Wow, thank you so much for the response to the last chapter! I'm trying to get as much of this story finished before the end of the summer. Your reviews spur me forward. :)

Chapter 14

She fully expected him to be gone in the morning, fled after his horrific actions, unable to stay in the apartment. However, as she cracked her eyes open, wincing in the full sun of day, she heard sounds coming from the kitchen – water running, dishes clanging, the opening of drawers. Maybe Nadir had come over, though he had said he wouldn't until lunch time.

Gingerly sitting up, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The royal blue gown was tangled about her legs. At some point, a thick blanket had been laid over her – the comforter from the other bed. She flushed, thinking about the fact that Erik had been back in the room while she slept. She hated feeling so defenseless, so unable to keep him out when she had every right to.

Her cell phone, the battery close to dying, told her it was a little past 10 in the morning. Her feet ached when she stood, and she hobbled to the bathroom. Her overnight bag greeted her on the floor near the bed – at some point, it had been retrieved from the hotel, along with the cases for the jewelry. Yes, Erik had definitely been in here. At least she could now change and freshen up with her own things. She placed the hair comb and bracelet into their felt boxes and closed them shut. Then she took off the gown, sighing to finally be rid of the constrictive fabric, and laid it out on the bed.

First, a shower. Then, an outfit Meg had picked, the most conservative one Christine could find in her bag, a pair of skinny jeans and a ruffled top with bell sleeves. A bit more awake now, Christine gathered up her belongings, leaving the jewelry and dress on the bed, and left the room.

Erik sat at the dining table, facing her, sipping tea and reading the newspaper. He was the picture of how he had looked every morning in Paris, and it made her heart ache. Back then, his past had been in the past, left somewhere in the Middle East and not dead in an alleyway in New York City.

When he saw her, he straightened. With one hand, he indicated the spread on the dining table. She nodded and made her way over, taking a seat in the one of the chairs opposite him. A collection of pastries, bagels, and fruit lay on the table. She grabbed a plain bagel and spread on strawberry cream cheese before taking a bite.

They had breakfast in silence, every once in a while cut by the rustle of the newspaper or a knife on porcelain as she cut a piece of fruit.

At some point, Erik stood and brought her coffee, made just the way she liked it. She sipped it, murmuring a "thanks" in response, and the hot liquid slid a heavenly track down her throat. He always made sure she was fed, even though he cared little for food himself. Somehow, she had to find the strength to do what she knew needed to be done.

"All I seem to do is make you cry," he said quietly. "You should never have a reason to cry, Christine."

She flicked the annoying tears off her cheeks. She took a shuddering breath. She should wait until she had one foot in the car, but she was tired of being afraid of his reactions. The bruises on her neck had faded, but she no longer only feared for her life.

She had begged him to be upfront with her, so she would do the same for him.

"I agree, Erik. Which is why I… I need a break." When he didn't react, she pressed onward. "School is in full swing now, and I have to graduate. I can't have anymore distractions. I can't afford to get mixed up in all this craziness anymore."

Before she started rambling, she bit her lip so she would shut up. She looked anxiously at Erik, waiting for his reaction.

He glanced at her over the top of his paper. "So be it." Calmly, he folded his newspaper and set it aside. Then he produced a cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number. "James," he said into the phone. "Miss Daaé will be ready in ten minutes. Thank you, monsieur." He ended the conversation and opened his paper to once again read.

"I thought Nadir was going to pick me up."

"Nadir is emotionally unable to handle anything right now. It is best that he sleep."

"So, that's it?" She hated how her voice sounded higher, borderline shrill. Hadn't she practiced all of this in her head while she showered?

"I did as you wanted, my dear. This has always been about what you wanted." Oh, there was a little steely edge from him now.

Fine, then. Christine set her dishes in the sink and went over to her bag, picking it up. "Where will James be? I highly doubt you'd let him come straight to your safe house."

Erik turned his paper to the next page. "Go out the main doors of the complex and turn left. Walk three blocks, turn right, walk four more. He will be waiting around the right corner."

"By myself!"

He cut his yellow eyes at her. "You are a big girl, and plenty of New Yorkers are walking the streets. You have my number should you need it."

She would not cry again; she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hurting her like that. She looped her bag over her shoulder and walked out of his apartment, managing to keep her feet from running. She made it to the elevator and pressed the down arrow. As she watched the lights head toward her floor, she heard Erik come out to the hallway.

She glanced over her shoulder, seeing him leaning against the doorframe to his apartment. "Coming to say goodbye?" she said, bitterness rising.

"Should I?"

The damned elevator moved so slowly. "I don't know, Erik."

He straightened, his hands two balled fists at his sides. Then in two strides, he had walked back into his apartment and slammed the door behind him.

She couldn't punch the wall, so she clicked the down arrow button over and over until the elevator finally arrived. All but throwing herself inside the chamber, she hit the button for the ground floor and slumped into the corner.

Sunshine hit her face as she made her way outside, and normally, such a clear sky would ease her soul and bring a smile to her face. Instead, it only reminded her that the night was over. It was time to go home.

Christine slept most of the way home. As soon as James dropped her off in front of her apartment, as soon as she set down her bag, she fell face-forward onto her own bed and slept again.

She awoke some time later to the buzzing of her phone. A hazy glance told her it was Meg. Oh yeah, she was suppose to call her friend when she was on her way home. Now it was almost 9 o'clock at night, and Meg was probably going to chide her for not checking in. Chide her or chew her out with expletives. Either way, Christine was not in the mood.

She pressed the button on the side of her phone until it powered off, then tossed it somewhere across the bed. Barely rising up, she thumbed apart the clasp of her bra, pulled the straps down her shoulders, and dropped it onto the floor. There, so much better.

She slept on.

The next time she woke, it was to the pounding of a fist at her door. She groaned and rolled onto her back. She was still wearing the clothes she had traveled home in, and her eyelids felt glued together. The pounding continued, reflecting the headache she was sporting. She stumbled out of bed and to the door, peering through the peephole.

Meg's blonde head glared back at her.

Christine rolled her eyes. She was still in no mood for anything, but she couldn't hide in here forever. She unbolted the door and swung it open.

"Hi," she said, and shuffled to the kitchen for coffee.

Meg barged in, slamming the door behind her. "Hi? That's all you have to say?"

Christine winced. "Too loud, Meg."

"I didn't hear from you all day yesterday or last night. You're not answering your phone, and then it started going straight to voicemail. God, Christine, I wasn't sure if that meant you had a fantastic time or if you were in a ditch somewhere!"

Christine stared at the machine in front of her as it began to spit out coffee. "I'm sorry. I just didn't feel like talking to anyone."

"You could have said that! A simple text: Meg, talk later. Or Meg, fuck off."

"I know, I know."

Meg came to stand closer, examining her face closely. "You look like hell, Chris. What happened?"

Christine pushed her curls from her face, well aware of her wrinkled clothing, smudged make-up, and disheveled hair. She was in desperate need of a shower too. "Do I have to talk about it?"

"No, you don't," Meg huffed, and then gently maneuvered Christine to a kitchen chair. "Sit, girl. I'll get your coffee." She fixed two cups and joined her at the table. "I understand if you don't want to spill the details, but I know you, Christine. I can tell it didn't go well. Your Parisian man - he… didn't hurt you, did he?"

Christine grasped the coffee cup to still her trembling fingers and raised the cup to her face, breathing in the warm aroma. She wasn't even sure how to answer the question. Erik had been rough with her; he had bellowed at her like he had never done before. He had been so deeply upset with her, but when she hadn't responded to his advances, he had backed off.

Deep down, she knew Erik thought he was protecting her, and his breakdown that night had little to do with her and more to do with his own demons. However, she felt like she couldn't trust him to hold his temper anymore. What if he hadn't stopped? Next time, would he have even less control?

"He got into a fight… with this other man," she said, staring into the light brown liquid. "Later, when I confronted him about it, he got mad at me. He- he didn't hurt me, not really, but he wasn't exactly nice either." She choked on the next words, hating the lump in her throat. "I told him I wanted space."

"And did he take that well?"

"Well enough, I suppose. He was definitely mad, but he made sure I got home safely." Christine pushed aside her coffee and hid her face in her arms. "I don't know what I'm doing, Meg!" she wailed, muffled by her arms. "Sometimes I think I should cut all ties with him and tell him to get out of my life. Sometimes I- I truly feel like I'm falling for him!"

She felt a soft touch on her arm. "Oh Chris, I'm so sorry."

"He's- he's so frightening, so angry, so difficult to deal with." Christine lifted her head, meeting Meg's kind eyes through her tears. "He's had such a rough life, and I can tell he doesn't know how to handle things – anything – properly, but when I'm around him… the rest of the world just falls away."

Meg ran, grabbed some tissue, and came back. She stayed quiet as Christine wiped her eyes and blew her nose, and then she gazed calmly at her friend. "I've never heard you talk like this about anyone."

"I've never felt like this about anyone." She frowned and spat, "But my feelings don't matter in this, Meg. He- he was so horrible. He said such horrible things."

She didn't share any details with Meg, couldn't bring herself to talk about it aloud. But Christine remembered all that Erik had said to her the night before, how he had pressed the length of his body against hers, his breath hot on her neck, and pinned her down so she couldn't get away. She remembered his fierce talk of want and desire.

She wondered if somehow she was truly sick inside. Because even though she had been terrified, even though she had wanted him to stop, a part of her had felt a deadly thrill deep inside. A part of her imagined what it would have been like if he hadn't stopped, if he had been more insistent in pursuing his seduction. Would she have been able to say no forever? If he hadn't been so angry, if his hands had loosened in her hair, if he had held her more lovingly at first like he had as he carried her to bed… she might have been more than willing to go down that path.

She couldn't tell Meg any of this. To do so would expose the biggest truth about herself: that she wanted this man as much as he wanted her.

Despite everything else.

Christine stood up and threw her tissue in the trash. "None of that matters now, Meg. I told him off, and I don't want to see him again anytime soon. Now, should I bother to pull myself together for classes or skip a third day in a row?"

Meg leaned a thoughtful elbow on the table, resting her chin on her hand. "How about this: go to your classes today, but come straight over to my place afterward to look at costumes. A fun party on Saturday may be exactly what you need right now."

"I don't know," Christine said, sighing.

"Come on! I've got a bunch of pretty dresses for you to try on, and a dozen gorgeous masks. There will be all of our friends-"

"Your friends."

"Our friends. And just enough boys and booze to help you forget your Parisian man." Meg came to her, clasped her shoulders, and gave her a little shake. "You have to come, Chris. You already promised."

Christine couldn't resist the pout and puppy eyes her friend pulled. "Fine."

Meg all but squealed, giving her a huge hug. She grabbed her purse and started for the door. "I've got tons of party planning to do, so I'm off. Please take care of yourself today. Eat, take a shower, make it to class." She paused with one foot outside, swung around, and waggled her eyebrows at Christine. "Oh, and Raoul will be there too."

As she left, Christine headed for the bathroom, groaning.

Christine missed her morning class but managed to make all of the others, dragging herself from classroom to classroom throughout the day. Luckily, many of her classes this semester were senior hands-on projects, so she got to spend the majority of the day behind or on the stage, putting her learned skills to practice.

Still, she was grateful when her last professor dismissed them ten minutes early, and she was finally able to head off campus to Meg's apartment.

Meg had her spread of masquerade outfits ready. The usual party outfits were available – a white flouncy dress for an angel, a poufy purple dress if she wanted to be a fairy. Christine chose a gothic black dress all done in lace with full sleeves and a hem that was shorter in the front and fell to her feet at the back. She could pair it with her black ankle boots. To go along with the dress, she selected a lacy black mask that covered the upper portion of her face, several feathers framing one side of her head.

Meg couldn't stop gushing when Christine donned the full assemble, and it was nice to get her ego stroked, even from her friend. She began to feel a bit more excited about the party, but first, she had to get through her doctor's appointment tomorrow.

She went alone, her mother unable to get away for this one. Honestly, Christine didn't mind that much. Anna had gone to all of the other appointments; she'd been by Christine's side every step of the way even when she had been unable to deal that well with the details.

Familiar with the route to the oncology's office, Christine listened to some of her favorite music on train ride over. As far as appointments went, this one shouldn't be that difficult. There weren't any scans to be done since she didn't have any remaining tissue, and they may not even have to draw blood.

When her time came, she changed into the usual gown, the ties in the front so she could be examined. Her doctor was a sweet older woman who had made Christine feel as comfortable as possible during all of this mess. The two of them chatted for a while about Christine's pain and the way she was managing it; she hadn't needed Percocet for weeks now, and she hadn't even taken ibuprofen in days. She might still have flare-ups, but she still seemed to be healing, which lifted her spirits a bit.

The physical exam was as painful as she expected, but Christine took a deep breath and bore it. The skin was still overly sensitive to touch, and too much pressure hurt. However, overall, she was getting better.

As far as cancer appointments went, this one had been fantastic. She hadn't cried – not even a little.

On the way home, she called her mother to tell her the good news, and then she also called Meg. She even got to wait six months before her next appointment!

And now it was time to party.

Christine got ready at her own apartment, not wanting to be stuck in that awkward moment of being dressed but waiting on everyone else to show up. Meg really was kind to let her borrow this costume for her own going away party. Christine was lucky to have such an awesome friend, and sometimes she wondered if she deserved to have the blonde girl in her life. After all, did she put forth much effort to be a good friend to Meg? Meg had been a great support to her over the past two years, but when had Christine ever put forth that kind of effort to help out Meg?

Christine dressed. The black costume really was lovely, though a bit itchy with all the lace. She was happy to be covered up, even though much of the lace was sheer, from her neck to her wrists. She was able to wear her own bra with this dress, which made her feel even more comfortable. She left her hair cascading down her back in curly waves; it was almost to her waist now, and she probably needed a trim. She had been so lucky to keep her hair while going through chemo that she hadn't had the courage to cut it since her diagnosis.

Applying her makeup heavier than normal, Christine leaned back from the mirror to take a look at herself. She looked very different than she had a few days ago when she gazed at herself in a mirror in New York. Then, she had been all softness and grace, donned in Erik's blue dress and Erik's diamonds. Now, she felt like a dark goddess of the night. Her dark red lips smiled beneath her mask. Maybe tonight would be fun after all. She could celebrate not only Meg's start as a professional ballerina but her own conquering of the worst time in her life.

She would feel silly riding the bus like this, so she caught a cab and headed to Meg's party about half an hour after it had started. Meg didn't do anything halfway, and the pounding beat of the music spilled into the street. She hadn't been kidding when she meant this would be the party of a lifetime. Meg fully intended to go out with a bang.

Christine didn't bother knocking. The place was packed with people, most of whom Christine had never seen before. Meg had rented an old building on the outskirts of downtown, an old Victorian house that probably was mostly used for weddings nowadays. It was a gorgeous place, and it well suited the theme of the night. Meg stood near the entrance, glowing in her white angel garb complete with feathered wings.

"Chris!" She waved her over, and they exchanged silly kisses on each cheek, laughing at the roles they were playing. Meg had been right. Christine needed a light-hearted night like this. With her mask, most people wouldn't even recognize her, so she could afford to relax a little.

"I'm going to play host," Meg said, shooing her inside. "Go find a drink. I recommend the red wine."

Christine made her way to the full and open bar, ordering a glass of red wine like Meg suggested. It was a little too sweet, but the color was similar to her lipstick, so Christine went along, liking the comparison.

She wandered the house, making small talk with different people. Everyone was dressed up – the invitation had required it, after all – and the party became a sea of masks and fancy costumes. After an hour of this, Christine began to get a headache, the music a little too loud, the people crowding a bit too much. She headed up the grand staircase to the second floor, where the guests were a little more spaced out.

Christine admired the craftsmanship of the place. Whoever had restored this house had done a marvelous job with attention to detail. Upstairs was a maze of bedrooms and hallways, each room a different color of elaborate wallpaper. She meandered around for a while, checking out random rooms and interesting furniture.

"Chris!"

She turned around from admiring a painting to see a man dressed in black pants and a red shirt like a soldier might have worn long ago, full of gold detailing on the front. A red cape hung over one shoulder, and he wore a gold mask. The look suited him perfectly, but she couldn't recognize him at first glance.

Not many people called her Chris, though.

"Raoul?" He made a sweeping bow, and she laughed. "How did you know it was me?"

"I'd recognize that hair of yours anywhere," he said, stepping into the room. "How have you been, Chris?"

"Okay. You?"

"Good, really good." He was as handsome as ever and even more so in that outfit. His thick blonde hair was swept back, his walk cocky and sure of himself. His golden mask covered the top half of his face, including his nose, calling attention to his full, perfect mouth. "There's this new project I'm helping to develop that sounds so cool. Kind of like charity work, I suppose, so we're trying to get funding."

Christine listened, drinking large gulps of her wine. "What do they do?"

"Websites, actually. Well, not just websites, but that's what we're starting with. We want to develop websites, databases, servers, and all that tech stuff for nonprofits. They don't always have a lot of extra money for that kind of thing, but without it, they struggle with getting their name out there."

"That… well, that sounds awesome, actually." It did. Christine was impressed. Sometimes Raoul seemed like he was trying to be a good guy because he liked being known that way, but really, he was one of those genuinely nice people. What was so terrible about Raoul that Christine couldn't fall for him? Was she truly so messed up that she felt nothing for his charms?

He went on about his pet project for a while before he noticed that she'd drained her glass. "Would you like more, Chris?" he asked, giving her a stunning smile.

"Sure, thanks." She handed over her glass and went back to admiring the paintings in the room again.

The collection continued down a narrow hallway that ran offshoot of the room in the back. Each painting she encountered was more stunning than the next. Each showed a seascape torn by storms, dark clouds heavy upon pounding waves and eroding beaches. She loved them despite their troubling subject. She could practically feel the spray of the salt water on her face. Maybe she could find the time for the beach tomorrow.

So caught up in looking closely at the paintings, she didn't notice the man in front of her until she had almost collided with him. She put a hand against the side of his shoulder to steady herself as there was barely enough room for two people to past each other in the hall.

"So sorry," she said, quickly letting go of his arm.

She stepped back to a friendly distance. The man was dressed in an ebony tux, his full vest scarlet with a woven black pattern across it. His black mask covered his entire face, and although it had a regal nose and full mouth, the mask was expressionless.

"Excuse me," she said, trying to slide past him, but he didn't move. Her forthcoming smile faltered a bit at the rude gesture. She glanced over her shoulder, supposing she could just go back, but she did want to see the rest of those paintings.

He turned to face her, filling the space of the hallway, far taller than her even with her heeled boots. Craning her head up, she was unnerved by the odd mask, but she could overlook the mask because of the eyes, the eyes that she immediately recognized.

"You!" The word came out in a rush, her lungs squeezed with sudden tension. Of course he had come here, not just here to Boston, but to this party where he could walk around without looking out of place. She knew she couldn't bother asking how he had known where she was. He always seemed to know.

Erik wasn't looking at her, his yellow eyes trained somewhere over her head, far away into the room she had left. They couldn't see much of the room from deep inside the passage.

"Who was that?"

His voice, hard as steel, rolled over her; it should have been muffled, but she heard it as though he had leaned over and spoken directly in her ear. She would not shiver at that sound of velvet heat; she would not feel anything but anger. Only days had passed since she had last seen him, and she would definitely ignore the longing pull that rose up.

One gloved hand came up to clasp her elbow like it belonged there. "That boy called you Chris. I do not like it."

She jerked her elbow away from him. He must have been standing there for some time to have heard any of her conversation with Raoul. "It's a nickname."

"He is… very familiar with you."

She heard the warning a moment too late, realized the danger that lay down this path. Now she was the one trying to block his way up the hall. "Raoul is just a friend – he's only ever been a friend. But that doesn't matter, does it? I told you that I wanted a break. That means you leave me alone!"

Erik didn't seem to have heard a word she said. He took a few steps toward the room behind her, pressing up against her in his effort to move closer. She had to jump back to avoid touching him. She hated this new mask of his. She couldn't read his face at all, couldn't tell his emotions except from his voice or his eyes, which had yet to even look at her.

"Hey, back off, Erik!"

"I recognize that voice," he said, still in that deadly musing tone of his.

"You do? How-" She gasped at the same time she heard the thunder of footsteps crashing upon the old wooden floors. Meg's peal of laughter sounded loudly in the empty room, followed by Raoul's chuckle.

"You won't be able to convince her, Meg," Raoul said.

Meg giggled again. "Oh, I'm very persuasive when I want to be. I bet you anything she'll dance with me by the end of the night. Maybe we'll even get her to sing!"

Erik was pressing against Christine's back again, a surge of tidal energy, his body rigid with tension. Blast that stupid mask of his – if she could just see the strong line of his jaw, she would be able to tell how angry he was.

"How do you even remember that?" she whispered.

For the first time, he swung his head down to stare at her. She didn't like the glint she saw there. "I journeyed here in a box because of that voice, my Christine."

His Christine!

The pair in the room beyond were still taking bets on whether or not Christine would loosen up before the night was over.

Erik put his voice in Christine's ear. Moving away would only have forced her closer to the room where her friends were. "I remember how frightened that voice made you sound."

"It was an accident that night," she said. "I know you thought I was in trouble, but Raoul would never intentionally hurt me." Her friends were now calling for her, wondering where she had gone. Christine hugged her arms against her body and glared at Erik. "I can't say the same about you."

He wrenched himself away from her at that, and she took the opportunity to dart down the hall. She bet on how much she knew of him, that he wouldn't follow her into a group of other people, especially ones she knew. Erik was nothing but socially phobic, unable to carry on a normal conversation with Nadir, someone he had known for a long time, much less Christine's own friends.

"Here I am!" she announced, meeting their grins with a forced one of her own. She took a fleeting glance at the hallway behind her, but she had guessed right. Erik wasn't following her. She looped an arm with each of them, tugging both Meg and Raoul from the room. The more distance she put between Raoul and Erik, the better.

Not to mention herself and the man who seemed to inevitably tug her back to him.

I hope you don't mind that I gleaned over Christine's doctors appointment. The point has never been for her cancer to come back or anything like that, but rather how she deals with the aftermath and healing process.

I should be able to get another chapter up before I go on vacation next week!