A/N: I had to change the rating to mature for there is quite a bit of swearing in this chapter... and for upcoming chapters. So it is mature now. Please read and review!

-EFH

xoxo

Chapter 4: My Unfortunate Valentine.

"I will always be with you, I'm the anchor of your sorrow."

- - -

Friday February 14, 1992.

"You're a God damn fucking bitch is what you are!" he screamed, raising his arm and slapping her face as hard as he could. "I'm so fucking sick of you and you're fucking ways!"

She stumbled backwards and fell down hard, her right cheek flat on the cold linoleum flooring of the kitchen. She sobbed at the dull throb that overtook her head.

"Oh for the sake of Christ, would you get up off that floor, and stop crying!" he yelled, going over to the fridge. "And God damn, put some fucking beer in the house for once in your life. I don't give you grocery money to buy shit like milk and juice."

"I'm - I'm sorry." she sobbed, clutching a dining room chair, trying hard to get up.

He turned on her. "Fuck, you better be, you fucking whore!" he slapped her again. "I come home every God damn day from work, after a fucking eight hour shift, expecting just a nice simple meal with my wife and daughter, expecting my beer to be stocked, my TV to be clear… and I get a little whore for a wife, a daughter who's never home and is probably sleeping around with every guy out there, a pathetic dinner, and no beer."

"You never give me enough money-"

He slapped her harder, forcing her down again. "Shut the fuck up! That's not true, you just spend my hard earned money on crap like makeup! Fuck, if you're not pretty without it, you won't be with it."

"Stop it!" Christine screamed, sobbing as she came into the kitchen. "Stop treating her like that!" she screamed.

Her father turned and looked at her, along with her mother who lay on the kitchen floor sobbing, her face a mixture of bruises and puffy redness and stained tears. This happened more and more often. Christine almost didn't want to be home to witness anything, but she felt guilty leaving her mother to defend herself against her abusive husband.

"Where the hell did you come from? Your last client?" he said snidely.

Christine began crying harder. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she asked, going and helping her mother off the floor. "Why are you such an asshole?" she couldn't believe she had just said that.

"Christine, don't get involved… this isn't any of your business." her mother tried to say.

Her father kicked the mom. "Fuck, it isn't any of her business at all!" he roared at Christine. "I thought I raised you better than to talk to me that way! You will fucking go to your room!" he pointed down the hall, where her bedroom was.

"No!" she yelled. "I didn't do anything wrong!" she screamed back, outright sobbing.

"Nothing wrong?" he questioned. "You think talking back to your parent isn't wrong? Commandment number four, thou shall honour thy mother and father!" he barked, slapping her across the face this time.

Christine felt the burning sensation of his hand smacking her face, and covered it with her own hand. She shut her eyes, willing the pain and everything to go away. Without even pausing, she ran down the hall into her bedroom and slammed the door.

"That should teach her." he growled.

Christine's mom just lay on the ground stifling her sobs, when he turned and looked at her. "Get off the fucking floor and make me a meal." and he left.

- - -

Christine heard constant screaming going on outside her bedroom door for at least an hour. This was a common occurrence in her house… something she'd grown used to since she was eight. She never really knew why her father acted this way; she always thought it had to do with his work.

Laying on her bed, she finally stifled the last of her tears, and wiped the sleeve of her sweater across her puffy, red and stained face. She pulled the nearest pillow to her, and lying on her back, hugged it to her stomach in a comforting manner.

She could see the stars outside her bedroom window in the dark skies, glitter. She wished she could be there -anywhere.

She sighed and got up off her bed, dropping the pillow on the ground. Picking up a red marker, she moved over to her desk and crossed off the day on her calendar, mumbling, "another lonely Valentine's day." She looked at the calendar and wished the year magically could be 1994; the year she would graduate and leave home.

Somewhere she once fantasized about going to Europe to places such as Paris… meeting a handsome young artist with silky locks, who would sweep her off her feet and they'd hide away together in foreign countries, never letting her parents find her. He'd be a starving artist, and she'd be the loyal wife who tried hard to support her poor family. She'd always love her children and him of course.

That fantasy took a turn though when she met her masked older man. He might not be an artist, but she could work around that. He'd take her to Europe where they'd re-create that dream, except he wouldn't be poor, but own a rich villa set deep in the woods, where no human could find them. There, they'd be passionately in love and… .

She turned bright red, but smiled. Even that topic was much too taboo for her.

She sat back down on her bed and sighed, wondering what Erik was doing exactly at that moment. Was he reading a daring novel about knights or even one of those seductive novels? Was he watching TV? Was he… thinking about her right now?

Getting up, Christine pressed her ear to her locked bedroom door. It was an eerie silence she heard. Moving towards her bed, she shoved her pillows under the blankets and made sure the bed looking like someone slept inside it.

Grabbing her school bag, she crammed clothes into its big compartment and made room for her school stuff and any other needed necessities. She threw it onto her back and opened her bedroom window. Throwing the bag, and hearing it land on the ground, she put her feet through, then slid her body and landed in a bush. She made sure to close the window behind her.

She sneaked out of the yard and walked briskly, until she cleared away from the house, then she started running clear down the sidewalk. The wind nipped past her ears, her hair flying back in a furry as she ran, chills running down her spine, not only because it was cold, but because she knew how wrong this was, and she had never done this before.

Erik didn't live too far from her; about a couple blocks away, but it was still a good jaunt. Eventually she slowed down though, and stopped, as she felt like she couldn't breath. Her headache she had had these past few days, suddenly felt ten times worse, and she couldn't see straight anymore.

She collapsed and knew it, when she suddenly felt the cold grass beneath her. It was sort of a nice feeling, just laying there, not being able to see in the night, just feel everything around her. She knew it was beginning to rain, for tiny raindrops that started off as a simple peck here and there, became a constant drumming on her face and body, her clothes slowly becoming wetter and wetter, like she had jumped in a pool.

She put her cold hands to her face and just felt the icy contours of herself, just running her hands through her wet curls of hair. It felt nice to just live in the moment and to just feel.

- - -

It was 9:59 at night, when Erik heard the doorbell ring to his home. Turning down the sound to the TV, he chucked the remote on the couch and moved towards the door, expecting to see Jamison's face appear behind the window next to the door.

He opened it though, to find a sopping wet Christine, shivering on his door step. "Christine?!" he spoke, alarmed. Already he was going through his mind what could of possibly happened, but then he shook his head; this wasn't the time, she needed him to take care of her. "Come inside before you catch your death." he grabbed her cold arm, and pulled her over the threshold.

Sitting her down on the couch, he grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her, and handed her a couple towels. "Watch whatever you want, I'll make you some hot chicken noodle soup." he moved into the kitchen quickly.

He got out a pan and a can and set the pan up on the stove to boil. He couldn't fathom why she was here right now, it felt surreal. He would have thought she'd be out with a guy on Valentine's Day… though she had never mentioned any guy before. He was just making excuses in his head.

He could hear the sounds of the TV on, and smiled; she was making herself at home in his home.

Putting on an oven mitt, he picked up the pan and poured the contents in a bowl. Adding some pepper and basil, he put a spoon in, and brought the bowl over to her. "I hope you enjoy it, it is from a can." She smiled. "I'm just going to put a pot of coffee on."

Christine watched him leave, feeling so guilty to be bothering him at night. "You don't have to Erik, I'm quite fine! " she called, picking up the spoon.

Erik replied back, "No, it's no trouble at all!"

When she put the first spoonful of soup in her mouth, it felt so foreign. It was hot, but it was almost as if she couldn't feel the heat. It sent shivers down her spine as the hot liquid and noodles ran down her throat. She wished she could change her clothes desperately, but didn't want to bother Erik. Besides, what clothing could he possible offer her?

"I brought you a change of clothes." he spoke, coming down the stairs into the room, holding up a big white shirt and a pair of black pants, that were quite obviously, his. "There's a bathroom to the right of that hall." he pointed. "For you to get changed."

Christine took the clothes and smiled, it was like he had read her mind. "Thank you Erik." she got up and went to get changed.

Inside the bathroom she looked about. She had never actually been in his home, just seen the outside of it. Everything in his house seemed to be painted a dark colour. The bathroom was painted a forest green colour, and all the towels and toiletry, and toilet and counter tops, were a cream colour, the towels all had ED on one side of them. The mirror hanging over the sink was positively huge. It smelled like incense in there, and it had a few lit candles on a corner table by the bathtub.

She stripped off her wet clothing and threw them in the bathtub, putting on his clearly oversized clothing.

When she came back out, Erik was sitting down on the living room couch, two cups of coffee on the coffee table, next to her half eaten bowl of soup.

The living room in his home, was painted a deep maroon colour. Everything in his house just seemed to… fit. The most latest TV sat by a sliding door, that had matching curtains, along with the windows that went along the back wall only. There was a giant bookshelf, a red chestnut colour. The couch that he sat on was a cream colour like the bathroom, with maroon trimming, the pillows the same colour as well. The coffee table was glass resting atop of metal legs, with baskets below on top of a metal rack attached to the table. The baskets were also filled to the brim with books, just like the bookshelf. She could tell already he was a reader. She noticed that his walls were lacking pictures though; they seemed eerily bear.

"Why don't you have pictures on your walls?" she asked, sitting down next to him, taking up residence with the blanket he gave her before.

Erik looked at the walls and sighed. "No memories' I'd like to frame. " and that was all he said; such simple words that held a lot of pain in them.

Christine said nothing more on the topic, not wanting to hurt him anymore. The two just sat silently, watching the TV, both occasionally taking a sip of their coffee.

"Do your parents know you're here?" Erik asked, as an episode on TV just ended, signalling it was eleven o'clock. It was getting late, and he didn't want her to be in trouble with her parents.

Christine shook her head, trying to hold back the tears. She didn't want to look like a young cry baby in front of him.

"Christine, I'm going to be honest here," he paused and she looked at him, waiting for it. "I care about you, but I don't want to come to the door to find the police their, everyone accusing me of being some child rapist. I'm much older than you, and you being here this late at night, doesn't look too good on my part. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

She nodded mutely, not wanting to tell him the truth, and trying so hard not to cry. It was a fail though, because the tears were streaming down her red cheeks, soon enough.

"Christine -" he interjected, feeling horrible for saying that now. He wanted her to feel at home in his home, and how could she, when he had just said that?

"I'm sorry Erik." she put her face into his shirt on his chest, and just sobbed. "I… I," she stuttered on her words, hiccupping. "I… I… don't w…w… want to g… go home. " and she completely broke down on him.

He wrapped his arms around her quivering body and rubbed her back, feeling horrible now. Obviously she wouldn't be here at this time of night, in this weather, if she wasn't having a problem. Not wanting to force her to say anything he just whispered to her soothingly. "It's alright Christine, It's alright. I'll protect you. "

She laid in his arms for about thirty more minutes, just letting her sobs and hiccups drift away. She had never felt so safe and content in her life. Despite the crashing headache she had right now, and how dizzy she felt, she felt like everything was going to be alright, now that Erik was holding her.

"Would you like to watch a movie with me Christine?" he asked her. "You can stay the night, just as long as your parents don't find out." she nodded, and he put in a movie for them to enjoy. They watched Disney's Beauty and the Beast.

About forty minutes in though, Christine spoke into Erik's chest, as she had taken up the same residence in his strong and reassuring arms. "I really like you Erik… I don't know what I'd do without you." it was so soft spoken, but Erik heard every word and felt every emotion in it.

Erik felt a fear run through him. This was the last thing that should happen! She wasn't supposed to like him, because everything would go horrible. He knew he was completely in love with her, but she wasn't supposed to return any form of a feeling except friendship. He knew that no one would accept it and he would be shunned. Christine was supposed to be afraid of his mask, but she never reacted to it.

Right as the clock in his living room hit 11:59 pm exactly, Erik whispered into her sleeping ear, "I love you more than death, my sweet Valentine."