I would LOVE comments on this monster of a chapter. Let me know what you think?
Chapter 6
She slept as much as possible on her first flight to JFK airport. When she wasn't sleeping, she was reading the novel she had picked up and steadfastly ignoring the slip of paper tucked inside the other book.
As soon as she landed on American soil, she didn't waste any time calling her mother on her way to her next gate. Christine was back in the same time zone as her hometown, and the hour was late afternoon. She had over another hour's flight to reach Boston.
She was pleased that her voice didn't waver, not even once.
"Hi, Chrissy!"
"Hi, Mom. I'm back in the States. Layover in New York, in fact."
"Oh? I thought you weren't coming home until Sunday. What happened to your week-long excursion?"
"Plans changed," Christine said, tight-lipped. "I guess I just wanted to come back early."
She could tell the way her mother's voice changed, dropping to almost a whisper as though they were co-conspirators. Christine knew what Anna was about to bring up. Her mother hadn't dealt well with Christine's diagnosis, preferring to ignore the elephant in the room and say everything was going to be okay before she knew for sure. Sometimes the optimism was welcome, but Christine would rather her mom never bring it up than whisper about her illness as though afraid someone would overhear.
"Are you feeling okay, honey? Are you in pain?"
"Not much," Christine answered honestly. "And I feel okay. Just tired from all the travel. I'm ready to sleep in my own bed."
"I bet you are! I know you'll want to rest for a while, but I'll come to visit once you've settled back into your apartment, okay?"
"Sure, Mom." She hesitated, but trudged ahead. "Hey, let's postpone the list of things to do, for now, okay? I think it's probably better I don't do much before school starts back."
"Oh, Chrissy, that's disappointing, but I understand. Rain check?"
"Rain check," Christine agreed.
"How about I come in a week or two after classes start? You'll be settled and up for some girl time, right?"
"That sounds great, Mom."
Christine said her goodbyes and promises to talk again soon and hung up. The short conversation had drained her. How was she going to keep from telling her mom the truth about what had happened over the past four days? How could she keep that from anyone? That kind of silence seemed impossible. She needed someone to confide in, and her twitchy, can't-deal-with-reality mother didn't seem like the right candidate.
Christine swiped her phone open with a thumb and shot off a quick text to one Meg Giry, her long-time friend and former classmate.
Back in town tonight, M! Drinks tomorrow?
Her plane was boarding, so she didn't have time to get a reply. It was the middle of the week – no doubt Meg was deep into practice at the Boston Ballet where she had easily picked up a role for the summer. Meg was a deeply talented ballerina and the envy of Christine who had two left feet. They used to joke that they should combine their powers a la Captain Planet and become a triple threat with beauty, dance, and singing. Though Meg had only heard Christine sing when drunk, she was convinced enough of Christine's hidden talent to bug her about it.
Unfortunately for Meg, after the past few days, Christine had no intention of singing again for a long, long time.
Christine sank back into her novel to distract herself from unpleasant thoughts. Her second flight passed by much quicker than her first trek that crossed the Atlantic. She dozed a bit and woke up to see downtown Boston stretched out to the right and the blue expanse of Boston Harbor on her left.
She had made it back to her home for the past six years. Goosebumps broke out across her arms, and she shuddered as the plane began to descend. There was something final about seeing the familiar landscape spread beneath her. This was it. She was home.
As the plane taxied to the gate, she powered on her phone and found a message waiting for her from Meg.
OMG yessss! Pick u up at 8!
She heaved a relieved sigh and sent off a quick "I landed!" text to her mom. The plane rolled to a stop, and passengers around her began to click off their seatbelts. She pulled her purse from the floor onto her lap, still holding her cell phone with one hand, staring at the list of recent contacts with a knot of dread forming in her stomach.
She hadn't bothered to check yet, but now that she looked, there was Nadir Khan's phone number. In her phone. Erik had even added the older man's moniker for her: The Daroga, her phone said mockingly. Her fingers shaking slightly, she hovered above the button that would delete the number. She should delete it, and then change her number, move to a different apartment, and be rid of them both for good.
Instead, she punched a short, angry message:
Back in Boston. Tell Erik I said hi.
She hit the back button three times and tried again.
Back in Boston. Tell Erik I said fuck you.
Back nine times, and this one she sent before she could change her mind.
Back in Boston. Tell Erik I said I don't play guessing games with bookmarks.
Christine shoved her cell phone into her purse and slid into line to shuffle her way off the plane with everyone else. Her heart thudded within her chest, and she wondered if she could ever make it be still again. Why was she opening up any channels of communication? She was stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.
After grabbing her suitcase, she hailed a cab and gave the driver the address of her apartment. By now, the last rays of sunshine were peaking out between high rise buildings. A whole day spent traveling. A whole day spent running away from what she couldn't seem to forget like she should.
She gave the cabbie a fist-full of the cash Nadir had given her, way too much, but she didn't want to keep any of it. She tucked away two twenties for drinks tomorrow night, deciding he owed her that at least. The cab pulled away, leaving her alone to drag her suitcase up the stairs to the third floor.
Heaving a sigh, she unlocked her apartment door and swung it open. It was dark, and she turned on all the lights she could reach, wanting to flood the place with light and chase away all of the shadows. She locked the door behind her, tossed her keys on the kitchen table, and kicked off her shoes. The walls of this old apartment were thick and drowned out the sounds of her neighbors.
The empty living room welcomed her back to her normal life. She couldn't stand the sight of it.
She needed a shower, immediately. She fetched her shower stuff from her suitcase and hastily placed everything where it went in the bathroom. Her clothes landed in a pile on the floor, ready for laundry tomorrow morning. The shower head sprayed water as hot as she could stand it, and she scrubbed her body, avoiding her scars, until it was pink.
She grabbed one of her father's old Hanes t-shirts from her drawer and slipped between her blankets. Her bed was at once both familiar and an odd foreign presence under her, the sheets soft cotton instead of silk, the smells all her own shampoo and soap and detergent rather than Erik's smoke and ink. She'd even managed to wash the scent of his home from her hair.
She bet her suitcase and its contents still smelled of him.
Oh, she missed him, she did. She had to admit it now, smothering in the dark as she turned off the lights. She knew she was alone in this apartment, knew no one waited for her when she got up in the morning. She missed him and the morning tea he offered her even though she hated honey. She missed watching him read the newspaper in his favorite chair. She missed his long, pale fingers flying over the piano keys, his fingers clasping her ankle, his fingers around her fingers. She missed his face, deformity and all.
She missed him, but he had rejected her, and now she was utterly alone.
Christine pulled the covers to her chin and wept until sleep stopped her tears.
Waking up in her own bed left her disoriented until she got her feet under her and stumbled to the kitchen for coffee. At least that was one good thing about being back in her apartment – her fancy coffee maker. She went through the motions of making a cappuccino until she realized she didn't have milk. Because she'd been abroad for two months, of course. Black coffee was worse than tea. Maybe.
She prided herself on not throwing the coffee maker across the kitchen.
She'd slept in – it was already almost 10, and she needed to adjust herself back to normalcy as quickly as possible. The caramel iced coffee from the local place around the corner settled her thoughts. She perched on a stool and made a list of everything she needed to do that day.
1. Coffee – check.
2. Laundry.
3. Grocery shopping.
4. Lunch.
4. Dust apartment.
5. More coffee.
6. Renew apartment lease.
7. Look into grad schools. She wasn't sure what she wanted to do after finally graduating in December, but grad school seemed like a great way to help her put off getting a real job. She had enjoyed her internship as a stage hand, and stage management put her right in the thick of theater, which she loved. But her heart wasn't into it like it was performing. Her mother on the other hand would never let her hear the end of it if she went into something less practical.
So, grad school. An excellent diversion for another two or three years.
8. Drinks with Meg.
9. Go to bed without a panic attack.
Christine took a pain pill with her coffee. She wanted the smooth, calmly release of the drug today, and it would be out of her system by the time she rolled into the bar tonight. She added another point on her list, squeezed in-between 8 and 9.
8.5. Tell Meg. (She underlined this twice.)
9. Go to bed without a panic attack.
10. Delete Nadir's number.
She sat back, took a long sip of coffee, and let the caramel linger on her tongue. She had a plan now. She could do this.
Christine Daaé had it all under control.
For the next four hours, she blew through items 1-6 on her on list, washing not only her clothes from Paris but her sheets and towels too to get rid of the accumulated dust in her absence. She bought all of her favorite foods she had missed while in Europe and ordered her favorite Chinese take-out for lunch. Renewing her apartment lease was an easy as signing on a line while sipping her second coffee of the day. She had skipped dusting, not in any mood for cleaning.
She gathered her stack of mail from the main office on her way out from resigning her lease. A whole lot of junk, by the looks of it, pilfered with bills that needed paying. She would have to get a job to tide her over until grad school. Maybe the library was hiring again once the fall semester started? Or the campus coffee shop – that would be right up her alley.
Christine settled in front of her laptop and casually browsed grad school programs. She liked staying within a few hours' drive from her mother, close enough for monthly visits but far away so she could live her own life. She could try to stay at Boston University, of course, but a change of scene might do her some good.
Her list of colleges rested next to her computer. Did she even want to go to grad school? Undergrad had taken a lot longer than planned with her illness and subsequent surgeries and long recovery times. Was she up for at least two more years of school on top of the semester she still had left of undergrad?
Christine sighed and closed her laptop. Maybe she should skip down the list. It was way too early for drinks with Meg, but maybe she could go ahead with Number Ten.
She swiped open her phone's main screen and found the text she'd sent to Nadir yesterday. That had been so, so stupid. She really should delete the number, delete the text, delete everything of him off of her phone and be done with it all. Then she would have no way of contacting the two of them ever again. She had no idea where Nadir lived, and she couldn't very well send a letter to Erik with the Palais Garnier's address on it. She could effectively be free of them both.
She tapped Nadir's moniker "the Daroga," clicked the Menu button, and found the option to Delete.
She held her thumb over the word. Do it, Christine. And then block the number.
Or block the number first, and then delete it.
The familiar flush of panic rose inside her as her palms began to sweat and her breath quickened. After everything, she was still such a coward. Her phone went flying onto the couch behind her, and she face-planted onto her closed laptop as she tried to get herself under control. Maybe Meg would help her out later.
At that moment, her phone chimed that she'd received a text.
Oh good, that might be Meg now.
Christine fetched her phone. She was glad a moment later that she sat on the couch before checking the text because there was Nadir's name staring up at her. He had just replied to her text from yesterday. The words sounded like the old Persian: formal, polite.
I am happy you are safely back in Boston. I gave Erik your message. I'm afraid he only gave me one word in return: Faust. I hope that means more to you than it does to me. Best wishes to you.
Faust. Of course Erik had quoted a famous Parisian opera likely performed in the same place beneath which he called home.
She could still block the number and erase them both. It wasn't too late. She sat there for a while, considering her options, and instead of doing anything she should have done like a rational person, she fetched the book about opera from her nightstand and took the bookmark back to her laptop.
She read her translation of the two lines once again.
Deign only to listen one moment,
what she is going to tell the stars
Typing in the translation along with Faust into Google earned her a translation of the full text and ten open bookmarks in her Internet browser that interpreted the scene.
She cursed Erik aloud. This was why she avoided opera – it was just too much.
Almost an hour later, she sat back from the laptop, deciding to take a long, very hot bath. She powered off her cell phone before she made any hasty replies to Nadir's text and headed to the bathroom. As she settled under the bubbles and stared at her toes, she sorted through the information in her head.
Faust was a Parisian opera from the late 19th century in which Faust and Marguerite had a whirl-wind romance that ended in tragedy. Christine thought it sounded like every other opera out there – too much over the top singing and drama for her tastes. The lines Erik had quoted were spoken not by Faust himself but by Méphistophélès, the demon to which Faust signs over his soul for the chance at love. Faust, discouraged by Marguerite's lack of attention, almost gives up until Méphistophélès encourages him to linger and listen to Marguerite's next words, which are declarations of love and the hope that Faust will return to her soon.
Christine sank beneath the bath water, holding her breath as long as she could. How dare he talk about these kinds of feelings. How dare he suggest that he was waiting for some kind of declaration of affection from her.
Surging out of the bath, Christine quickly toweled off and stalked back to the living room where she had left her phone. Still dripping water on the carpet, she furiously punched a reply to Nadir.
Tell Erik that Faust was a coward who needed a devil to help him learn how to be a man. I expected more of HIM. Best wishes to you too, Mr. Khan.
Her pulse was racing, but as she watched her text send off across the ocean to another phone a half-world away, she wished immediately that she could take it back. What could she gain by taunting Erik? She doubted his two lines were meant to piss her off.
She fired off a text to Meg: Get dinner before pls?
It was not a great idea for her to be alone right now. She obviously lacked self-control where that man was concerned. She was back in Boston, an ocean away from him. She needed to cut all ties, and Meg would be the one to help her see reason.
Christine got dressed, choosing some black leggings and a long, flowy silver tank top with her jean jacket on top in case it got chilly at night. She usually let her curly hair air dry, so she sprayed some light hold hair spray and tied back two strands to keep it out of her face. Halfway through applying her make-up, her phone vibrated with a text message.
She almost didn't want to look, but it was only Meg with a quick Sure! C U soon!
Christine finished her makeup with a nude lipstick and assessed herself in the mirror. The larger tank top helped to hide the somewhat unnatural shape of her bra. Her hair cascaded down her back – one of her best features, she knew. Her eyes, large, brown, and almond-shaped like her father's, were heavily rimmed with cat-eye eyeliner. She looked a little odd to herself; she hadn't worn much make-up during her time in Paris, certainly none while in the caves beneath the opera.
No matter what, her thoughts always went back to him.
Scowling at herself, she slipped on a pair of metallic flats, her ankle still not healed enough for anything more. She tucked a few belongings into a small clutch and grabbed her phone. By the time she made sure she had her keys, she heard Meg's friendly, rhythmic tap-tap on the door.
As she walked over, she swiped a thumb down on her phone's main screen and turned off the sound. Even though the hour was late in Paris, she didn't want any surprise texts while she was trying to have a good night out.
Christine put on her best grin and opened the door to reveal a blonde, pixie-like girl in skinny jeans and platform heels. Meg squealed and threw her arms around Christine's neck, hugging her tightly.
"Girl, it's so good to see you!"
Christine hugged her back. A dose of Meg's bright enthusiasm was just what she needed. The two had been super close ever since they both stumbled into an audition together years ago – Meg for a dance part and Christine for stagehand. "I'm so glad to be home."
Meg stepped back, giving her an arm-length appraisal. "Paris was good to your figure! You've put on weight."
Christine laughed, knowing it was a compliment. Chemo hadn't been kind, and Meg had seen her through all those rough years. "All those baguettes, I guess."
"Something's wrong, though. What's wrong?"
Oh Meg, always so observant. Christine could tell her own smile was forced around the edges. "I can't hide anything from you. Come on, I'll explain on the way."
"Lolita's?"
"God, yes. I need a taco and tequila shot stat."
Meg cackled and led the way to her car. "Your wish is my command."
As they pulled out of the apartment complex, Christine gave her friend a once-over. "You've obviously had a great summer, based on that tan."
"Six weeks in Key West. I had to party it up before I start conditioning for my first role in the fall."
Christine knew Meg was moving to France in mere weeks. She didn't want to think about being left behind. But she was happy for her friend. Meg had worked her ass off since she was little. She deserved the part with Parisian Ballet Company, and she'd be happier once she was reunited with her mother, a dance instructor native to France.
"But there's plenty of time to tell you all about my fun. What's up with you? I won't let you get away with not telling me."
Christine tried to laugh but couldn't. A dose of Meg was just what she needed. She wasn't sure if her carefree friend would understand everything about her last week in Paris, so she would have to be careful with what she revealed. How could Meg even believe her. A masked man living beneath the Paris opera? Insane!
"I met someone," Christine began, "in Paris."
"Oh no, not boy troubles! Though I have to say, it's about time you had some boy drama of your own."
"He's definitely not a boy, Meg. He's older." How much older, Christine wasn't sure, but she could guess Erik was in his thirties, at least. Nadir had mentioned how long he had known the other man, so maybe even older. "Forty, maybe? Late thirties?"
Meg cut her a glance as she drove. "You had some fun of your own this summer, didn't you?"
Christine frowned. "Please don't joke, Meg, not right now. I'm really upset about all of this. Things didn't end well before I left."
"All right, I'll cut you some slack. Is that why you came back early?"
"Yeah."
Meg turned off the radio. "We have twenty minutes until we reach Lolita's. Spill all the details."
She wouldn't, but she'd say what she could. Christine spun a story about how she'd met Erik while working at the opera house. She'd gotten hurt, and he'd helped her, taken care of her while she couldn't walk. She told mostly the truth but left out some details about Erik's mask and where he lived, as well as Erik's former life in Persia. Christine was pretty sure Meg wouldn't forgive that, and she wanted an unbiased opinion of the situation.
When she finished, Meg's red-lipsticked mouth frowned. "So he bought you a ticket home after he found out about your cancer? That takes a special kind of asshole."
"I guess so," Christine admitted. "But in some weird way, he probably thinks he's protecting me."
"That doesn't make any sense, Christine. And why didn't he take you to the airport himself? You could've had a lovely goodbye with promises to meet up during the holidays or something. He had his friend take you!"
Christine opened her mouth to protest, to say that maybe Erik has his reasons, but she swallowed down her retorts. Why was she so quick to defend him anyway? "You're right, of course," she said instead. She hadn't mentioned the bookmark note or her recent texts.
"Of course I'm right." Meg pulled into the Mexican restaurant. As they walked inside, Meg tucked her arm through Christine's with a grin. "Was he at least a good kisser?"
Christine felt her face grow hot. "You know I don't have much to compare him to. Those other guys were all horrible. Or drunk."
"Yeah, but did you enjoy it?"
She could at least admit that. "Definitely."
"Then store the experience away as a moment of fun and move on, sister."
Wise advice from someone who had seen a revolving door of men for as long as Christine had known her. Meg was someone who knew fun.
Three chicken tacos and two shots of tequila later, Christine was beginning to think she could have some fun tonight too. Besides the occasional half glass of wine, she hadn't drunk much in the past two months, and the booze hit her hard. She was almost instantly loopy, and while the big grin on her face felt a little foreign, she actually felt like giving it.
Meg, who was better at holding her liquor, drove them a few miles down the road to the apartment of a guy she had met years ago in English Composition II. She'd tried to hook up with him, but he wasn't that interested, which was okay by Meg because he had cute friends.
Christine wasn't looking forward that much to seeing Raoul again. The last time they had hung out was during Spring Break, at a bonfire beach party, and he had tried to put his arm around her. Still sensitive about any kind of physical contact, she had shrugged him off and quite literally ran away. Into the ocean. In the dark. Raoul had dove into the waves after her and hauled out her sputtering, soaked self. She was so embarrassed, she hadn't talked to him since.
But Raoul was good for her ego. He was friendly with everyone, and no doubt he would give her a bit of attention. On top of that, Raoul was rich, and when they went out with him and his friends, he was usually willing to buy. He liked sharing because he was definitely a Nice Guy.
The bonus was that he was also blonde surfer-guy hot, and Christine was in the mood for looking at something nice to distract her from the obvious.
The perfect white teeth smile he flashed when he opened his door to them helped even more. Yeah, maybe Raoul was just what she needed tonight.
Once a pack of Raoul's guy friends arrived, they all rode the T downtown and hit up the first bar. Christine knew she needed to pace herself, so she declined the first round and settled for a little shoulder dancing in her chair while the others toasted their drinks.
Predictably, it didn't take long for Raoul to side up to her and strike up conversation about how they had both spent their summers. At least she had plenty to talk about Paris without delving into the last week. She didn't spend much effort listening to Raoul go on about his own summer, something about a month-long sailing trip, but he didn't seem to notice. He kept the back and forth conversation going longer than she would have liked. Silence had always been commonplace down in Erik's home, but it had been the comfortable quiet of two people who didn't need to talk to enjoy each other.
"Penny?"
She looked at Raoul's broad, tanned hand, so different from Erik's long, pale fingers, that he had placed on her shoulder. Hadn't he learned anything the last time? She blinked at him, willing herself to ignore the hand. It was pleasantly warm, so she tolerated it for now. "Penny?"
"For your thoughts." He smiled that perfect smile of his.
Ah. "Don't you mean euro?" She could play this game.
He laughed, totally threw back his blonde head and laughed. "Of course, I forget. Euro for your thoughts. I lost you for a second."
"Sorry. I just got back into the city yesterday. Not back on Eastern yet."
"I get you." He indicated the empty place in front of her. "How about a Dirty Steve? The best of both worlds."
Red Bull and vodka. Why not? And he would have to leave her alone for a while. She managed a smile. "Sure."
The DJ was playing the popular tune of the summer, and Christine tapped her foot along as she dug her cell phone out of her purse. She hadn't looked at it since she had muted it back at her own place two hours ago, but she wanted to look up who was singing this song.
She had four text messages, all sent in about ten-minute intervals starting about an hour after she had sent her own text. The last was time stamped for about five minutes ago.
Erik says Mes. gave Faust the gift of living the life he never had before. Forgive me, madame, he says more but I won't
That text ended, obviously accidentally sent before finished. The next read, in a different tone:
Nadir is too modest. Can Faust be blamed for taking the opportunity given him? Opera is about unbrideled passion. – E
The next one read:
The eb and flow of opera mimicks the nuiances of real life. Faust's life lacked meaning until he was able to finally do something about it.
Then, finally, sent in an obvious fit when he hadn't received a swift reply from her:
What MAN wouldn't sign over his SOUL?
Christine glanced around her, but none of her group was paying attention to her. Meg chatted up one of Raoul's friends who already had his arm around her. If she told her friend what was going on, no doubt Meg would take her phone away from her. Christine almost called out to Meg, wanting the choice taken from her.
Instead, she replied: Mes. is evil. Marg never would've loved Faust if she'd known.
She unmuted her phone and tucked it back into her purse. Then she headed back to the others to find Raoul. She needed that drink now.
Raoul was next in line, and she slid into a bar stool next to him. Just like she wanted, he flashed her another smile and drew her back into conversation.
Five minutes passed. Christine gulped down half of her drink and managed to keep from checking her phone, knowing she'd feel the vibration through her purse. Meg's laughter was a little too loud – she'd already had another drink, and now she was rallying everyone for a change of location to somewhere with more dancing.
Five minutes later, her phone buzzed. Finishing her drink, she chanced a quick look.
Can you blame Faust for seducing her with Mes.'s aid? He never would have stood a chance with Marg. as his true self. – E
"Christine!" Meg called. "You ready to head to Guilt?"
"Yeah, I'm coming." As she followed everyone out of the bar, Christine fired off a reply.
Then he should've left her ALONE.
Guilt was abuzz with activity, and even though it wasn't even 11 o'clock yet, it was packed with young bodies gyrating to the music. The deep bass tones thrummed throughout Christine's body, encouraging her to move along.
Christine let herself be pulled into the crowd, pushing Erik to the back of her mind for a moment. Meg partied in front of her, her lithe dancer's body rocking with practiced precision, her arms thrown over her head, and her mouth laughing with joy. Her happiness was infectious even under the circumstances.
Someone bumped up behind Christine, and she caught sight of Raoul over her shoulder. He managed a sheepish grin, backing off, but she grabbed his hand and pulled him closer. Why the hell not? She felt the rough calluses on his hands from his time on the sailboat, so different from Erik's smooth fingers protected from his gloves.
They danced, she danced between her two friends, for so long that by the time she stumbled off the dance floor begging for another drink for her parched throat, Christine had almost forgotten why she was upset.
That is, until she clicked on her phone to check the time. It was almost midnight. She noticed that just before a text message took up her screen. Erik's reply was long, sent compulsively over the spread of time since she had sent her last reply.
A man who has not known the affection of a woman would yearn for it, crave it, with all of his being. Is that not what Faust did? Is that not why he signed his soul over to the devil in exchange for a chance at happiness?
True, he abandoned Marguerite when she was at her most vulnerable, no doubt because he panicked at what he had done to her. His reasoning is lost without the opera guiding us in that matter.
However, Faust was selfish. He took what he wanted without consideration of Marguerite. I could never have done that to you, no matter how much I might have joined Faust in signing over my soul.
Perhaps this is why you are so stubborn in your insistence that you do not like opera, Christine?
She punched a reply, her heart pounding. You should give Nadir back his phone.
Erik's reply was immediate. Too late for that. He has already given up and gone abed. As you should as well?
The bastard wasn't even trying to talk about opera anymore. She couldn't believe it. Erik was an ocean away texting back and forth with her as though they were friends – or more – who did this regularly, as though they were two normal people just having a chat.
Her head felt light, her vision swimming with the swirl of bodies on the dance floor. Her head throbbed in time with the music. She'd had too much alcohol to reign herself in tonight. Meg was beside her, her sweaty face concerned.
"Christine?"
"I need air." Christine pushed away from the bar, hurried around the dance floor, and all but threw herself out the front door. The summer night breeze hit her face in a swirl of humidity and warmth with a slight hint of sea saltiness. The buzzing in her ears eased, but the pounding in her chest didn't lessen. The sidewalk was crowded, and she tucked herself into a space a few yards from the entrance to Guilt.
Christine glared down at her phone, at Nadir's name. In a moment of insanity, she tapped the little phone icon next to his number.
The phone began to ring.
It rang once, twice, three times, each tone seeming to go forever. After the fourth, she heard a click, followed by the rasp of someone inhaling to speak.
"My dear?" came the silky smooth voice from her dreams and nightmares, sliding over her skin as though he belonged there.
She didn't bother saying hello. Her breath caught in her throat, and she had to squeeze out her first words. "Don't call me that. You have no right."
A pause, then: "My affection for you has not lessened, but very well. How can I be of service?"
"I need you to leave me alone."
"You called me." She didn't mistake the note in his voice for anything but smugness.
She found more strength in her anger. "To tell you to back off, Erik. You can't keep sending me messages like this, all night long like that's even okay."
His voice was merciless. "I believe you opened the channel first."
"Who cares, Erik? Now you have to stop. I'm calling now to tell you to stop. Leave me alone. I'm home now, and I've got to move on and live my life."
"If that is what you want."
She hated the sudden flush of hotness in her eyes. She was so done crying over him! "You can't do this to me, Erik. You can't put all the blame on me. You sent me away. You made that choice."
"I know," he said softly. "In my haste, I made a mistake."
What?
Christine heard Meg's voice call her name. She had followed Christine out of the club, and Christine caught sight of Raoul's shaggy blonde head behind her.
"There you are, Christine!" Raoul said as they caught up to her. He hugged her before she had a chance to realize how close he had gotten, and he spoke too close to her phone. "We were looking everywhere for you. Come dance with me some more. I requested the next song for you!"
Christine heard Erik speak, and a new darkness lurked in his tone. "Who is that?"
She waved off the pair, indicating she was following them, but Raoul didn't budge. "None of your business."
Raoul must have heard the frantic edge to her words. "What's wrong, Christine? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she said, well aware that Erik was listening in. "I just need another minute."
Raoul put his arms around her, not noticing that she tried to back out of them before he hugged her too tightly for her to break his hold politely. "I'm here for you, Chris." She could smell his last margarita, but she knew Nice Guy Raoul would never drink too much. "I missed you this summer. Come dance some more."
"I said I need just another minute." She put a hand on his chest to push him away, but he mistook her gesture for a caress and dipped his head to kiss her cheek.
"Come on, Chris."
"Christine," Erik's voice was steel. "Are you safe?"
"Yes," she bit out, meaning the reply to be to the man on the phone. "Stop that, please! I need a minute!" That was for Raoul, but she was getting confused trying to have two conversations at once.
"Are you alone with him?" Erik demanded. "Who is there?"
Unfortunately, the man standing too close misinterpreted her reply. Raoul tightened his hold, and his ribs pressed uncomfortably against her chest.
Before she could stop herself, she cried out in pain and chased the sound with a frantic, "Get off me!"
"Christine!" Erik sounded much more urgent.
Wide-eyed, Raoul stumbled back from her, but she wasn't paying attention to him. She couldn't concentrate with Erik calling her name over and over, with Erik being so insistent that she pay attention to him. She was done with him, with this conversation, with any conversation.
"I'm going," she said into the phone.
"Christine-"
"Goodbye, Erik."
She hung up. But she didn't just end the call, not just that, when he could so easily call back. She tapped Nadir's number, hit the Menu button, and blocked his number.
He could call her using a different phone of course. He had her number; it wouldn't end just by blocking Nadir's cell. Christine pressed her thumb on the power button and held it down until her phone turned off.
Tomorrow, she'd get a new number.
Until then… she looked at the blonde man standing next to her. She was a bit surprised he hadn't given up and left, but then, Raoul had always been more dependable than that. His apologies followed her back into the club, but she waved them off.
Meg was hovering near the entrance, twisting her ponytail in worry. "There you are – are you okay?"
Christine shook her head. "No. I want to go home."
"Let me go tell the others, and we'll go."
"You stay, Meg. I can catch the train back myself. Or take a cab." She was barely holding herself together.
Raoul stepped in. "I can take you home, Chris."
"I don't want to bother you."
"No bother," he assured her. "I'm done anyway." He looked at Meg. "You good?"
She waved a hand. "Oh yeah, totally." She gave Christine a fierce hug. "Call me next week. We'll do lunch."
"Totally."
Christine let Raoul escort her away from Guilt. After he had stuttered out some apologies, which she quickly accepted, they didn't say much while they rode the train back to his place so he could pick up his car. He kept his hands to himself like a gentleman, flashing a smile of reassurance now and then. She had settled into a fog of one drink too many, and all she wanted to do was slip beneath her sheets and forget that phone call had ever happened.
Not once did she really think she wasn't safe with Raoul. When they got to his place, he didn't suggest she come inside for a bit, in a shady way of trying to get inside her pants. She'd had a guy do that before back her freshman year of college. Raoul grabbed his car keys and helped her inside his BMW, opening the door for her. He even reassured her that he hadn't drunk anything besides the one margarita at the club, and she believed him.
So when he pulled up outside her apartment and leaned in for a kiss, she was totally unprepared. What was it about men and thinking they could just take what they wanted from her? She was done being nice.
She didn't push him away, but the firm, unyielding line of her mouth deterred him from anything but a quick peck. His lips had been warm and soft. He was everything Erik wasn't, but she wanted no part of him.
"Thanks for the ride, Raoul," she said softly. "But I'm not interested in anything more than friends."
He couldn't hide the disappointment on his face. "I like you a lot, Christine. You're smart, funny, beautiful. Any guy would kill to be with you."
She barked a short laugh. "I can't be with anyone right now. I'm not in a good place." She opened her car door, intending to slip out on her own, but he followed her. No doubt he thought he was being chivalrous, walking her to her door.
"Hey, I get it," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked incredibly cute with his blonde hair and blue eyes shining in the outside lights. "With your illness and all, you don't want the drama of a boyfriend."
She wished he didn't know – he was one of the few who did know at least the fact that she'd had cancer. She hadn't wanted to use it as any excuse, and she could tell people's attitude and treatment of her changed whenever they found out. Raoul was giving her the soulful puppy look right now, full of sympathy. She hated it.
"I'm a patient man, Christine," he continued. "I can give you space, give you as much time as you need. You've got my number."
She unlocked the door to her apartment, but didn't open it, not wanting to give him any hints of invitation. Exhaustion weighted her down. "Thank you for taking me home, Raoul. Really."
He finally took the hint, and since she was pressing herself into the corner of her door and the adjoining wall, he didn't try to hug her. "Night, Chris."
She watched him leave, waited until she heard his car start up. Then she opened her door and locked it quickly behind her. Only then did she let herself start to cry.