A/N: I'm back, my beautiful lurkers and readers! Finals week is upon me, but it won't stop me from my very much needed writing time! If you have a moment, please leave a review – they make my entire week! Trigger Warning: this chapter contains elements of suicide, rape, and drug abuse, so please read at your own discretion.

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Close Your Eyes

"I can't," he breathed as she lay atop him, his chest still heaving with the intensity of his orgasm. "We can't."

Christine paused, and a silence stretched over the two, aside from the ragged breathing that had followed their lovemaking. "What are you talking about?" She asked carefully, her heart sinking just as fast as it had risen; she had kissed the tip of the universe with her breasts, with every moan that had escaped her mouth. "Erik…"

He shook his head, his mouth forming into a twisted line. "I can't do this," he said hoarsely, throwing his head back violently into the pillow. "I can't….I can't lose you. Not to him, not to anyone else…I just can't. I…I…" Tears began to form behind his eyelids, and he challenged them by digging the side of his teeth into the inner line of his stitches. Don't you dare fucking cry. Don't you dare.

Christine slowly rolled off of him and sat on the edge of the bed, her back to him as she held back an onslaught of disappointment and tears.

"You won't lose me. You'll never lose me, I'll always be here, no matter what…together Erik, we can do this together – "

You'll tell her how you truly feel, just like you did with Gianna, now won't you? You'll bare a little piece of your living soul, and she'll give you one in return…but you'll ruin it. Everything you touch dies. Everything you kiss becomes sin. Blood and sin.

"I need…I need a moment. My head is spinning. It's the morphine. But I…I wish we hadn't done it this way. You should be…you should be with someone better. Someone who doesn't have…fits…Someone who can protect you…someone…"

"I can't believe this!" Christine cried, shooting up from where she sat on the side of the bed. "Erik, you can't run from everything. Not your father, not Bruce…and certainly not me! I won't let you." She began to pace around the bed while wringing her hands behind her back. She couldn't do this without him. She couldn't lose him, not now, not ever!

"Please…don't talk about my father. This has nothing to do with him," Erik moaned, shielding his eyes with a scarred hand. "I wanted to wait…I didn't want to treat you like…like some whore. The way I feel about you, it…it's intense, and I've never…I…I just can't. I don't know how," he said, his voice falling into a whisper. "I think I may…I may…well…"

"Love me? Can't you even say it?" Christine collapsed against the end of the bed, tears falling from her eyes like tiny shards of glass. She began to sob wretchedly, knowing she had been the one to climb atop him, she had been the one to administer the morphine…

Had he not wanted this?

Erik slowly propped himself against the pillows, gripping the sheets on both sides of him to steady himself. "You just escaped from hell, with a demon nipping at your ankles. And now you want me to what – profess my undying love? You were with him only a handful of hours ago…and you're still his wife! His…his legal property!"

"Property? I'm his property?!" She gasped, shaking her head slowly. "You think I wanted to return to him every night? You think I liked what he did to me? I felt trapped, just as you probably did…" she stopped herself as Erik's expression hardened, his eyes glittering dangerously.

"You…know nothing of what happened to me. I suppose it's about time you started listening to rumors, isn't it? It's long overdue, Christine…Why, I'm sure you had a magnificent time gossiping about the scared little boy that has a swastika scar on his chest. How romantic!" He snapped, his eyes blurring with the methodical fingers of morphine running through his veins. "So you want me to say it, then? That I love you? Fine. I fucking love you. There, are you happy now? Are you happy you got the scarred up outcast to finally admit he's actually human, not some creature born from the darkness of a German prison?"

Christine stood up, whirling to face him, her face reddened and splotchy from her sobbing. "You're so bitter," she spat, rounding on him, encircling the spot where he lay like a vulture. "You think I did this on purpose? That I took advantage of you?"

"You want me to admit my love for you when you probably fucked your abusive imbecile of a husband a mere 24 hours ago?" He said, his teeth gritted together. "Do you honestly think you can manipulate me…oh, of course you do! I can see the pity in your eyes."

"You're a hateful man," she cried, drawing a hand back as if to slap him.

"Go on, hit me, Christine…hit a man who's just had a concussion. And while you're at it, maybe climb on top of me again and suck my cock?" Christine moved forward without thinking, the poison of his words planting miserable weeds in the depths of her heart. She smacked him as hard as she could across his mouth, her palm stinging from the sharpness of the stitches. Erik closed his eyes, leaning his head back into the pillow as he began to laugh. "Mmm. I can feel how much you love me, darling. Do it again."

Christine's hand dropped limply to her side as she backed away from him, angry and terrified at the swiftness of violence and malevolence that had come over him.

"I'm going back to the party," she muttered tearfully, pulling her trousers and blouse back on as quick as she could. How sad it made her to pick them up from the rumpled piles they had been thrown into within her urgency to be naked, for him. It had all been for him. And now he lashed out at her, now he spit venom for her to undoubtedly swallow. She felt as though she'd been hit by a train, and her heart was pounding out of control. She couldn't be around him another moment, for the shame of her urgency to both fuck him and hit him collided within her, nearly knocking the breath from her chest.

"Yes, go back to Bruce's little party. Gossip about how you rode my cock while I was concussed. Make sure to describe how you screamed out my name when I came inside you," Erik sneered, his lip curling with bile that was beginning to rise in his throat.

Christine did not look at him, but once fully dressed she marched across the room to the double doors, slamming them both shut behind her. As soon as she had left the room, he began to cry softly, smothering his face into the pillow. Nausea pushed at the back of his throat, and he swallowed it, pushing it down like he did with everything until it was too late. His heart shrieked against his own throbbing head, begging him to get up from the bed, to stumble across the room and find her, somewhere in Bruce's living room. His mouth still stung with the punishment of her hand – how could he explain it to her? That she'd done something the Blue-Eyed German had done – coercing him, pleading with him, begging him to succumb? The feeling of shame within his heart was almost too great to bear. His mouth had acted out what he wished he could have said to the German – perhaps those words had always existed inside of him, and had spilled out accidently, soiling her perfect skin, her flawless soul…

"Fuck," he breathed, wiping the tears from his face with the back of his hand. Pathetic, Erik. You're fucking pathetic.

He wanted to tell her, not only that he was in love with her, but that he had been made to do something terrible. It was worse than the scarring, worse than the torture…it fucked with his own humanity, being forced into something. He hadn't wanted to fuck the German. But he could still see those blue eyes, burning a hole in his scarred up, corpse-like face. All of the wounds had been fresh, back then, with dried blood scabbing up around the slice in the side of his mouth. Erik felt another rush, another surge of the morphine inside of him, and the scene seemed to grow behind his closed lids; the darkness of the cell, the poems that he etched onto the walls about freedom. But had he ever been free? His mother had left him bitter and broken, and the farm house had become a place of demons that crawled within the walls. He was the only one to begin having nightmares at a young age, and he remembered what it was like to wake up in the midst of the night, a scream raw in his throat. Bruce would run to his bedside to comfort him, but how could he even tell Bruce that he did not see him – instead, he saw the sallow, dead eyes of his mother, her bloated mouth, her eyes pushing themselves out of their sockets?

He had watched her do it, though he hadn't understood, at the time, where she was going. She waded into the river near the forest in her nightgown, turning to look back at him only once.

I love you, little prince. Never forget how much I love you. Now close your eyes, and turn away. Mother must do something very important. Mother must leave.

"Why?" he whispered aloud, another storm of tears rushing to the edges of his eyes. "Why did you have to go? Why didn't you teach me how to swim…I could have saved you, if you let me…" Instead, he had waded in after as far as he could go, but she managed to go further than he. Close your eyes, little prince…please, for me.

Erik remembered how quickly they had left, after she was gone. His father boarded up the windows to the grand farm house, quickly selling the animals and the memories that he and his brother had experienced together. Bruce seemed so innocent, back then, knowing nothing of death – he had never seen it as Erik had – he had never felt the burden of such a curse.

"Christine…" he whispered softly, as if she was still on top of him, breathing into him, giving him new life inside of his scarred up lungs. "I'm so angry. I'm angry that she killed herself, and she let me watch. She loved me, and told me to close my eyes…and ever since then, I've hated the water. I've hated beaches, and sand, and salty wind in my hair…because that's where she died. And I couldn't swim. I couldn't save her."

The gauzy white curtains billowed inside the room, causing a swirl of cold air to touch his face from the open balcony. "I can't leave her like this," he murmured, blinking his eyes rapidly to clear up reddened tears. "I can't let her go into the water without me."

He forced himself to sit up, ripping the bandage from the side of his head and tossing it to the floor. He did not bother with his mask, figuring the caked blood on his forehead might do well as a replacement. He walked across the expanse of the room, buttoning up his shirt, eyeing himself in the mirror before he made his way to the door. A hollow, bleeding man stared back at him, his hazel eyes empty, his mouth quivering as if he might cry again.

"Just say it," he breathed to himself, smoothing his trousers with shaking hands. "I love you, and I'm sorry. I love you, Christine…forgive me…please forgive me…" His head still swam with waves of morphine, and suddenly he knew what would make everything better; a couple of untidy, haphazard lines of cocaine. Erik wandered into the connecting bathroom, tearing the mirror above the sink open. He leafed through Bruce's medications, his hands finally closing around a small golden case.

"There you are, my friend," he chuckled to himself, dumping the contents of the container onto the countertop. He used his forefinger to draw out three, messy lines, and after steadying his breathing he bent down, snorting them all as fast as he could. His dizziness immediately began to clear up, and his thoughts were firm and made of thunder – a controlled storm of his own making. He pushed the mirror shut and stared at himself; God, he was so ugly. Ugly and covered in blood. Is this who she wanted to love? To give herself to? This disgusting creature with slashed up skin, with plagues of the heart that went beyond her love, her understanding?
"I love you," he murmured, staring into his own eyes. "I love you…please, please, forgive me. Touch me again with your hands that heal. I'll never lose my temper again, I'll never betray you with words that scald and burn. Christine…I love you. Please…"

Erik took a deep breath as he gripped the sides of the sink, steadying himself and his breathing. No closing of the eyes against this, no pretending like it didn't happen; as if he did not love her. His fear of losing her was now overcome with the fierce need to simply be in her presence, even if she ignored him, refused to speak to him. He just needed to be near her…and love her.

"Bruce is going to kill me," he muttered to himself, stalking out of the bathroom and across the carpet of the bedroom. "Hopefully no one screams at the sight of me…"

To Erik's dismay, the party was still in full swing; in fact, it had seemed to grow even larger during the time he and Christine had left for the balcony. He made his way through the crowded hallway, ignoring the gasps at his less than suitable exterior. The air was hazy with cigarette smoke, and his eyes danced through the fog, desperate to find her, to settle his eyes upon her. He finally pushed himself through a gathering of women – as gently as he could – and arrived at the edge of the living room. She sat across the room, perched on a sofa, her bloodshot eyes immediately upon him. His heart sank at her demeanor – had he damaged her beyond repair? Erik shook his head slightly, the cocaine spurring him onward to finish the mission he had practiced in the mirror.

I love you. I love you. I love you…

Everything seemed to slow down as he walked toward her; the women that scoffed, the men that chuckled, the drinks that clinked with fresh ice…everything. It was like wading through a swamp knee deep, or a river he splashed into as a child, wanting, needing to follow his mother. But this time he would bury his head under the surface. This time he would not close his eyes against the detriment he had caused her.

Erik ignored all the women surrounding Christine that seemed to have been comforting her melancholy mood. He dropped to his knees in front of her, not daring to yet touch her, but needing to humble himself before her, in front of all these godforsaken people. He bowed his head low, brushing her knees with his wild black curls, hoping the blood from his wound would not stain her trousers, her perfect pale skin. He looked up at her then, allowing his jaw to relax – giving her a full view of his equally puffy eyes – she must see that he had cried, she must know that her slap still stung his bitter lips. She looked down at him, her eyes softening as she lifted a hand, settling it upon the upper part of his neck, near his hairline.

"Forgive me," he choked out, his soul slithering with guilt as he drew in her sadness. "Please forgive me, I…I'm in love with you. I have been ever since I saw you, through the moonlit window in my ceiling." The women surrounding Christine fell silent, as if to await the anticipation of her response. "My temper, it's…it's a foul thing. Something bad deep down inside of me. I want to confront it, I…I want to be different, for you. I want to be the man that I imagine in my mind, someone that can give you everything you need. All that you desire," he added, his eyes beseeching hers, drawing her closer to him. She curled her fingers around the back of his neck, her lips brushing his own as he breathed in her scent; it was sweet with liquor and floral perfume, mixed with a tiny droplet of sweat from their lovemaking earlier.

"Forgive me, as well," she murmured, all anger flowing out of her the moment he had bent his head against her knees. "I never wanted to…to take advantage of you. I've just wanted this…wanted you for so long. And now I have you, and I…I want to show you how much I love you. I want you to feel how much I care."

"Yes," he responded, nodding his head slowly. "I know. I see it…it's there, in the deep of your eyes. It's difficult for me to…to express certain emotions…emotions I've never felt before you. It's easier to be angry, or fucked up to the point where I don't care," he swallowed nervously. "And I…I can't lose you. I think I might die…if…if you ever left me."

She lifted her chin, rubbing her nose against his. "You'll never lose me, dear Erik. We need each other. And I…I am in love with you. So very in love with you." She kissed him then, slowly opening his mouth with her lips, exploring him. The women swooned around them, some beginning to clap, while others smiled to themselves. Erik reached his arms around her bottom, lifting her into the air as they continued their ardent kissing. She wrapped her legs around him, her arms hanging from his neck as he carried her away from the crowds and through the haze of the smoke, back to the bedroom. From across the room Bruce watched the two, grinning from ear to ear.

"I suppose I'll just sleep in the spare room," he called out jokingly, and women responded to him with laughter, lifting their drinks high into the air. "To love," an older woman announced, taking a long drag on her cigarette. "To a love that cannot be broken."

Erik carried her all the way to the room, his heart fluttering wildly – a tiny bird set free of its cage. He sat down on the edge of the bed, her legs still wrapped around his waist.

"Do you truly forgive me," he asked, "or did you simply have pity against the crowds of women surrounding you?" His lips curved on the verge of a smile, and Christine laughed, kissing him firmly on the side of his neck, right below his ear.

"Hold me," she breathed, and he lay down with her, pulling her body against his. "Hold me all night, Erik, until the morning. Then tell me you love me all over again."

"Mmm, I will, I will…sweet little dove," Erik responded, breathing in the scent of her, allowing himself to dream of the southern house – although probably still boarded up – yet in his head it was like before. He wondered if he could get the deed from his father…if he asked properly, that maybe he could bring her out of the grime of Manhattan and into the country. Maybe he could love her there, and she might mother his children, free from the bridle of dance, free from the fear of ever running into her terror of a husband. Perhaps there, he could watch her from the kitchen window, tending to the garden, while magnolia plants bounded upward toward the sky. Erik felt her fall asleep against him, and he kissed her on the head, closing his eyes against her soft hair, waiting for the cocaine to clear out of his system. But being awake was all right – perfect, in fact. Because he could hold her as she slept, as she breathed, and love her, just simply marvel and love her…the whole night through.

A/N: Okay, I know this entire chapter was a roller coaster. Let me know your thoughts! And as always, thank you so very much for reading. Love, L.