A/N: TGIF MY DARLINGS! I am back with another weekly update. There is a ton that happens in this chapter, and it's a rather long one, so prepare yourself for a tumultuous ride. Also, drop a comment if you're enjoying my story! Comments from you guys are so very precious to me.

Enjoy…

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Dying in the Rain

After practicing the song of Rhea's choosing by the pool for at least twenty minutes, Christine began to urge them to go back inside and perform it…Although truthfully, she needed to get this little "concert" over with so she could spend more time memorizing Erik's behavior in the presence of his mother. And even though a small bit of time had passed, Christine could not burn the images of him and those women from her mind; as far as she was concerned, this was merely a droplet, a glimpse into the sexual world of his that seemed to tread on the line of danger. He was a precarious man, with sufficient sexual carnage and a tortured, sadistic nature…

Christine came back to life as Rhea finished the song, her mind running through the images of Micah that she'd seen. Close-up shots of white, pedicured toes. A perfectly shaved pussy. Her arms bound behind her head. Her platinum blonde hair gathered in one of his thickly veined hands…

"Christine? Hello? Are you even listening?" Rhea asked crossly, pulling at Christine's arm that had fallen limp. Christine plastered a smile on her face, closing her eyes, attempting to concentrate on her high and not the images she'd seen on his phone. None of the other women really bothered her, and she loathed to admit it, but Micah was the only one she was concerned about. Her birthday was the passcode to his phone, and her pictures had been the most recent, along with her conversation with Erik, asking for his address, and begging him when he refused to answer her…

Fuck. And apparently he loved her…

"Sorry Rhea, just thinking about the song," Christine lied, turning away from Rhea so she couldn't see the doubt forming in the blue of her eyes. "Let's run it again, and then I think we're ready to go – er – perform…"

"Erik will most definitely like it. The darker and sadder it is, the more he'll appreciate it," Rhea explained hastily, pulling a hair-tie from her pocket and whipping her curls into a messy bun. "Mama usually loves anything that I sing…she says I have the voice of an angel. But I know she favors Erik's voice over mine! I mean, he is better than me…" she mumbled, tracing the pavement with one of her painted toes.

"Well, you get to take the lead, and make sure you relax before the second chorus belt; your voice is more powerful than you think," Christine assured her, nodding for her to start the song over again. Rhea closed her eyes and began, while Christine's mind floated off to the hopeless melody of two lovers drawn apart by war…

Love. Why did it matter to her so much? She was always able to repeat it back to Gage, whenever he said it. And she'd thought that he meant it, but his actions always seemed to fight against such a theory. He didn't make her feel safe, like Erik did. But why – she just could not understand why – this man had such an effect upon her? He probably was still in love with his flawless, manipulative ex-girlfriend…

So why am I elated at the thought of taking her place?

The more Christine thought about the pictures of Micah and the text messages, the sicker she felt about her feelings toward Erik. He hadn't technically gone back on his "deal"…and he had not contacted Micah since she'd come into the picture; well, since she had fallen face first into his rosebush. She pushed away the feeling that she had done something very, very wrong – again – to a man who'd kept his promise…

Rhea nodded as she finished the first verse, and Christine began to sing. Thankfully it was a rather melancholy song, so she poured out the questions stirring within her heart as she sang. Two women in love with the same man, fought for him, in each separate verse.

Two women…her, and me.

Christine braced herself for her own belt – a personal choice, but a good one, at that – and she broke free of her cyclical thoughts, her voice tearing through the quiet air. She had no choice but to close her eyes against the power that surged from every vein, every river of blood inside of her that screamed out his name.

And what should I do with this pain in my heart?

It burns and twists like an iron from a flame

How much more can one woman take?

When I know it's her you're loving,

Her, that you bleed for

While I stand here, dying

In the rain…

The note quivered, and she brought it down to a husky whisper, ending her verse on a frenzied premise; shall I kill her so she cannot have what is mine?

When she opened her eyes, she saw that Rhea had been recording her on her phone, with wide eyes and an open mouth. Christine smiled, curtsying slightly – God, she hadn't curtsied in years! She waved her hand at Rhea before covering her face with both hands. "Oh God, please don't post that."

"Why not? I get the chance to hear you sing musical theatre for once, and you expect me not to record it? That was…so freaking beautiful, Christine! And besides…you owe me!" Rhea clicked her phone screen off, smiling from ear to ear as she slid it into her pocket.

Christine sighed, not able to fight back against Rhea's logic. Yet the residual release of uncontrolled anger within the song had only saddened her further; she needed her wings to cleanse themselves of the tarry, swirling sin that infected each feather, as lies would not stop pouring from the sides of her mouth. If she was going to face Erik with the truth, she would need a few jagged white lines to run themselves through her bloodstream. This was her only power, her only chance to admit that she'd been wrong. That violating him only made her feel dirtier, as if she'd been buried alive, and there was no air in existence for her to breathe. The aching desire to admit her wrongdoing to him was growing painful; a thorn in her side without the head of a rose, the puncture of flesh that symbolized the check-mate of death on a cross.

Should she humble herself before him?

Would her malnourished, seething, and bitter heart even allow it?

"Come on, Erik is hopefully at least tipsy after that mess I left for him. He should enjoy the song. If not, at least Mama will…"

Christine stopped dead in her tracks, remembering the casual way she had thrown out such a destructive idea to Rhea.

"What sort of mess did you leave for him?"

"I tipped over this old white vase he had sitting on top of a few boxes. Don't worry about it, Christine, he'll hardly miss it! It was an old thing anyway. And he's got plenty of money for something new, hell, something prettier than that ancient relic…"

Christine swallowed nervously. She fingered the baggie in her pocket, and realized she was dangerously close to running out of coke. Would Erik have more hidden inside of his medicine cabinet? Although she'd have to find a way to ask him while his mother was still there…

She followed Rhea, who flounced across the pavement and through the double doors with sheer excitement. Christine's heart felt as if it were close to leaping out of her chest as she pulled on one of the heavy doors, slipping back into the kitchen where the air was cool, a nice change from the dry heat of the outdoors.

She walked past the marbled island in the kitchen, scanning the living room for Erik, just as a hand snatched her by the bicep, pulling her from the edge of the kitchen and into a separate hallway. She whirled around, frightened by the grip that continued to tighten, looking up into the face of Erik that was half shadowed by his black mask. Fury rimmed the bloodshot whites of his eyes, and his mouth was agape; an animalistic snarl. She could not move while he dug his fingernails deeper into her arm, and she could almost feel their prickle through the loose fabric of the sweatshirt he'd given to her.

"You thought that Rhea could outsmart me? That her 'distraction' wasn't painfully obvious to what she was about to do? On your orders, Christine. Yours alone. Because she knows better. You should as well," he growled, his voice a raspy, darkened whisper. "Did you like them; all the pictures that I take? Did you like seeing my cock in another woman? My hands around her neck, choking her? My riding crop making her back bleed? Hm? Did you find what you wanted, you filthy little liar?"

"Get off of me! Erik, let me go! Please!" Christine whimpered, her voice now a shadow of her former, more powerful self that had existed mere moments ago while she sang. She tried to shake him off, but his grip only grew heavier, like hot iron pressed into her flesh. If he squeezed any harder she knew she would have bruises in the shape of his fingers…a horrible reminder of the would-be relationship that she'd single-handedly ruined.

"Did you think you would find something else? Maybe my unmasked face? You want to know if I showed them, don't you? You want to know if they were humiliated in the presence of some fucked up, half human?" Erik pushed her up against a wall, his leg opening her thighs with ease, while pinning her helplessly against the unfurnished wall. "It was my idea, I made Rhea do it. I wanted to see if you were telling the truth! I wanted to see how many of them you had," she cried softly, hoping to God that Rhea was keeping Anastasia busy. "I never even thought about the mask, or what was beneath it…it was the women, I swear! Just the women…" She was close to sobbing, now. Christine tried to hold on to the bits of herself that were still high, but her wings were wilting and waning fast, and there was absolutely no way she could ask him for more coke, now…

Because he wanted to be done with her. A couple of stray tears fell from her eyes as she closed them.

"Quiet." His breathing was labored, and she could feel the heat from his skin through her clothes; she could feel his ferocity burning through her closed lids. She could not open her eyes and look at him. Not when this would be her last memory of him…

"If my mother wasn't here, I'd throw you out myself."

She bit the inside of her mouth, while misery and unrequited love stirred within her chest. She opened her eyes and fell headfirst into his gaze; the golden hue almost seemed black with wrath, with feral hatred, and his teeth were bared as if he meant to bite her, to show her what a monstrous beast he was. And she couldn't take it…not a minute longer.

It had happened with the intention of love. And yes, she had done it behind his back; but looking for pictures of him, unmasked? The idea had never even run across her mind.

Christine kicked him in the side of his thigh, struggling to get out of the hold he had her in, pinned up against the wall.

"Let me fucking go! Throw me out, if you want! Throw me out and never fucking see my face again! Do it, you fucking coward!" She was sobbing and yelling, and she no longer cared who overheard. Erik seemed slightly taken back by her struggling.

"You've always known how to make an entrance, your majesty. And now, you wish to make a witty, fucked up exit? Eyes are always on you, aren't they? You ask for trust and then you shatter it before I can even come to terms with…" Erik stopped. Christine writhed in his grasp, landing another kick to the inside of his thigh. "Let…me…fucking…go! You monster!"

"Monster," he repeated, his voice wavering as he shook her, and her blood ran cold at the sight. Her insides were wailing against the little space between them; the air that seemed to lessen, to constrict her throat and make her feel as if she couldn't breathe…

"At least…I found out…you're still…fucking…in love," Christine panted, fighting against him with every ounce of strength she had left. She couldn't stand the feeling of having no way out, and her claustrophobia began to make her feel weak, as if she were close to fainting…

Suddenly, Erik released her, and she crumbled to the ground, gasping for breath. "Love?" he repeated softly, shaking his head as she crawled away from him on all fours. "You thought it was about love? You think I love her?"

Christine slowly pulled herself up, folding her arms across her chest for protection. Her lips quivered as she looked upon him; his darkness was melting, and he looked rather unsure of himself. Not the blackened, hellish sadist that had pinned her to the wall like a dead butterfly.

"You're sick, Erik. You're sick in the fucking head. I don't want you near me. Not ever!" Tears began to gather at the corners of her eyes, and she desperately wished she could get high to get some emotional control back inside of her mind and heart. But there were no drugs; just a bland, white hallway, and Erik, who now seemed ashamed of himself.

"Christine…" he began, taking a few steps toward her, and she pressed herself into the wall, shaking her head at him. "Don't come near me."

He hung his head slightly, folding his arms across his chest. "Okay. I won't." But he made no motion to leave her. Christine steadied herself, breathing as deeply as she could to stop the room from spinning. "You're just as shitty as Gage."

She immediately regretted saying the words as soon as she'd spit them at him like venom. Erik stood staring at the ground, then whirled around and punched the wall, leaving a crushed hole in the whitewashed paint. Christine watched as his hand fell down to his side, his knuckle bloody, leaving traces of red on the wall as he knelt down into the carpet.

"I'm not. I'm not at all like him. Don't you ever compare me to that fucking low-life."

Christine sank to her knees, catching her breath as she stared at him.

"Then what are you, Erik? Who are you?" She realized he still wasn't moving to get away from her – to give her what she'd asked for. "Who do you want to be? This?" She gestured at the wall, noticing he watched her through a couple fingers that were covering his eyes.

"You cannot possibly pin all of this on me, Christine. You looked through my phone. Conned my little sister to get into it for you. And for what? I spoke to you and told you I'd try. What did you expect, me to immediately go into my phone and delete every last picture of every woman I've fucked around with? Is that what you thought would happen?" Erik snapped, yanking his hand away from his eyes to glare at her. "And you…you come here, bleed in my pool, trespass on my property, all while lying to your boyfriend about where you are. Did you ever stop to think it might be hard for me to trust you? No, of course not. You're a selfish, hollow woman. You only think of yourself."

Christine took another deep breath, crawling toward him, inch by inch on the pale, plush carpeting. "I never…I…I never thought that you'd…you'd…" she stammered.

"Never thought that what? That I might have trust issues, as well? That every single thing you've done since you've met me has included lying to other people?"

It was her turn to feel ashamed. It washed over her like a bone white hand stroking a finger down her spine, leaving everything dead and frost-bitten in its wake.

"I haven't lied to you, Erik."

"Oh, but you've rummaged around in my things, and violated my privacy twice. Twice, Christine. It's barely been two days."

"I…I saw your conversation, your pictures of Micah. And before I even looked, Rhea told me you'd been in love with her. And I thought…maybe you still are."

He raised his chin at her defiantly, brushing a few stray curls that had come loose from his tight bun. "I'm not in love with her."

"But…you seemed to be…"

"I said I'm not in love with her!" he snarled, slamming his misshapen, bruised knuckles into the carpet.

"Okay…I…I believe you. And I'm sorry. You're right. I take advantage of everyone around me. Including Rhea, to get your phone…I should have just asked you…"

Erik stayed silent, inspecting his swollen hand. Christine took another deep breath to steady herself.

"I saw what she said about your face. I'm…I'm sorry…"

"No. Don't be," he muttered, his fingers ensuring the leather mask was still in place.

"It was a horrible thing to say. To anybody," she whispered, scooting a bit closer to him. He stared incredulously at her. "I trusted someone that should not have been trusted."

Christine sighed deeply. "I know I started this whole thing. I…I shouldn't have looked. But I needed to know if…if…" she stabbed the inside of her wrist with her forefinger. "If you had feelings for any of them. Especially Micah, once Rhea had told me…" Her wings were dying slowly, and she wondered if he could see them wither away, just like her resolve, her need to get away from him, to leave here, forever…

But she could not tear herself away from him. Not even while they sat together in a pile of his own broken-hearted violence. She sucked in a breath, fingering the near-empty baggie in her pocket. "Can we…can we just go in the bathroom and…and…"

Erik's eyebrow shot up. "And what?"

"Erik, I really need…I really need more coke. You have some, right? In your medicine cabinet…?"

Erik sighed, staring down at his bleeding knuckles. "I suppose a trip to the bathroom might be…beneficial." He slowly stood up from the carpet, offering Christine his other, unsullied hand. She looked up at him, staring at those golden rings that reflected her very own heart; a mirror.

She paused, stepping closer to him, laying a hand on his chest. "Are you calmer, now? Your hand looks broken." He sucked in a sharp breath and leaned into her touch, right before pulling away, but still kept a firm hold of her hand. "Yes. And…and…I do apologize, for, er – "

"I suppose it's all right, now…although we might have some explaining to do…" Christine gathered, allowing him to lead her to the end of the hall, into another enormous, blue-tiled bathroom. But it was not the same one that connected to his bedroom…

"My…my mother…fuck, Christine." Erik leaned against the turquoise tiles, undoing his unkempt hair and pulling it into another tight bun. "Fuck. I'm surprised she didn't call the police on me…"

"Maybe she did," Christine let out a small laugh as she listened to him worrying out loud, while digging through the mirrored cabinet. Her hands fell upon a full, tight baggie filled with snow white powder, and her mouth grew wide; a feral smile.

"I found it," she breathed, shoving her nose into the bag and snorting. Erik rolled his eyes at her. "Jesus, at least pull some lines from it."

"Ahhh….fuck," She breathed, throwing her head back to stare at the ceiling. It was exactly what she needed, this precious, beautiful, inflation of both wings. They began to rise slowly from the wilted ruins between her shoulder blades; first a dark grey, and then, an angelic white. Just like the walls where he had shoved himself into her, his thigh clamped between her legs…Where she had kicked him twice, and screamed…

"Lay some lines. Quickly. I need to go explain to my mother why I've broken my hand," Erik mumbled, while Christine turned around, bandages in hand, and began to wrap up his knuckles, bit by bit.

"They'll probably keep bleeding, so we should double up on the wrap. Then I can clean them later for you…if you want, of course…"

Erik swallowed. "Your touch is very…soft, very tender and kind. I would enjoy that, although I can probably do a better job myself…"

Christine chuckled. "Whatever you prefer, your majesty."

"Hmph," he answered. "It just slipped out, all right? Meant it to be an insult, anyway…"

"Here," Christine stepped back from the sink, showing Erik the jagged lines she'd made with her fingers. "I didn't have a credit card or anything to do it with, so…yeah. That's what they're gonna look like."

"Mmm. Well thank you for trying." Erik leaned forward, pressing his nose against a line on the marbled countertop. He snorted three consecutive lines, leaning his head back to mimic Christine's. "Should I have someone paint the ceiling? Some sort of mural, perhaps? So that every time we get high, we have something pleasant to look at?" He asked solemnly, and she let out a bout of laughter, her chest heaving with a breathless devotion to his change in behavior – to the fury that had somehow melted away.

Every time we get high.

He and I…

But something shattered the quiet moment they were sharing, together, in the bathroom. A knock on the bathroom door – not even quite a knock, but the pounding of a fist.

"Erik! You need to get the fuck out here, right now! Mama called the cops, and they're at the door!" Rhea's muffled voice was infused with worry, and she continued to pound on the door while Erik put his head in his hands.

"Fuck," he breathed, bending over to snort another line before he looked at himself in the mirror. "Am I decent?" He asked Christine hastily, and she nodded, running a finger dipped in coke along her gum-line.

"You look…dashing, for the police, of course," she giggled, while Erik's lips curved into a small smirk. "Looks like you might get another Frank Sinatra mug-shot," Christine added, while Erik made his way out of the bathroom, opening the door to a red-faced Rhea.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Erik, what the hell is wrong with you?" Rhea shouted, motioning to the coke laid out near the bathroom sink. "We're about to have cops up in here! Mama is sitting outside in the car! She heard you, well, both of you, fighting!"

There was an intense pounding on the front doors, along with an incessant ringing of the doorbell. Leia was barking and running in circles, and Erik turned back toward Christine before leaving the bathroom. "Clean it up, please, and hide it. Hide it well." Christine nodded, trying to hold back a large grin. "Don't choke any of them," she warned, as Rhea scoffed, her hands on her hips, at Christine.

"Mr. Duquesne, open up!" One of the cops called out, and Erik stood by the front door, exasperated, his hands on his head. Christine pulled Rhea inside of the bathroom and locked the door, taking her firmly by the arms and plopping her down on the closed toilet seat.

"This is insane, Christine…don't let him treat you like this! I swear, every time he gets close to a girl, he scares them off with his fucking temper!" Rhea huffed as she watched Christine snort another line. "Aren't you going to…clean that up?"

Christine laughed. "Nope. I doubt Erik will let them in…and besides, you've never done coke before, have you? Well how about doing it with your favorite superstar? Hmm? Come on, Rhea. It's time to grow your wings. If you wanna be famous, you're gonna need a lot of this."

Rhea sat still, seeming to be mentally weighing her options. They could hear distant murmurs of Erik talking calmly to the police. "They can't come in without a warrant," Christine assured her through a smile. "Go on, Rhea, just one line. Haven't you ever wondered what God looks like?"

"Well, I guess…" Rhea shrugged, her eyes darting back and forth.

"One hit of this, and you'll see his face. You'll see angels…and hell, you might even find yourself becoming one," she fluttered her enormous, pale wings behind her softly.

"Okay, I guess one might not hurt," Rhea said slowly, looking up at Christine for approval. She bent down to snort one line, just as Christine had, while they heard a loud crash from the other room, along with a vague mixture of shouting.

"Oh fuck," Christine wrung her hands, rushing to sweep the cocaine back into the baggie, just as Rhea titled her head against the wall, shivering with the taste of the bitter drip. "Christine," she breathed, her eyes shut against the all-consuming high…

"I think my brother just got arrested."

…

A/N: Don't kill me for the cliffhanger! LOL. Stay tuned for the next chapter which will be posted in a week. And please do leave a comment, short or long! Reading your thoughts always make my day, and sometimes, my entire month! And as always, thank you so very much for reading. Love, L.