Author's Note: Today we meet Erik! Oh and he is a ray of sunshine...

Chapter Two

Erik Destler was perfectly content with his wretched existence. As a matter of fact, he much preferred being miserable as he was certain there would be little to no fun if he wasn't. Unlike normal men, he had no desire for the simple joys in life. He was satisfied, or as satisfied as a man like himself could be, and he was finally going to be completely alone. Without the nagging presence of just another damn mouth to feed, he could live the way he desired with no patronizing stares or warnings that he was drinking far too much. It was a dream come true, or it would have been if his so-called friends weren't convinced that he needed a maid.

Who the hell were they to tell him what he needed? He had half the mind to cut their salaries! But there would be no point as they were leaving anyways—just like everyone else. So why was it that they cared so terribly about him?! Why not just leave him to wither away in his drink? It made no sense! Nobody was supposed to care for him, nobody with their head screwed on right…or eyes for that matter and the old woman clearly had a pair with how often she badgered him for the messes he made.

The messes that weren't even his fault to begin with! It was unbelievable how often he was the one blamed for the damn paintings that swung from their fastenings. Perhaps if they were bolted in place as they should have been, then they wouldn't come loose. Not to mention the vases! The fool he hired to decorate the place should have added weighted bottoms so they wouldn't topple over. It was his fault. Plain and simple.

"Erik, are you even listening to me?" the grating voice of Antoinette Giry called, pulling him from his sottish state of mind. "I have been speaking and you have yet to acknowledge me. This is an urgent matter. If you cannot take this seriously, then I will–"

"Leave me be," he muttered, lifting his third glass of absinthe to his lips and drinking deeply. It burned, but damn was it good. For a man who abstained, Khan surely knew how to select a fine drink.

Antoinette sighed heavily and settled into the chair opposite him, tilting her head in an attempt to catch his eye. Erik peeked at her to see that she was looking at him with tenderness, and very quickly he focused his gaze elsewhere. He wasn't prepared for another one of her lectures, nor to be treated like a dimwitted child.

"There are two women here for an interview. They await me in the parlor and I was hoping that you would attend."

Erik rolled his eyes and snorted at her tone of voice, gentle…condescending, and he didn't have the patience for it. For any of it. "Send them away," he ordered, blindly reaching for the bottle of absinthe on the tea table and once it was firmly in his grasp, he poured more into the already half-full glass.

"We have discussed this. I am not leaving you to fend for yourself. You will not survive without a maid," she argued, leaning forward and reaching for the bottle which he had rested between his thighs. He promptly tugged it away and held it against himself, drinking the contents of his glass before smugly serving himself another.

"Is it too much to ask you to send Marguerite once a week to ensure I am not dead?" he grumbled, staring into the clear liquid and debating on if he should drink it all down to spite her. "Or would that put you out more than I already have?"

Antoinette groaned and slammed her palms against the tea table. Erik bit back a smirk, pleased to have struck a chord in the usually so tranquil woman. He wondered what else he could say to provoke her, but he had no time to act on any of his sinister ploys as she promptly continued with her nagging.

"For Heaven's sake! I have already told you that is not possible, yet you keep asking!" she shouted, her face growing red. "Someone needs to be here every day. No more discussion."

Wanting nothing more than to bury himself into his armchair and disappear forever, Erik stayed silent, hoping that it would happen naturally. If he stayed still long enough, would he cease to exist in the mortal plane? It would be better than listening to–God above, the woman was still spouting nonsense!

Fuck off.

"You will starve, Erik! You will drink yourself to death and I will not have that burden on my soul."

Erik scoffed. "Your soul."

What of his life? Was it not of enough value to be mourned if he was found dead? Would it only be her soul that was affected by the tragic death? It wasn't a surprise that she had thought of such a thing though, as he wouldn't expect anyone to consider him, not even for a second. Hearing it aloud though, falling from her lips, was ruinous. Not that he cared if he lived or died or if anyone even attended his funeral…he was just expecting that out of everyone in the blasted city, Antoinette would have at least kept it to herself. Why was she even still there? After all the years of complete turmoil she had suffered at his hand, all the years of pitying a walking corpse…when was she going to finally give up?

"Just leave," Erik groaned, submitting to another glass of liquor. "Let me die and relinquish yourself of a burden."

"Don't be like this. You are always so brooding and very frankly, it has become tiring. I am only trying to help you," Antoinette said with a frustrated tinge to her voice.

Erik's eyes flickered towards her for a moment before he turned his gaze to the flames within the hearth. God, she was right. How dare he be so averse to having such loving folks around him?

Sighing, he muttered, "My apologies. Perhaps I was too harsh."

"So you are apologizing for your behavior then?"

With a devilish smile, which he was certain she could not see, he said, "It was cruel of me to even think of damning your soul."

If he was a thin piece of parchment, the blazing glare on his back would have set him aflame. It would have been quite the way to die, he thought, twirling his empty glass in his fingertips before setting it on the floor beside his chair. Silence fell over them and for nearly a whole minute, Erik deliberated on what he could say to get her to truly leave him be for at least the rest of the evening. There was work to be done, music to be written and churches to be sketched. Perhaps if he was plain with her, she would understand, so he took the chance.

"I will be in my music room, please inform the applicants that I am no longer in need of a maid, now or ever," he ordered, taking the bottle to his lips and tilting his head back.

Antoinette leapt up and before he could shield himself, she snatched the bottle out of his hands. Not a drop had touched his tongue and he was furious! She could have at least had the courtesy to allow him a single taste!

"Damned woman! Give it back!" he bellowed, unsteadily rising from his chair to tower over her.

"No. You have frightened away enough women with your drunken mischief," she said, not showing any fear towards his stature. Instead, she closed the bottle and tucked it under her arm and stared directly into his eyes with an intensity that made him stumble backwards slightly. "You will get it back after the interviews are concluded and you will not pull any of your pranks. Am I understood?"

Squeezing his eyes shut, Erik collapsed back into the chair, exhausted from standing for just a few moments. She was being completely unreasonable, but he knew that she wasn't bluffing and he would not have that bottle in his hands if he did not listen to her. If it wasn't his last bottle, then he would have simply snagged another from his study, but Khan had only brought two for the week. Not the usual five or six. And he needed it, how else was he supposed to survive?

Reluctantly, he agreed. "I will attend and not be a nuisance, but I make no guarantees that I will select one of them."

"Thank you," Antoinette said with a sense of pride in her features. "I will bring them to your study, as per usual."

Erik said nothing, only nodded and waved her away. As soon as she was gone, he plucked the glass from beside his chair and tilted it into his mouth, hoping for a single drop, and sighed when nothing hit his tongue. That shit had better be damn worth the pain he was about to endure.

Standing, he straightened his attire, though unnecessarily as he would not be seen in any form, and moved towards a bookshelf. He popped a hidden door open with a simple light press against the wood and slipped into the walls, making his way to his study and mentally preparing himself for the worst torture he would know.