Everyone is just lying in this story aren't they? Well this chapter is very interesting in the fact that...well you'll see I guess. Sorry if this chapter appears long- I assure you it's most likely due to the amount of dialog hence the use for all the spacing. Reviews are awesome, you should do it...enjoy the chapter!

CHAPTER 7: Distorted Stories (The Phantom of the Opera)

"The worst lies are the lies we tell ourselves,

we live in denial of what we do,

even what we think,

we do this because we're afraid,

we fear we will not find love,

and when we find it we find we fear we'll lose it,

if we fear that if we do not have love we will be unhappy..." -Richard Bach

Lorenzo's POV

An ocean. I felt I was hundreds of feet underwater with the strength of the ocean crushing down on me. I was too numb to feel any pain, but then I slowly began to feel the sensation of me floating to the surface and when I was pulled into consciousness I opened my eyes to see a girl gawking above me. It took me a few seconds to realize what she was looking at for I could see the first few buttons of my shirt were open and exposing the burns and deformation of my chest. Instantaneously I pushed her away knocking her to the floor.

"HOW DARE YOU! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!" I was furious! No one would ever in their right mind disrespect Mascherati Morte in such a way! No…I wasn't him anymore, but who else did I know how to be? I realized I had to train myself to get out of that mindset; the mindset I had been stuck in for nearly the past ten years.

"Oh Erik I'm so sorry!" she wailed and began to cry uncontrollably on the floor to the point where it sounded like she was hyperventilating.

Her crying made me feel uneasy; it wasn't exactly the reaction I expected. It almost sounded a little pathetic. At first I thought she cried because of how horrid my chest look, but then she had called me Erik and then started to cry. I felt bad for pushing her to the floor.

"You French people have a really hard time getting your identities strait." I muttered. So far I had been called 'Ghost', 'Phantom', and 'Erik'. It was getting beyond irritating.

She looked up at me with her wet eyes. Annoyingly I tried to prop the pillows behind me so I wasn't laying flat on my back.

"W-wait, l-let me h-help you." She choked as she got up.

"I wouldn't want my disfigurement to cause you sore eyes." I spat at her. I was still incredibly outraged that she was just staring at my chest and it was probably her who had unbuttoned my shirt to begin with.

"N-no. I'm sorry. I didn't m-mean to…it's not b-bad at all." She was still crying as she positioned the pillows behind me so that I could sit up comfortably.

"I hardly believe that. Is that why you cry? Because of my ugly body?" I snapped at her. I tried to button my shirt back up but my left arm was in a sling. It was then when I started to pay attention to the fact that I was alive in a bed and that my wounds were cleaned.

"No! You just reminded me of someone…" She did something I didn't expect and placed her hands on the bare skin of my torso, "I'm so sorry." I felt her tears drop from her face down on my chest as she buttoned my shirt up for me. It was a feeling I had never felt before. It was very strange. I would've never guessed it, but her moisture trickling down my body felt good…beautiful even.

"Erik." I affirmed.

She sat down on the chair next to the bed…my bed? She nodded and placed her head in her hands as she wiped what was left of her tears away.

"Where am I?" I softened my tone. I felt horrible because now it was apparent to me that this young woman had been watching over me, and she wasn't scared of my scathed body…instead it reminded her of someone; Erik.

"You're at Raoul's house."

"I'm sorry…"

"Oh, excuse me…you're at the Vicomte DeChangey's home." She corrected.

"What? How did I get here?" I was in my sponsor's house and how? Oh no…did they know I murdered the policeman and left two injured? Or did they know that I snuck into the opera? Surely I would be expelled if they ever knew!

"A friend of ours brought you here. She knew Raoul sponsored you so she brought you here."

This was strange. How did she know the Vicomte had sponsored me? Did she find me next to that cop I murdered and tell the Vicomte about it? But if she did then why was I here? I needed to get answers out of this girl. I noticed that she said 'A friend of ours…'

"Who found me?"

"Madame Giry, she is the ballet teacher at the Opera Populaire. Is that where you were when you broke your arm?"

My arm wasn't broken. I had been shot; whoever had found me had obviously covered up for me for some unknown reason.

"I guess that makes sense."

"That makes sense?" she repeated my answer as a question, I think it meant to explain to her further what I meant.

"It makes sense that she found me unconscious if she works at the Opera Populaire since I blacked out from the fire." I wasn't going to say I was shot. I couldn't afford to be expelled. I needed to stay here in Paris.

"You lost a lot of blood." She said. Damn her! If Pandora had a younger sister it would surely be this girl.

"I must've been cut by something while trying to run out of the opera house and didn't notice. I can't really remember what happened." I was lying in the dark. I needed to meet this Madame Giry who found me and see what her business in covering up for me was.

"Oh, I was just wondering. You looked really hurt."

I looked at her when she said this because I could hear the genuine concern in her tone. This was when I realized how beautiful she was; her long curly brown hair complemented her soft brown doe-like eyes. Her face was delicate and held a romantic look to it. She looked like an angel. This was also when I realized that this was physically the closest I had ever been to a girl my whole life; not counting those who were related to Cosentino…I shivered as I remembered being a mindless thirteen year old. I had killed women before. It wasn't as if any of the women related to Cosentino were decent people, but the memory had disturbed me. This observation upset me deeply. Was I too busy killing people that I didn't even have the room for finding someone to love a priority? But I did find love. Maybe it wasn't love; but whoever that singer was from Don Juan Triumphant had caught my heart with her voice and I needed to find her. I spoke the two words I never had said to anyone in my life.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry that I pushed you. I shouldn't have done that." If I needed to change my attitude I had to start somewhere. I decided to start with this girl.

"It's okay. I shouldn't have unbuttoned your shirt. I should know these things by now."

The way she spoke sometimes confused me, I disregarded the strange response.

"What is your name?"

"Christine." She gave a half smile. "And you're Lorenzo Trentacosta?"

"Yes, yes I am."

"It's nice to meet you Signore Trentacosta."

It was so strange to hear my new name! It made me almost smile that she used the Italian way of addressing a man.

"I must not be that much older than you, please just call me Lorenzo. I liked being called by my first name." Though it had been years since I had been called just Lorenzo; my mother and sister called me Lorenzo. Everyone else called me Bonaventure until after the fire.

"Lorenzo." She smiled again, but in her smile I could tell it was broken.

"Do you work here? I noticed that you call him Raoul…"

"Oh, well he's my fiancé." She admitted.

For some reason I felt a slight sinking feeling in my chest. What a strange feeling…

"How old are you Christine?" I didn't enjoy conversation, partly because I hardly ever had to have them with anyone other than Vincenzo, but I liked the sound of Christine's voice. In a way it was calming.

"I'm eighteen. How old are you?"

She was only four years younger than me.

"Twenty-two."

"You look a lot older when you're awake."

"Do I really?" I wasn't one to judge social skills, but she was very strange and said the oddest things.

"Yes. It's your eyes. When you're asleep you look more your age."

"And I look old to you now?"

"Well, not really old…early thirties at the maximum."

"Interesting." What else could I say to such an observation? I changed the topic. "Do you work at the Opera Populaire?"

"Yes, I've lived there for many years."

"Well, what do you do?"

"I'm a chorus girl; mostly." She added at the end.

"Mostly?"

"Sometimes I'm given bigger roles…but rarely."

"Do you sing?"

"And dance."

"Impressive."

"What is it that you do?" she asked me.

It all seemed so bizarre to talk to someone in the way we were. Getting to know someone, but why? For the sake of sound? Would silence be too unsettling?

"I compose music; mostly."

"Mostly?" she gave a small smile when she realized I was mocking her.

"Sometimes I do other things."

"Like?"

Kill people and steal things.

"Paint. I like to paint though I hardly get the time to."

"Impressive." She mocked again.

I couldn't help but let out a small chuckle.

"I would like to hear some of your music sometime."

"Perhaps you will one day...may I ask you something Christine? Since you've worked at the opera house for quite some time…"

She nodded.

"Who is 'The Ghost' or 'The Phantom'?"

This question appeared to have bothered her because she began to fumble with her dress; which I just noticed was a wedding dress. There were things to Christine that didn't add up; at all. But I tried to look past it desperate to keep conversation.

"Do people in Italy know of The Phantom?"

I slowly shook my head. In a way I was relieved at this fact because surely if I had no idea who The Phantom was then there would be no one in France who knew of Mascherati Morte. The way she said 'The Phantom' seemed to imply that he was a well known figure…that the police want to kill hence them shooting me.

"The Opera Ghost is a man who is rumored to live in the opera house."

"I thought his name was The Phantom."

"He's known as The Opera Ghost and The Phantom of the Opera."

"But obviously it's not a rumor if there were people screaming his name tonight."

She let out a shaky breath.

"It would seem so."

"Why did the police want to kill him?"

"How do you know they wanted to kill him?"

Damn. I didn't give her enough credit for how observant she was.

"Then why else were the police there?" that seemed like a good enough question.

"I don't know…" she trailed off.

"What does The Phantom of the Opera do? What has he done? What is he like?"

"He…he believes he runs the Opera Populaire and gives out commands to the people who run the theatre and…"

"And?" I pressed on.

"He kills if his orders aren't answered."

How absurd! How could a ghostly man go about giving orders and killing if they weren't met? It was a ludicrous idea. I wasn't one to suggest the notion, but why would someone obsess over running an opera house?

"What does he look like?"

"Dark. He keeps his face covered with a mask to shield his…distorted face."

He wore a mask as well! Perhaps for a different reason but nonetheless the similarities between The Phantom of the Opera and Macherati Morte kept exposing themselves the more this topic continued. I could now fit the pieces of the puzzle together.

"He took refuge in the opera house, and hides himself there due to his deformity and murders people when those don't follow his orders…" she nodded confirming what I had said, "Where would someone like him hide?"

"The cellars. Below the opera house."

"You seem to know a lot."

"Rumors."

"Does he have an actual name?"

"No one knows it."

"Man of mystery then."

"Indeed." She simply agreed.

We talked for the remainder of the night about music and art until the sun began to rise, but by then she had fallen asleep on her chair with her head and arms resting against the mattress. A beam of rising sunlight weaved through the curtain and made way to Christine's face making her look entirely angelic. I slowly got out of my bed to completely close the curtains so the sun wouldn't wake her. I crawled back into my bed not looking away from Christine. I remembered what she had said about me looking younger when I was asleep. I laughed a little when I observed that she too looked younger asleep, perhaps it was something that applied to everyone. As beautiful and strange Christine was my heart was set on the girl who had sang on stage last night; the girl with the voice of an angel. I would find her and when I did I would never let her leave my life. Sleep took me away to dream of her.

I am unsure of who's POV the next chapter should be in, and for those of you paying attention; Don Juan Triumphant was on February 13th, so the next chapter will be Valentine's Day. If you would prefer the next chapter to be in someone particular's POV please tell me so in the reviews. Poor Erik alone on Valentine's :[ or Christine already sleeping in the same bed (kind of) as Lorenzo. Oh...the next time Lorenzo and Christine talk she bugs him about if he has any lovers and THAT should definitely be interesting...so hang in there! Lorenzo will be showcasing for the Fine Arts Academy Staff very soon and the Phantom will be there to judge him. Things are about to get out of control. Review review review!