Author's Note: So, I'm completely wasted. Seriously, you don't know how hard it is being drunk and writing the end of the chapter being completely gone. You know, I think this is how Mark Twain felt like: always drunk, living in a world with no consequences. Yes. *high fives the wall* Ate Domino's Pizza but, now, I'm gonna go throw it up. Review and tell me guys! Love all of ya'll! Niikkii95 and RedDeathLvr, ya'll are amazing. Thanks so much! Well, time to read. =)

Disclaimer: Blah blah blah... I don't own Phantom of the Opera... Blah blah blah...

Chapter Two: Letting Go of the Past

A week had passed since being with Erik. God, what a perfect name. Every time I would call his name, a butterfly-feeling would wrap itself through my lower stomach and I'd hold it, telling it to calm down and when he would look at me with those green eyes, another surge wouldn't just hit my stomach, oh no, my whole body would develop the goosebumps I had grown accustomed to over the week. No matter the time of the day, whenever I called him for a question, he would be at the most attentive state of mind, coming up to me and grabbing my hands, gently laying ghost kisses on the knuckles. Then, my question would be lost.

"I believe you call me over so that you can make me do this every single time." He a faint smile appeared on his lips and a large blush overcame my features.

"How dare you assume. I needed a question asked but, it seems as if it has left my mind for the time being. I shall call again once I remember it again." I said quickly and in a hurry, rushing to turn around and pat my cheeks to get the blood to travel elsewhere.

"As you see fit, mademoiselle." He said, walking away again.

There he went, so regal and debonair like the most prized bachelor in all of existence. He sat down at the organ he adored and began to scribble on sheets of paper, probably writing more gorgeous music. I looked at that black hair he had, never out of place, never experiencing the humidity in this lair. I touched mine, so oily and dirty from ignoring the bathtub for more than the Lord knows.

"Eric?" I called once more, now walking to him instead of standing there and letting him walk to me. My hand lay softly on his shoulder and I felt him relax under the touch.

"Yes? Did you remember your question?" He asked, looking back at me and ignoring the music half-written on the organ's music stand.

"I must bathe. Where is your water room?" I said, watching his reaction go from eager to know my question to looking completely confused.

"What?" Confirming my thought at confusion, he stood, taking my face in his warm and uncovered hands. They were rough and calloused but, the touch felt so good, so much better than falling into the leather.

I snapped out of that amazing move he would do to me if ever he wanted me to forget that funny expression that was on his face. I grabbed his wrists and pulled them down and held his hands in mine. "I need to bathe. I'm disgusting. Look at me!" I stepped back and let him look me over. His eyes glanced quickly at my body before returning quickly to my eyes.

"I believe I understand. Come, follow me." He said quietly, letting go of one hand and taking me down to the lake where a small door was hidden behind a large curtain. He pushed the door open to reveal a water room with the bathtub situated in the middle. Everything was stone, including the magnificent bathtub. A glimmer of silver was poking through the cracks of the stones and a mirror was hanging on the far left wall.

"I shall bring you some warm water. Please," he motioned for me to step inside.

I looked up at him, nodding and walked in, hearing the creaking of the door close. I took a look around the stone room. So cold, so dead. I held my shoulders, feeling the sudden chill go down my spine. I looked to the corner of the room where a large metal bowl sat with rocks inside of it. I picked one up, feeling the smoothness of it. I put it back down once I heard the door open again.

He came in, two large buckets in hand with water steaming from inside of it. He walked over to the bathtub and emptied them, watching as steam rose to the stone ceiling. He looked to me and smiled, walking over to where I was and taking a knife out of his pants.

I backed up, my body to the wall as I watched him near me. I kept my eyes glued to him and the expression on his face. He continued walking and paused in front of the metal bowl. He pulled something else from underneath the bowl, something gray looking. A tiny cup of oil sat underneath and once he connected his knife and the gray object, a spark ignited the oil and burned intensely under the bowl of hot stones.

He stood up and looked at me, confused as to why I had plastered myself to the wall. What would you have done if someone you hadn't seen in eighteen years kidnapped you and then pulled a knife out in front of you? I shook my head as he walked back out with the two empty buckets and brought a single one back filled with water. He grabbed the small ladle that hung on the side of the bucket and poured it over the now red heated up rocks.

Steam; tons of steam filled the room, making it so deliciously that I forgot all about how dead it was before. He walked away and went for the door.

"Wait," I called out, my hand reaching for him.

He stopped and turned his head just so he could catch just a tiny glimpse of me.

"Yes, mademoiselle?" He said, his voice deeper than usual as it resonated through the stone room.

What could I possibly say? He seemed to notice when I pressed my body against the wall in fear, how can I show him that I didn't mean it?

"Stay with me?" I asked, watching as he stood up straight and turned to look at me.

His eyes had hesitation in them and as he turned around fully to face me, my heart was beating out of control. I could tell just with a simple plea to stay with me, talk to me, don't leave me that he had never been asked that. Had no one in his life had pleaded with him to stay before?

"Why?" He asked, his voice now hoarse.

"Because," I started, trying to finish where I wanted to end. I opened my mouth but, nothing came out. I stomped my foot on the ground; the steam from the bathtub and rocks had made the floor slippery, and just like that night two weeks ago, I was falling again.

I let out a small yelp before landing in his strong arms. My heart was beating with adrenaline, making my whole body shake. I looked up at him and gave him a timid smile. He was knelling, one arm wrapped behind my neck and the other holding my knees close to him. He held me like that for as long as I could remember.

"You must stop falling like this; my knees are becoming gravely injured." He smiled, kissing my forehead. I laughed, wrapping my arms around his neck.

He stood and lay me on my feet. "I shall be outside the door while you change and bathe." He said, turning around and walking over to the hot rocks. He grabbed the ladle again and poured the water over the rocks. Sizzles and steam seemed to echo through the room when I watched him leave.

…

I was sitting in the bathtub, the water barely coming up to my stomach. I had looked around for the soap, the animal fat my mother would make. Erik had none. Oh God, that name again. I smiled like a little girl and felt my cheeks burn.

The door open and he walked in with a blindfold over his eyes. He held two more buckets of hot water and placed them on the floor before lifting it a tad to look for the hot rocks again. He poured water over them again and steam filled the room. He did this about four times before the room was completely cloudy. I could barely recognize him in this fog.

"That's better," he whispered. He pulled off the blindfold and grabbed a chair from the other side of the room and sat next to the rocks.

"Erik?" I asked, now understanding why he created so much steam: he didn't want to see me.

"Yes, mademoiselle?" He called out, playing with the fabric in between fingers. He kept his eyes down, only watching the black silk in his hands.

I watched him play. When I was a little girl after that night, I would dream of him. I would dream of him telling me stories. He had the most dominating voice that was both gentle and strong. I bet he could command a room without words. All would listen to what he would have to say and never doubt who he was.

"Do you have any soap?" I asked, looking down at the water and grabbing a handful. I pulled the water to my chest and let it flow down, creating little trails of water that seeped back down to where it began.

"An odd question," he chuckled. He poured more water on the rocks and once the steam filled the room again, he moved towards the bathtub, around to the other side. He picked up a large glass vase with some yellow liquid inside and a small bowl of thick sand. "Here," he said, placing it on the side of the bathtub.

I raised an eyebrow. Uh, what? I must have had the most confused look on my face for him to have laughed like that. His voice echoed loudly in the room, booming with happiness.

"Watch," he said, and I watched ever so carefully. He grabbed the vase and poured it in the sand, mixing it thoroughly with his fingers. He grabbed my arm, took a nice amount and started rubbing it on my skin. Rough as it had looked, the liquid made it so delightful.

"What is this?" I asked, watching him delicately touch my arm.

"This is my soap. Olive oil mixed with the sand from the Trahili beach in Chios, Greece. There is some vanilla fragrance in here but, it's to give it a good smell." He looked up from my arms and into my eyes.

I must have looked like such a lunatic looking at him with a big grin on my face as he massaged the sand and olive oil into my skin. His light green eyes were looking into mine again, and how I longed to reach out and touch his face. His eyes weren't just looking into mine but, were looking into my soul, into who I had become over these years. I smiled a little and sucked in a small gasp.

My hand grabbed both of his and he immediately stopped massaging the mixture. I felt his fingers shaking as my hand gently hugged both of his, assuring him that everything was okay. I moved my face closer to his and he stayed perfectly still, never moving, hardly breathing but, I could smell that sweet gorgeous breath he held inside. My hand left his and touched his face, the masked side of his face. His eyebrow quivered, his eyes closing and his face pressing itself into my hand.

I felt his hand leave my arm, touching my hand that fell on his cheek. He held it there, holding it with the warmest touch.

"Is this a dream, if it is

Please don't wake me from this high

I've become comfortably numb

until you opened up my eyes." I sang, my voice sounding hoarse but, still manageable to sing. My voice sounding through the stone room, the room vibrating at some points when I sang an amazing note.

"Do what it's like, when everything's right

I can't believe, you found me when no one else was looking

How did you know just where I would be

You broke through all of my confusion

The ups and the downs and you still didn't leave

I guess that you saw what nobody could see

You found me..." I sang my heart out, holding onto his face now with both hands. His hands were holding my shoulders, holding me down into the bathtub so I wouldn't reveal myself. He looked at me, his lips pulled into a small smile.

"Erik, what's wrong?" I asked, my heart now aching to know why he didn't enjoy the words I sang to him. Was it my voice? Was it my body? I began to pull back, sitting down on my rear instead of sitting on my feet.

"No, don't move." He said coldly, his eyes looking at my face, no where else.

I pulled myself up onto my knees again, rubbing my thumb over his cheek. It was so smooth, like hair refused to grow there and let the skin be as soft as velvet. A tear came down my face, curving perfectly to my cheek. It fell off my chin and landed on his forearm. I looked away from his eyes and down at it as it sat there in content. His sleeves were rolled up, this shirt unbuttoned in the front. I couldn't help but glance at it quickly. I looked up at him.

"Tell me what's wrong, please." I said, almost sounding pathetic to know. I felt as if I were an old beggar woman on the corner asking for any penny for his amazing thoughts.

"You are not afraid of me?" He asked, his eyes now brimming with tears.

I shook my head no and moved ever closer to him.

"I am a monster, no one has loved me for so long. Why you? What makes you any different?" He asked me, his hands moving from my shoulders to my neck, caressing it so lovingly. His fingers played with my wet hair, and his thumbs rubbed the stress away.

"I see no monster. I have never seen a monster." I said, melding into his touch. I closed my eyes and felt one of his hands pull away. It came back quickly though and I opened my eyes to see him.

There he was, no mask. His pride now crumbling as I looked at him. My eyes darted from side to side, looking at the difference. His plump lips were separated, begging to say something but his heart was holding him back. His eyes were filled with the most sadness I had ever seen. Not even the night I first met him did he look this sad.

I moved my hand over the scars and red blisters that covered the right side of his face. He closed his eyes, his head sinking a little and I could feel his breaths quicken, and it jerked his body a tad. I picked his face up to look at me. He opened his eyes and tears were streaming down his cheeks.

I stood up, revealing every part of myself to him and he fell back, leaning on his hands. I felt my cheeks flush red and burn. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

"I have scars also; you're not the only person who has been hurt before." I said before turning around and showing him my back. I grabbed my black hair and pulled it over my shoulder, gripping it as I heard him gasp. I knew all too well what he was seeing and it took all of the willpower I had to grab a blanket and wrap myself in it, hide from him and what he was looking at.

My body tensed as a finger touched my back, tracing from the top to the bottom at a curved angle, giving me goosebumps as it finally left my body. I let out a deep breath before taking in another and holding it. My knees were beginning to wobble; I felt my body sway and my vision held black spots in it.

"Who did this to you?" He asked, his voice now riddled with anger. His hands grabbed my side and I felt him pull closer to me, holding my wet body to his dry clothes.

I pushed the tears back, trying to forget those days...

…

I was seventeen years old and completely depressed. Not only had I celebrated my birthday by myself with none of my brothers or sisters, I was alone. They were dead, all dead, laying in puddles of their own blood on the hardwood floors of our parlour room. All of their blood was mixing in with the others and as soon as I walked in on that gruesome scene, I collapsed to my knees, sobbing hysterically. I screamed at the top of my lungs, my mother running inside with Henry or what ever his name was.

"Mon Dieu! What has happened?" My mother screamed, running over to my brothers body and holding his head in her lap, covering her beautiful light blue skirt in his royal red blood. She rubbed his wavy blonde hair, smearing blood through the soft curls.

"I shall call the police! Don't do anything!" What's his name shouted as he ran out of the house and shouted at someone to get the police.

"Mother, what happened?" I screamed at her, clutching my chest and looking at my siblings dead bodies.

"Does it look like I know, Nathalie? Get out of here! Leave!" She screamed at me, her head placing itself on my older brothers forehead.

I stood outside the large white columned mansion for almost four hours watching the police and detectives run back and forth from the parlour to their carriages, grabbing large blankets and other things. I had just come from my friend's home and this is what I come back to find? All of them gone?

"Are you Mademoiselle Nathalie André?" A scruffy voice asked. I looked up only to see the eyes of a man before a gun was put in front of my face. "Stand. Do not run away. Do not scream. I will kill you if you do any thing other than what I have told you." He threatened.

I did as he said, standing and looking up at him. A large fist came barreling towards my face, just enough time for me to look at it before it hit me, dropping me to the ground. I blacked out, only waking up to be tied to the edge of the bed, sitting on the floor.

My arms were tied to the posts at the bottom, pulled away from my body. As I tried waking up from such a hit, another slap connected to my face, sending my head away from the attacker and limping over to the side.

"Well, the daughter of the Doukas of Athens. What an amazing treat for us, right Axel?" The same scruffy voice said again, the same when the man held the gun to my head.

The Doukas of Athens, my father. A man of nobility who wed my mother and left her as soon as I turned four. I remember only a few memories of him. The way his hair was so coiffed, so black just like mine. His eyes a burning blue that intimidated all who so opposed him.

I shook off the memory as these men raped me with their eyes. Their looks made my blood curdle, it made it want to stop moving towards the heart that kept me living. I squeezed my eyes closed, not wanting to know what they were about to do next. It felt as if if I close my eyes, nothing could hurt me or haunt me for the rest of my life.

When they grabbed my arm after cutting the rope, they threw me against the wall. My bruised face already hitting the hard cement. I winced and let out a small scream of pain.

"Well, looks as if someone is already done for the fun." Another hard voice said.

I felt my shirt being ripped off, my skirt still on and in place. A cold rod was placed against my back.

"Let's see if this can't get anymore exciting." Said the second man and then, the pain began. Whip after whip, the pain was sent shooting through my body, coursing through my veins to every square inch of my body.

Every scream I let out did nothing to save me, but made it easier for them to beat harder, heavier than the last.

I passed out from the pain and exhaustion, ignoring every thing they did to me. I woke up in an alley next to my home. I remember sitting up, touching through my shirt to feel the pain they caused. It was no dream. I felt the scars completely healed over, their wounds now looking like a trophy forever imbedded in my skin.

I stood up and walked inside my house seven weeks later.

…

His hands touched my back, gently tracing over the scars the whip had done to me. He felt them, let his fingers guide themselves done the tiny bumps the skin was trying to hide, but failed to succeed. I was breathing deeply, letting the memory try to pass as quickly as it had come into my life again. After nine years of trying to hide it, he brought it up again once more, making me relive the suffering I had to endure.

Finally, silence was broken.

"I had wondered where you had gone for those two months," he said, letting all of his fingers rest on my back.

I took another deep breath in before reaching for the towel that sat on the floor next to the bathtub. "You had been looking for me?" I asked, wrapping the towel around my body, turning back to look at him in the eyes again.

They were defeated, so sad. I couldn't help but to reach out and grab his face. His unmasked face and my back were the same. Something unbearable to society. No one could ever treat us normally because of such things. His was on the outside, making every one scared just by the look he would create. Mine was hidden away, only visible to the man I was supposed to marry, give myself up to. That failed miserably. When the last man I had been with saw hit, he held his hand to his mouth to hold back the bile that was coming out, only to relieve his stomach after I had left.

No one could love me because of this.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't there to save you," he whispered. His hot breath grazing the top of my chest. His hands held my sides again; his fingers gripping on for dear life.

"Don't be sad, it wasn't your fault. Please, believe me. We're grown adults and we must live with the choices that we make-"

"But you never made the choice for this to happen to you!" He shouted, interrupting me.

His hand had once again grabbed his mask, replacing it on his deformed face.

"No, but I made the choice to sit in the alley way, contemplating life and all that meant." I told him, looking as he shook his head.

I stepped out of the tub, my legs still holding the water on them and dripping on the floor.

"It wasn't your fault, Erik. Believe me." I ended, knelling next to him and holding his body close to mine, making sure he knew that I was the only safe thing he could trust in. I held him, and he held me.

He was crying and for that, tears of my own streamed my clean face.

A/N: Okay, read and review guys! It means the world to me, seriously! "You Found Me", by Kelly Clarkson. If you have a chance to listen to this song, do it. I love it. Thanks again guys!