not to sound too depressing. "But…hopefully he'll be okay soon."

"I'm sure he will," Raoul said confidently. "He's getting good medical attention. He'll be fine."

She nodded vaguely, feeling a little comforted when Raoul pulled her close and rubbed her back. She leaned against his strong chest, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. His masculine scent was familiar and soothing.

"It's Valentine's Day next week," he then said. "I was thinking that we could go somewhere for the weekend."

"What?" She suddenly felt cornered, and she pulled away from him slightly.

"Just for a couple of days," he assured her. "Wherever you wanted to go, really. Wouldn't that be fun?"

"Oh…" she said. "Oh, I don't think so. I can't—I can't be away from my dad for that long."

"Just for two days?" Raoul said, his face crumpling in displeasure. "C'mon, Christine…"

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I'm getting worried about him. I don't think he should be getting sick like this."

"But the hospital has your number and mine. They could call us if anything happened at all!" He was looking unhappier by the moment, and she was afraid of making him so upset, but she couldn't bear the thought of leaving Gustave.

"I'm really sorry," she repeated earnestly. "I just—not now. It's a bad time. I'm sorry."

"You can spend all day long at your voice lessons away from your dad, but you can't spend two days with me?" he said sourly. "That seems fair…" He turned to walk to his bedroom, and she hurried after him, catching his hand, feeling a little panicked.

"Can we please not make this into a big thing?" she begged. "Maybe some other time…"

"No, Christine," he said, turning to look at her, his cheeks becoming a little flushed. "I guess I need to have this talk with you right now. This whole…thing. This thing. I mean, we're a couple, right? You think of me as your boyfriend, right?"

"Yeah…" she said uncertainly, afraid and unsure of where he was going with it. She dropped his hand.

"Then why do you treat me like some—I don't know, some good friend or…like a brother?"

"I don't," she said blankly. "I mean, we…kiss and stuff. I wouldn't do that to my brother."

"No, there's no 'and stuff,'" he said shortly. "We kiss, and that's it. Listen, I'm not trying to pressure you into sleeping with me or anything, but I think there's a problem when you won't even spend a few days with me for Valentine's. We sleep in separate rooms, Christine, for crying out loud! This whole thing is just not…normal. You're at lessons all day, you see your dad, and then you come back and sleep in a different room. We're like roommates—not a couple. I can't remember the last time we went out on an actual, planned date. That's not how a relationship like this is supposed to work. Everything was fine, but then…that thing with your dad, and you started taking those lessons…and…I don't know, Christine. I don't know." He held his hands up, his eyes closed and head bowed slightly, a sign that he was trying to force himself to remain calm.

"I'm trying to be patient with you," he then said. "I know that this is your first real relationship. But you have to realize how frustrating it is for me when I make all this effort and you won't even try. Sometimes I think…" He trailed off and then rubbed his face, sighing angrily. "Whatever. Call me crazy or old-fashioned, but I always thought that it took two people to make a relationship work." He gave her one last look and then went to his room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

She stared at his closed door in shock. Raoul was an extremely patient person, and that was one of the many things she adored about him. It took big things to set him off like that, enough that he would turn and walk away and shut a door in her face. What was she supposed to do now? Did he want her to grovel, beg for forgiveness like she usually did? She bit her lip and took a few steps toward his door.

"Raoul?" she said, knocking softly.

There was no answer, and she felt herself tear up a little. Maybe she wasn't cut out for this. All of the stress and the worry made her exhausted, and she cried all the time. She had thought that having her father back would erase all the worry from her life, but it only seemed to be increasing. Her lessons, her relationship with Raoul, her father's health, her financial state…everything was pressing in on her, and she didn't feel strong enough to shoulder it all. And now Raoul—the person she had relied on most—was finally realizing that he could do better. He was finally seeing what his mother had told him all those weeks ago. She was a pathetic, stupid little Swede with baggage and nothing going for her…

Feeling the tears begin to drip down her cheeks, she knocked one last time and whispered, "I'm so sorry." Then she pulled her coat back on and left. There was nowhere for her to go, but Raoul's apartment was smothering her, and she was afraid that he didn't want her there anymore. She didn't want to annoy him. That was the last thing she ever wanted to do to him.

It wasn't snowing, but the air seemed frozen, and she breathed against her hands and crossed her arms tightly, walking along the dim streets. Her wet cheeks were very cold, and she rubbed them and wiped at her eyes. She wondered if she would be allowed in the hospital…though that was unlikely. Now that her father was stable, she had been told that it would be appreciated if she only sat by him during visiting hours.

Feeling more alone and more dejected and unwanted than ever, she continued to walk down the sidewalks, the tears continually dripping down her face. She hated the fact that she was nearly always in tears, but she didn't know how else to express all of the awful feelings inside of her. She wasn't strong—she had always known that. She wasn't one of those strong, powerful, independent women. She was a frightened little girl who always needed someone to cling to.

After a while, she knew she couldn't walk the streets all night, and she sniffled loudly and turned around to walk back to Raoul's apartment. He was probably asleep already, still angry at her. Tomorrow she would have to tell him how sorry she was and how he was right and how she needed to do better. She was sure that she had that apology memorized—she said it to him often enough.

But what did he want from her? She tried hard to do everything right for everyone. She tried to work hard in her lessons, ensure her father's health, and be what Raoul wanted, yet she apparently wasn't what he wanted. Leaving her father for two whole days seemed entirely out of the question. She was terrified that something would happen, and she wouldn't be there to help him in whatever way she could. Was Raoul unhappy about their living arrangements? Did he want her to sleep in the same room with him again? The last time that had happened, it had turned out badly. Raoul had wanted…different things than she did. Would there be a repeat of that? Or maybe he was upset because she hadn't applied for any of the colleges like he had suggested. Still…that wasn't what she wished for.

She felt like she was trying to split herself too many different ways. She wanted to please everyone, yet it was becoming too demanding. All the pressure was soon going to crush her, and then she would be helpless and unable to do anything for anyone.

As she was walking past a tall building, a hand suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her around, and she opened her mouth to scream. However, when she saw who it was, only a loud, startled gasp came out.

"Erik!" she nearly wheezed, clutching at her racing heart. "You really—scared me!"

"What are you doing out here?" he hissed, his eyes glowing brightly in the darkness. "This weather can damage your voice! You are not even dressed properly!"

She glanced down at her jeans and old coat, and then she felt faint embarrassment. She was always crying around him, and this time was obviously no exception, with her puffy, swollen eyes and runny nose. She wiped her face on the sleeve of her coat, trying to calm herself a little and swallow oncoming tears.

"Raoul and I had a—a fight," she hiccoughed.

"I really couldn't care less," the Phantom said shortly. "You are an imprudent girl if you think that you can get away with so much stupidity! You could have been murdered or raped out here, and then my substantial time and investment in your voice would have been a waste."

Christine paled a little, though she did not choose to bring up the subject of his murdering people. That seemed to be quite taboo.

"However, it is more likely that this cold weather will harm your voice. You are a singer now—you must treat your instrument properly." To her complete astonishment, he reached up and pulled off a long black cloth—a scarf, she realized. He took a few steps closer to her and wound it tightly around her neck, nearly choking her. It was thick and very warm.

"Wow," she said quietly. "Thank you."

"Do not dare to presume to walk around in the middle of the night again," the Phantom said. "You will stay indoors and get the proper amount of sleep."

She nodded, and then she looked at the ground and said, "I'm sorry. I just…" She took a shuddering, tearful breath. "I just didn't know where to go. Raoul is really mad at me right now. I didn't want to stay in his apartment, but I didn't know where to go…"

There was a short pause, and then Erik said, "You will return now. I will ensure that nothing happens to you on your journey there."

"Okay." She didn't know what else to do but obey. Feeling awkward and self-conscious about her little leftover sniffles and lack of a Kleenex, she nevertheless began walking again. Erik walked alongside her, and it was almost surreal. He towered over her, like some big black shadow, and his pace was smooth and almost elegant. She could barely hear his footsteps.

As they crossed a street, she glanced over at him, and the streetlights spilled onto them for a few moments. She caught sight of the collar of his white shirt, and she gasped yet again.

"Oh my—Erik!" she said hurriedly. "Are you okay?"

"What are you talking about?" he snapped. "Of course I am."

"There's blood on your collar," she said, trying not to panic. "And…and some on your…mask." She winced a little, hoping he wouldn't yell at her. They had never talked about his mask.

He raised a hand and wiped at it with his fingers. Then he continued to walk. "I am fine," he said stiffly.

"Are you sure?" she asked, unconvinced. "We can go to the hospital if you—"

"I am fine," he interrupted shortly. "Do not ask again."

"Oh…um, okay. Sorry. I was just worried." She felt a little hurt by his cold attitude toward her concern. However, she wasn't about to bring that up with him. If he was only concerned about her voice, then…she wouldn't take the time to care about him personally, either.

As they walked, she glanced at him again, the blood standing out against his shirt. With a little choking sensation, she realized that that was probably someone else's blood. He had probably just…killed someone. Christine felt her head spin a little at that, and she breathed slowly for a few minutes, trying not to scream or freak out. He had been out here because he had killed someone, and then he had seen her. Christine bit her lip, risking another glance at him. His hands were relaxed, his pace somewhat easy…he didn't look incredibly tense. Maybe the killing…relaxed him or something. She shuddered.

There was further silence until they reached Raoul's apartment complex. Christine was reluctant to go back there, but Erik was waiting for her to go inside.

"Thanks," she murmured awkwardly, punching in the key code and opening the door. "See you tomorrow, I guess."

Silence was his answer, and she slipped inside, grateful to be out of his looming presence. He always seemed so angry, and it was almost wearing. She liked to think of herself as a generally-pleasant person, even if…she wasn't able to be most of the time. Christine wanted to be happy, and she tried to be, but everything was making it difficult to be so.

As she climbed the few flights of stairs, she felt herself begin to perspire a little, and she tugged at the scarf around her neck before realizing that it was Erik's, and she was still wearing it. Quickly, she turned around and hurried back down, knowing he would be gone but needing to be sure.

She pushed open the door and peered out into the darkness.

"Erik?" she whispered, feeling a little silly. "Are you out here?"

There was no answer, so she went back up to Raoul's apartment. It was very late (or early), and she crept across and into the guest bedroom, sitting on the bed and clutching the black scarf in her hand. It was very warm, and while there was no label, it felt like fine, expensive material. She brushed it over a few times with her hand, feeling a little weird to be sitting there with something that was owned by the Phantom—and a scarf, no less. She would just give it back to him at lessons the next day. Folding it as neatly as she could and placing it atop the dresser, Christine then readied herself for bed and slept.

With a deep breath, Christine pulled open the theater doors and went inside, the scarf clutched firmly in her hand. She would be lying if she said she hadn't put it on before heading out that morning. Then she had felt stupid and had quickly pulled it off, keeping it twisted around her hand for the rest of the bus ride.

She had slept late that morning as a result of her midnight wanderings, meaning Raoul was already gone to work by the time she emerged for breakfast. It was good, as she hadn't felt ready to confront him, but bad, as she still had to…confront him. He hadn't left a note or sent her a text or anything like that, signaling that he was still probably upset. Christine was still trying to figure out what to say to him—or do to him. She wished she had someone to talk to, someone to give her advice, but Gustave was still sick in the hospital, and Erik was…not really an option.

The theater was a little chilly, and she shivered as she walked down the aisle. Curiously, the piano was absent, and she climbed up onstage and peered off into the wings.

"Erik?" she called tremulously. "Where are you?"

Just as she was about to go offstage and look, something on the stage caught her eye. It was an envelope, and she picked it up. She opened it and pulled out a small silver key along with a short note. She read it curiously, noting the untidy, inelegant scrawl:

Christine

In lieu of our lesson today, you will go to the following address. Practice well and be assured that this will not happen again. Our usual lessons will recommence on Monday.

E

Below his bizarre E was an address, and she noted that it looked to be the address for an apartment as well as a string of six numbers in seemingly random order. Worry and some panic instantly flooded her. Why was she supposed to go there? What was there? She couldn't imagine anything. Did he want to teach her there? But he said in the letter that this was in place of their lesson…What was at this place?

She didn't want to go there, but Erik always knew when she didn't listen to him…And he was always angry at her for it.

Perhaps it was something there to help her voice or to improve her chances for her audition. Erik's only concern for her was for her voice, and it was highly unlikely that he would simply take a day off from giving her lessons for something that would not help her.

So, clutching the key and the small note, she left the theater.