Disclaimer: Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.

Chapter 8 - Scar tissue

Just as Carlotta had requested, Erk met her daily to have lunch at the Opera Restaurant. He hated it at first. He didn't belong in that world of daylight where he was exposed to people's curious stares and hushed gossip. Who was he, they'd ask when he passed by. Why did he wear a mask? What was he trying to hide? Speaking softly, they all must've thought he didn't hear them but he did and all he wanted to do was get out of there and return to the comforting darkness of the undergrounds. On his first day he almost did just that but as soon as he turned back on his heel, he clashed with Carlotta who intently steered him to the farthest, darkest corner of the place and pushed him into one of the rounded red chairs.

"They're just curious," she told him, noting his discomfort.

"You must think that after a lifetime of being a freak show," he snorted, "I should be used to it."

Carlotta pursed her lips. "I only think you shouldn't be so paranoid," she said. "At the Opera, we all know who you are but these are outsiders, some random Parisians and tourists. They don't get to see a fully masked man on a daily basis. It's only expectable that they would stare."

Carlotta was right. He had been a fool to believe that everyone would treat him like a normal person based only on the overly friendly attitude of a few Opera workers and the lack of interest from the passer-bys the other day. In a more closed environment, like a restaurant hall, he was bound to be noticed and stared at. He could as well ignore it and just enjoy the meal and the most unexpected company.

True to her promise, Carlotta used their time together to tell him about the modern world. Ont the first day they talked about all kind of things without any common thread as she'd been unprepared, convinced that he'd given up on their deal. The next time though she came supplied with some lesson material that included information from different fields including history, geography, science, information technology and pop culture. She occasionally brought him some books to read in his spare time and let him use her tablet to search the web for any additional information he might be curious about.

"Perhaps if I keep you busy," she would say, "you won't have time to punjab anyone."

He swore that sometimes he wanted to punjab just her, for as great a teacher as she was, she drove him crazy with her undeniably wise advice, not to mention some cheeky remarks. She was a quite a challenge: ready to give but also expecting to take in return. If he did something right, she was the first to reward him with the kindest words and gestures but if he failed her, she'd stay vexed until he admitted his fault and came back to her bidding forgiveness. If he dared to laugh at her, she mocked him back. If he yelled at her, she raged back.

It took time but he eventually admitted, if only to himself, that he'd grown attached to the little toad. She was a friend. More than anyone else in the theater, more than Daroga even, with whom he had a good relationship, albeit different from the one he had had with the Persian back in his time, considering they had no history together.

When la Debonnaire's unpredictable health called once again for Carlotta to act as her additional understudy, disrupting their established routines, he found himself growing more and more restless. He read, he played, he composed, he drew, he built traps and he fooled around the Opera House, pulling an occasional prank on the visitors or the staff. A couple times he even went to grab a snack at the restaurant but without Carlotta there, food seemed to have lost its taste. The worst thing was, he'd been deprived of the girl's company for nothing, as he was about to find out.

It was evening on the day before the grand gala and he was lurking around the Grand Escalier making himself amused by throwing his voice around the place to confuse a group of teenage girls whose outrageously off-key singing of a familiar tune had betrayed them as phangirls. Guided by his whispers they ran around the entire hall, each of them claiming that they had heard the Phantom call them. When a couple of them clashed at a crossing he couldn't help himself from erupting into a hysterical laughter.

"That's so mature of you Erik," spoke a familiar soprano and looking up he saw Carlotta, the corners of her mouth twitching despite her scornful tone.

"They were asking for it," he commented, not at all sorry.

"Oh Erik, these girls come here because they love you and secretly wish to meet you."

"They'd better be careful what they wish for," he said in a sinister tone. "I bet they wouldn't be too happy to spend the rest of their lives locked up in my house."

"They'd get found and rescued within a couple of days at most," she retorted, "and you'd get in one hell lot of trouble."

"Gah! Do you have to constantly remind me about that?!"

Really, one day he was going to kidnap her just to see how long it would take for everyone to figure it out and actually find their way to his home, assuming they'd manage to avoid all the newly placed traps.

"Did you want to tell me something?" he asked. It was unlikely she'd climb all those stairs just to take a stroll around the House. She had to have been looking for him.

"La Debonnaire called in sick. She won't be singing tomorrow."

"You'll be singing the lead?" He wasn't sure whether to be happy or annoyed about it.

Carlotta shook her head. "Julianne will," she informed him. "She's la Debonnaire's designed understudy and her leg is doing fine by now. She said she was up to it. They only had me learn the part just in case."

There was bitterness in her tone and Erik wondered just how many times had she been this close to getting the leading role but was eventually pushed back into the chorus.

"Anyways, I was thinking," Carlotta continued, "since I won't have to hang around and act like a primadonna, how about tomorrow after the performance we go grab a drink together?"

"Fine," he replied, trying to sound careless. The hell he would let her know how glad he was to be finally spending some time with her again.

"Okay!" She smiled happily. "So let's meet tomorrow in the Rotonde des Abonnés, say, an hour after the show ends?"

"Sure," he agreed without even thinking about it, but then realized his mistake. "Wait!" he called her to a halt. "Why the Rotonde? It's not on the way to the restaurant."

She gave him a hesitant glance. "I actually meant to go somewhere other than the restaurant."

"You mean outside the Opera?"

She nodded. "I know of a place you might like," she said and seeing him waver, she added, "It's going to be dark already and besides," she placed a hand on his arm, "you'll be with me."

He looked at her, befuddled. "I don't make leaps of joy about going out in public," he grumbled, "but I sure as hell am not scared of it. I've been out there before."

"Oh!" She immediately retracted her hand. "I just thought… Nevermind!"

She didn't really know what she had thought. Perhaps it was the fault of that sobby scene that had been cut out from the movie, and which she recently stumbled upon on Youtube, in which Gerik sings "No One Would Listen" that somehow led her to perceive Erik as some sort of lost puppy which he certainly was not.

"Tomorrow then. La Rotonde," she confirmed and took her leave, feeling like a complete idiot.

The next day, once the gala was over, she quickly retreated into her dressing room where she changed from her stage attire into casual clothes and make-up. There was a reception in the Grand Foyer up front as it often happened after the bigger shows, especially if they featured a new leading lady, and the performers were generally expected to attend but she was pretty sure no one would notice one missing chorus girl. Once she was presentable, she snuck her way to the Rotonde where Erik was already waiting for her.

"Mademoiselle." He kissed her hand softly. "You look very beautiful tonight."

He did that sometimes: acted with that old-fashioned chivalry that always made her wonder whether he really meant what he said or did he say it simply out of some deeply installed politeness.

She thanked him nonetheless and added, on her part being completely honest, "You cleaned up not bad yourself." He really looked pretty smug in his dark jeans and leather jacket.

Getting outside, she called an Uber and when it arrived she told Erik to get inside. If he was feeling uneasy about riding a car he did a good job of hiding it. Hadn't she known better, she would've thought it was no news to him.

When the driver eventually dropped them off in front of an eastern-style bar, Erik gave her a quizzical look. "Shisha lounge?" he asked.

"I thought we could both use a little chill," she said hopefully. Kay's Erik was into smoking and she assumed the real one might also enjoy it, even if she couldn't offer him any hashish or even opium, only scented tobacco. Now she asked herself whether she may have gotten it all wrong. "You do smoke, right?"

"Used to," he replied cryptically, making a step into the lounge.

If the waiter got a little startled by Erik's mask, he knew better not to ask about it. Instead, on Carlotta's polite request, he led them to a secluded table deep within the parlor and took their order for some drinks, food and the best shisha they had.

Sinking into the velvety softness of a cushioned sofa, Erik thought how this place reminded him a little of Persia. The rich hues of red, orange and magenta, the soft notes of Arabic music playing in the background and the scented fumes took him back to the rosy hours at Mazandaran, a strange time in his life, neither good nor bad, but certainly memorable. Inhaling another mouthful of tobacco mixed with some fruit and a refreshing sprinkle of mint, he abandoned himself to the familiar dizziness. Sure, this was no hard drug, but it was still good. Then there was her, that Machiavellian demon wrapped only in translucent black lace and thick clouds of smoke.

She slid dangerously close to him on the sofa and her fingers traced the fine lines that marked the exposed skin of his forearm. "What happened here?" she asked softly, pulling his sleeve further up to see how far the scars went.

He retracted his arm harshly and huffed, "None of your business."

Perhaps it was the smoke and the alcohol, but she didn't seem affected by his reserve. "Is it true," she said, snuggling into his side, "what the book says about you?"

"Which book?"

She pondered on it for a while. "Leroux?"

"The facts are there," he said, "but remember that his interpretation of my humble persona is based exclusively on others' account of me. Not to mention he so aptly sprinkled it all with quite a good dose of unnecessary drama."

She chucked. "Unnecessary drama?"

"Seriously," he gruffed, "some of the words he put in my mouth make me look nothing short of demented."

Carlotta thought about it for a moment and decided that Erik, for as peculiar a person as he was, didn't exactly match Leroux' portrayal to a tee, not even where personality was concerned.

"What about Kay?" she asked on, feeling he'd say no more on the Leroux. She was more curious about "Phantom" anyways since it described Erik's life during all its course, since his birth all the way to his death.

"She actually guessed a few things right," he admitted, "but the details are all wrong."

"Like what?"

"Oh, you know, names, dates, stuff like that."

She hoped he'd elaborate on that and when he didn't she had to use all her self-restraint in order to stop herself from bombarding him with questions she suspected he wouldn't answer anyways.

"And what do you think of Forsythe?" She hadn't really read "The Phantom of Manhattan" yet but she knew what it was about from the web and she thought it didn't make much sense.

"That one is total baloney," he snarled. "For once, I died in Palais Garnier not long after Christine left. Secondly, I bet that sissy wouldn't let her sing on stage once they married. I'm also pretty sure Madame Giry had never been anywhere near a circus in her entire life. "

"What about," she hesitated, "what about the kid?" That element had also appeared in Kay and the way she described it, it seemed possible for the least.

He just laughed bitterly. "Unless there exists some miraculous conception via sound waves I can be certain I do not have any children."

The amused giggle died in her throat when she understood the veiled meaning behind his humorous remark. Suddenly she felt guilty for asking him all those questions, forcing him to relive his past, she vaguely suspected held even more horrors than all the writers together could have imagined. Feeling sheepish, she averted her gaze from his anguished yellow eyes and it fell on his lips marked with a thin white line, certainly a souvenir of yet another humiliation.

Erik noticed it and a strange and tempting thought arose in his mind. He leaned in, half expecting her to snap back in revulsion, but she only tilted her head a little and before he could talk himself out of it he captured her lips. She immediately wrapped her arms around his neck and he drew her into his lap, forgetting himself in the wonderful sensation of having a living, breathing woman in his arms. He had thought it impossible, and yet there she was eagerly parting her sweet little mouth for him to explore. She put so much tenderness into every little kiss, every little caress as if she was trying to erase all of his pain with her loving touch.

Then it dawned on him: she only pitied him and he shamelessly took advantage of it. He loved Christine and yet he kissed Carlotta just because he could.

"Erik is very sorry," he said regretfully, putting some distance between them. "He promises this won't happen again."

The girl just stared at him in confusion.

"Will you still want to be Erik's friend?" he pleaded.

"O-Of course," she stuttered, trying desperately to understand what the hell had just happened.

Somehow the shisha seemed to have lost its taste and soon they agreed to call it a night. When the waiter came with the check, Erik stopped her and pulled out a few euro bills. She suspected the money was stolen but somehow she didn't care to gave him a lecture about it.

Calling an Uber, she first had him drop her at her own flat which was closer, then set up the ride for Rue Scribe. When the cab disappeared behind the corner, Erik snuck into the fifth cellar and from there he took his way to the house on the lake.

Neither of them could find rest that night.

Relationships are some complicated shit, especially triangles

Next chapter: Erik and Carlotta deal with the aftermath of their little make-out session. Meanwhile, a bet with Daroga adds up some spice to their relationship

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