Hello all. Sorry for being gone so long and not updating in a timely fashion. I was on vacation for a bit and then Easter at work was just hell. Plus, my motivation for this chapter took a nosedive, but I rallied and now I have a super long chapter that I had to split into two. The next will be posted shortly after beta is complete. As always, than you to my lovely beta, PhantomSith.
Being up at nine o'clock in the morning was far out of the norm for Erik on any day. He was used to spending evenings repairing instruments in the workshop or wandering LaGuardia like a phantom spirit, his music flowing through the darkened corridors and filling the practice hall long into the night.
This morning, however, he'd woken bright and early despite having gone to bed somewhat late after his…outing…with Christine. His body couldn't seem to lie still, his mind refusing to quiet.
Being with Christine and hearing her sing had stirred a cavernous well of emotion within him that Erik was certain had run dry after the accident had ripped everything away, his despair compounded further by his father's disappearance soon after. His mother's gradual dissolution from his life following her new marriage only added further insult to a terrible injury. For the first time in almost five years, the numbness that had dulled his mind and overtaken his body had begun to fade as the first sensations of renewed life permeated the hollowness in his soul.
It was for this reason that, for once, Erik found himself rising from bed of his own volition far earlier than he ever would have in the past. Some long-dormant sense of urgency had stirred him, the isolation he had used as a shroud of safety and security for years now feeling like an oppressive anchor weighing him down.
He was tired of sitting still and wasting away in his own misery. He was tired of letting guilt and self-hatred rule his life.
Christine's compassion and acceptance formed the first shallow cracks in Erik's protective walls, allowing soft tendrils of light to break through the shadows he had resigned himself to.
Her voice was more powerful than any drug his doctor could prescribe. When she sang, it was like all Erik had lost, returned ten-fold. His pain dissipated, and he was transported to another reality where he was whole once again.
Being in her presence imbued him with such an overwhelming feeling of rightness that words could not even begin to describe. She made him want to do more than merely exist. She made him want to be better. To live. Not just for her, but for himself.
She made him want…her.
That particular revelation forced Erik to come to terms with a very large dose of reality. He hadn't been taking care of himself very well the last few years. That much was obvious. The pain medication took the edge off but could knock him out for hours when it wore off. It dulled his appetite, leaving him too nauseated to eat anything more than small portions of what little he had in the cupboards.
He'd lost a considerable amount of weight and muscle tone since the accident, his subsequent rehabilitation having helped improve this only somewhat, and when he looked in the mirror, Erik no longer recognized the drawn, gaunt shell of the man he used to be.
Deciding to take a decent shower for once instead of his usual in-and-out routine, Erik relished the feeling of the hot water against his chilled skin. He sat under the spray, allowing the heat to seep into his bones and ease his aching muscles. After, he emerged revitalized and with more energy than he'd had in years. He thought twice about his wardrobe, shucking his usual hoodie and jacket combination for a fitted, black Henley shirt that buttoned from neck to chest, which he thought paired well with his dark-washed jeans.
He might not be comfortable in the outside world just yet, but he knew Christine was likely downstairs, and if he saw her today…well…what she thought mattered to him. He didn't want to hide himself away as he always had. Not from her.
He was going to have a light breakfast of toast and tea before heading down to the workshop, but when Erik saw the leftovers from the previous day's lunch sitting in the fridge, his stomach growled in anticipation. All at once, he was hit with the staggering realization that not only had he not taken any medication since yesterday afternoon, but the nerve pain in his stump had lessened considerably. The sharp, stinging pain that he had grown accustomed to had now tapered off into a muted throb that was more annoying than anything else.
And he was starving.
He attacked the leftovers with ravenous fervor, indulging in a cacophony of flavor that his medication often made difficult for him to stomach. The saltiness of the corned beef and the tang of the deli mustard exploded on his tongue making him even hungrier, so he made himself another sandwich with what meager ingredients he had lying around. Hunger sated, Erik cleaned up his mess and made to head downstairs.
As he approached the door to the workroom, he could feel himself becoming a mountain of nerves. The tension was emanating from him in waves, and his heart began to pound so hard beneath his chest that he could hear nothing but the blood rushing in his ears.
Was Christine there behind the door? If she was, what would he say? What would she do? Last night, they'd parted after an intense moment of honesty that left him feeling exposed and vulnerable to an unbearable degree. After what she'd revealed to him in the practice hall, he'd sensed the experience was much the same for her.
Erik was unsure where that left them, but his mind was clear now and finally free of the fog he'd been living in for far too long. What was undeniable to him was this: he would not change what happened for anything, and he was unwilling to go back to how things were…before.
Squaring his shoulders, Erik closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath through his nose, letting it out in slow increments as he gathered his courage. It was now or never.
Not wanting to waste any more time overthinking this, he reached for the knob and yanked the door open with a loud jerk. The noise was so jarring in the quiet of the room that it made him cringe in utter embarrassment, to say nothing of Annette, who was caught unaware of his presence as she was removing an instrument case from one of the shelves.
Her hand shot to her chest as an unladylike gasp sprung from her lips, though she made an admirable effort to suppress it. For as long as Erik had known her, very little had ever managed to break through Madame Giry's unflinching demeanor, her icy calm façade well-known and near indestructible.
A wave of disappointment washed over him, and his brow creased with an unexpected flicker of irritation when he realized Christine was not there as he assumed she'd be.
Swiftly shoving those uncomfortable emotions aside, Erik realigned his features to appear as neutral as possible. He was not going to allow Annette to read anything into his reactions and start asking questions he had no wish to answer.
Besides, catching her off-guard in this way was unheard of. Comprehension soon dawned on what he'd managed to achieve, and a devilish grin spread across his face as he took a moment to relish this hard-won victory with smug satisfaction.
Shaking her head in exasperation, she breathed out, "Erik." Annette's eyes narrowed, but he was unfazed by her reaction because he knew she was not at all used to seeing him so early, let alone so…casually dressed. Her gaze lingered on him as she gave him a slow once-over and murmured, "What brings you down here this morning? I'd be hard-pressed to see you out of your apartment before sundown, even for a supply run. You're not running behind on repairs, are you?"
Bristling at her implication, all good humor vanished from Erik's countenance as he brushed past her, invading the small space she was standing in as he reached around her for a flute case on an upper shelf.
Bringing it down with deliberate slowness, for a long moment and despite Erik's talk, lanky frame towering above her, the two seemed to be nose-to-nose in a tense battle of wills. Obstinate to the core, they both knew this was a fight neither of them stood a chance of winning. "You know me better than that," he bit out, his tone clipped and ice-cold.
Ambling over to the work table, Erik wrenched the stool out with a rough tug and plopped down onto it. Placing the case on the tabletop, he opened it and removed the flute, placing the instrument on a prepared work surface with great care.
He then went about rummaging through various drawers and bins for the supplies he would need for this particular job. He was so focused as he descended into his work, it was as if he'd forgotten she was even there, though this couldn't be further from the truth.
Erik was aware of everything that went on around him. He had always been that way since before they met when he was fourteen. He possessed a discerning personality, which lent to an intense dedication to his compositions. He could be a creature of extreme habit at times, which gave him an innate ability to sense when something was out of sorts. It was almost impossible to pull anything over on him, and he did not suffer fools at all.
He was being petulant on purpose, and they both knew it.
As he started pouring the cleaning solution into a shallow pan, Annette took a deep breath to mask her worry with a look of indifference, then sauntered over to sit beside him.
"I didn't mean to accuse you of anything, you know. I just wasn't expecting you to be down here at…" she trailed off to look at her watch, "…ten o'clock in the morning."
Without acknowledging her, Erik reached for a long Q-tip and began the task of removing dust particles and debris. After a few minutes of tense, uncomfortable silence during which he realized Annette had no intention of going anywhere, he grumbled, "I just want to get this damn flute out of the way. I'm tired of wasting my time week after week on this thing when I have other, more important projects that require my attention."
Out of the corner of his eye, Erik could see her brow raise in plaintive disbelief, and he knew without doubt that she wasn't buying what he was trying to sell. "Erik, I've never known you to view any instrument as small or insignificant. You told me once that every piece you've ever touched has brought you joy in some way, and that is why you treat them with such love and devotion."
Raising a careful hand to his masked cheek, she caressed the smooth surface with a delicate touch. Erik gave a slight flinch, startling at the unanticipated contact, but did not turn away. She was the only person, other than his mother, who he had ever let get that close to him since the accident, but she'd had years to earn his confidence. Her fingers traced the edge of his mask down to his chin in slow movements as she turned his face upward so he would look at her.
His gaze was guarded but pained at the same time, a look he knew she was very familiar with when it came to him, but he was certain Annette would not give up and walk away. It wasn't in her nature. As he suspected she would, she pushed on, "You know we've always been able to talk to each other, Erik. About anything. It wasn't always easy once upon a time, but don't you think after all we've been through together that I've earned a little benefit of the doubt?"
Erik looked straight at her, his dark gaze penetrating, but he couldn't hold up against the sadness in her eyes. Annette always did know how to connect with him in a way very few others could. His head bowed low, and he breathed out a long, resigned sigh.
Looking up at her once again, Erik replied with a contrite, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so…short with you. It's just…" he trailed off, knowing that his next words were going to open up a huge can of worms, "…I wasn't expecting you to be here either."
Annette's brows rose almost to her hairline. "Is that why you came down so early this morning? You thought a certain…someone…would be here?"
Thus far, he had taken great pains to avoid human contact as much as possible. He understood that to make such a concerted effort to reach out to someone was shocking, to say the least.
If it was possible, Erik's attention became even more focused on the flute as he began removing keys with methodical precision. "It doesn't matter, Annette. It's more than obvious that she is not here today," Erik grunted in annoyance. He wanted nothing more than for this conversation to be over. Then, she could leave him in peace to wallow in his own self-pity.
"She?" Annette asked, her voice raising an octave in surprise. "You were…hoping to see a young lady?" She sat back, crossing her arms and giving him an even look. Her curiosity seemed piqued, but he knew she wasn't about to give away any indication otherwise. "Not a customer, surely. You're never down here to see any of them during the day."
She narrowed her eyes at him, and he was sure she was trying to suss out who this mystery woman was. Her back straightened, and she leaned forward, grabbing Erik's hand. "Are you talking about one of my girls? Is it one of them you were waiting for?"
Erik's heart rate began to increase at a rapid rate, and the stinging pain in his stump returned with a vengeance as his ire grew by the second with her relentless digging. He yanked his hand from her grasp. "Last time I checked, Annette, I was a grown man capable of keeping my own counsel. What I choose to do in my own time, and who I wish to allow into my life are none of your concern."
"It is if this person is someone who works for me!" She railed, his foul mood now bleeding onto her. "You know how much I care about you, Erik, but I have a business to run if you don't remember, so yes! It is my concern!"
Throwing down his cleaning cloth and pinching the bridge of his nose in rising frustration, Erik slammed his hand down on the table and stood up so fast that he sent his stool tumbling across the floor. Without even bothering to set the room to rights, he dragged himself over to the back door, his leg protesting the entire way. His fists were balled so tight with repressed fury that his knuckles were turning white.
He was within seconds of making his escape, his hand on the doorknob when she called out to him in that stern cadence that he knew all too well. "Erik!" He stopped, his grip constricting even more as he fought a war within himself for control. As seconds ticked by where only their harsh breathing could be heard in the deafening quiet, his hold slackened. He looked up, counting the little pits in the ceiling tiles in a desperate attempt to find calm. After a few tense moments where they both seemed to be poised on the edge of a precipice, his eyes closed, and his breaths evened out.
He turned around and leaned back against the door, his head bowed as he hugged himself against Annette's prying eyes. It seemed to work for…her…and copying the gesture gave him a strange sense of comfort. Eyes blazing, he whispered, "It was…an accident. I couldn't sleep a few nights ago, so I came down to do some work. The store wasn't open yet, and I thought the solitude might help quiet my mind. I didn't expect anyone to be here. It wasn't even dawn, but…I heard a noise coming from inside the shop. I thought someone was trying to break in. You know we've had that problem before. When I went to check it out, we saw each other. I realized then that she wasn't a thief. She was just a girl who works here, and…she seemed to share my penchant for late-night wanderlust."
They both knew the neighborhood was not the safest and that break-ins were an unfortunate consequence, but an employee had never been known to lark around the store in the wee hours of the morning. "Erik, that's not possible. The ladies who work for me are not in the habit of roving this part of town late at night. None of them even have a key other than Meg and –"
The rest of her thought snapped off like a broken twig, and Erik knew in an instant that she had a very good idea of who he was talking about, or rather, trying not to talk about. "It was Christine who you met, wasn't it? She thinks I'm unaware of her sneaking in after hours, but I'm not. I just…let it go most of the time because I know that, like you, she sometimes enjoys the seclusion."
"Yes. It was Christine," Erik replied, his lips pursed into a thin line that belied his withering patience. "What of it?"
"Erik…" Annette trailed off. She strode over to him, her arm outstretched as if she were attempting to once again soothe him with her touch. Thinking better of it at the last moment, she stopped herself and pulled back. Erik could see in her eyes how it pained her to back away, but he was on edge enough as it was. He needed space right now. Taking a ragged breath, she continued, "…are you sure this is wise?"
Erik's head snapped up at her questioning tone, and he bristled over the feeling that she was patronizing him. As if he wasn't a grown man capable of making his own decisions? And who was she to make assumptions about something she knew nothing about?
"Damn it, Annette! It's not as if I'm going to get down on one knee and propose marriage!" he hissed through gritted teeth. "We only just met a day ago. We're still getting to know each other. Christine is…a friend. Anything more that develops beyond that is between her and I."
"That wasn't my implication, Erik. It's just…" He was listening with keen intent, and that seemed to make her deflate under the pressure somewhat. "I've known Christine since she was just a child. Her father was a dear friend when I was a Prima. He was a lead violinist in the orchestra, and Christine was always with him when he performed. They went everywhere together. A true bonded pair." Erik could hear the wistfulness in her voice as if she were reliving a fond yet anguishing memory. "I don't know how much she's told you about her past…"
"I know about her father's death. What it did to her," he answered her unspoken query without hesitation. She was trying to give him an out. To make him doubt their tenuous connection and question the relationship. But he wasn't about to take the bait. They'd shared pieces of themselves that no one else had ever been allowed to touch.
Erik didn't have all the answers, but he knew that meant something.
"Then you know what she went through, what it took from her. She is so very fragile, Erik. As are you, and if you've shared anything with her about the accident, then she must recognize that you've both suffered terrible loss. Yet, despite all of that adversity, the two of you have managed to make a connection—"
He jerked forward a bit as if in a direct challenge to however she was going to end that sentence, but at her silence, he retreated into himself once again. Appearing to have gained some confidence from that reaction, she continued, "And that's not a bad thing. I want to see you both happy—more than you could ever imagine. You know I wouldn't interfere, but…Erik…I know how you are with things that are dear to you. Like your music and these instruments," she waved a hand at the various shelves lining the walls, filled with cases. "If you find yourself caring about her that much, I worry that you might become…"
She trailed off, her eyes downcast, as if she were unwilling or unable to finish the thought.
But Erik knew where she was going with this. It had been a never-ending bone of contention between them since he was a teenager. He had never come to terms with the fact that his…tendencies…could become a serious problem if he was not careful.
"Obsessive. That is what you meant to say, isn't it?" Erik finished for her, indignance lacing his tone. Though he'd always had a maturity beyond most people his age, Erik had never been adept at accepting the nature of his flaws. Constructive criticism was a pointless endeavor because he could demonstrate an absurd level of childishness when he had a mind to. "Let's not mince words, Annette. After all, we've been debating the legitimacy of this particular point for years. You know very well we will always agree to…disagree."
"Whether or not you choose to acknowledge it, this is a very legitimate concern, Erik!" Annette shot back. It appeared she was no longer in the mood for playing nice. "If you get too attached – and you know damn well you will – you will lose yourself in her. You always say you can control yourself…but what if the worst happens? What if it doesn't work out, and you can't see her anymore? The two of you are so vulnerable right now that i-if you suffer another loss…you both may never recover. What then?"
"Why are you assuming something will go wrong? We've only just begun to get to know each other," his stilted reply sounded foolish to even his ears. He was trying to avoid this 'thousand-pound gorilla' in the room because he was sick and tired of feeling like he didn't have any control over his own life. "We can't know what the future will hold, Annette. All Christine and I can do is take this day by day and moment by moment. I can't promise you anything more than that."
Erik limped back to the work table with slow, deliberate strides, picking the fallen stool back up and slumping down onto it. This never-ending dispute was beyond exhausting. Everything in him wanted to retreat to his apartment to take a pain pill and forget this conversation ever happened in the depths of a drug-filled haze.
He wasn't about to back down, though. There was no way he would give her the satisfaction of wavering or showing weakness.
Returning to the pan of cleaning solution, he resumed the task of wiping down the flute keys as he continued, his voice a worn murmur as he was determined to keep his vacillating emotions in check. "After the accident, I was drowning. Every second since has been a herculean effort on my part to endure the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other, from one minute to the next. I've been languishing in my own personal hell, trapped with no way out. But now…for the first time in years…I can see a path before me. A 'light at the end of the tunnel,' so to speak. I can breathe. Would you make me give that up? Sacrifice any chance I may have left of finding happiness?"
"Of course not," her reply was terse, as if dismayed that he would even think so low of her, but Erik could hear the slight waver in her voice. In his peripheral vision, Erik could see the sheen of redness around her eyes guarding the tears she would not allow to fall. "You know me better than that." Her soft sigh was resigned as she warned him, "I just…I hope you know what you're doing."
Erik made no attempt to hide the acerbic bite in his reply, "What I'm doing? Tell me, Annette. How many times has Garrett been in this month to have his daughter's flute cleaned?" he asked with her a clownish, wide-eyed look as he held up one of the keys he was working on, giving it an emphatic little wiggle. "She's a student at Mannes. Quite a good one as I've heard him tell it, so either she's the laziest person when it comes to instrument care that I have ever had the displeasure of dealing with…or she's doing it on purpose to piss her teachers off. Either way, he's milking every drop he can out of whatever crap she's pulling just to have an excuse to walk through your door every week. It's pathetic how hard he tries while you don't give him an inch."
He paused for a moment to plop the flute into the solution with forced nonchalance, indifferent to the clunking sound it made or the sloshing of some of the liquid onto the table. "And yet, you still take his money." Under normal circumstances, Erik wouldn't dare be so petty and careless, but if it got him the last word, he had no problem playing dirty.
"H-he is a paying customer, Erik," she sputtered, at a momentary loss for words. He had made his point, flustering her ability to talk her way around his leaps of logic. She went with a practical response instead. "And this is a business. No matter what his reasons, I can't just turn him away. You know that."
He gave no reply, seeming to be engrossed in his work as she looked on in growing frustration. A discomforting silence began to stifle the room as their stalemate wore on. Neither of them appeared to be anywhere close to breaking when the tinkling of the chimes hanging over the front door reverberated into the room.
Erik's gaze shifted in a discreet effort to gauge her reaction. She was watching him, wide-eyed, and he knew she was stung by the blatant insult. She appeared to be so stunned that the sound hadn't yet permeated her senses.
"Annette," he snapped, the coarse edge in his voice cutting through her reverie and snapping her to awareness with a jolt. Still focused on his work, he nodded toward the door with the tiniest flick of his head, murmuring, "Paying customer."
Her lips pursed with silent indignation, she wasted no time vanishing from the room, slamming the door behind her as she went. He could feel the tension rolling off of her with every brittle step she took and knew what he'd said was out of line. He hadn't meant to hurt her, but he could think of no other way to get her off his back.
He'd won this round…but at what cost?