It is a little discouraging that I am not getting as many reviews as I used to, but I am trying my best to not let that stop me from finishing this story! That being said, if you are still reading or are a new reader, please don't hesitate to let me know what you think of each chapter you read. It would help me a ton, and keep me more motivated. I cannot thank those enough who have already reviewed. You folks keep me going!

Now, let's see how Erik feels being asked about his mask.

Nothing But A Lie

Chapter 31

Erik ceased playing altogether and turned toward her guardedly. "You may."

Christine crossed to the chair in the corner of the room, which was surrounded by different instruments. He had so many in here, and she wondered if he could play all of them as masterfully as the piano. There were a few different types of guitars, a cello, a violin, and even a saxophone. She was careful not to touch any of them as she sat, and she brought her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs.

"Well," she began, "I just want to start by saying that no matter what, I trust you. And I want to be here with you." Her face was on fire, and feeling the warm amber of his eyes on her did nothing to help. She gulped, and went on. "But there is something I've been wondering about since we met, and if it's okay with you I'd like to t-talk about it."

Erik merely waited in silence, his hands unconsciously digging into his legs over his pants.

She found his silence unnerving, and all she could do was stare at the piano behind him until he spoke.

"Go on," he finally said.

"Um, yeah. So—I was wondering about your… your mask."

He felt the blood drain from his face, and he was positive it would have paled if it were normal. With a trembling hand Erik reached up to touch his mask, making sure it was secure in place. As always, it was. His hand slipped back down. He knew this would come at some point, but not so soon—on their very first night together in his home, no less.

"Why do you wear it?" Christine asked more directly after a long minute of him still not saying anything. This time, she looked straight at him as she did so. She had a right to know, didn't she? She was living with him now, and it wasn't fair that she knew next to nothing about him. He knew all about her, had listened stoically as she had to recall nearly every horrible thing she'd been through. And he had even… seen all of her, she remembered with a flinch. Didn't she deserve at least some transparency from him?

Eventually, Erik spoke, his voice sounding choked. "I wear it because I must."

"Why must you, then? Are you… are you disguising yourself for some reason? Are you in hiding?"

"No, no. My face is… it must be covered, Christine. I have worn a mask all of my life."

She straightened a little. Finally, some information! "So it was something you were born with?"

"Yes." His head became light, and he could feel his pulse pounding in his ears. He needed to pull himself together, and fast, before he did something he'd regret. When was the last time he slept properly? Or ate?

Perhaps having this conversation now was a very bad idea.

"So is it like a birthmark or something?"

His palms were sweating, and he rubbed his hands along his pants in what he hoped was a subtle way. His ears began to ring. "One could call it that, yes."

Christine tilted her head, unable to understand why he would need a mask for something as simple as a birthmark. She'd known a boy in grade school with a birthmark on his face, and he hadn't worn a mask. Even though it was pretty intense and covered most of his face, it seemed a perfectly natural thing to show. He'd had nothing to be ashamed of.

"Okay. That's okay, Erik. Really. Um, I just wanted to tell you that… the way your face looks doesn't matter to me. I mean—I…" she paused, hoping that Erik wasn't misunderstanding her. He looked extremely uncomfortable, so she made her voice as soft as possible as she continued. "Erik, no matter what, I want to be here with you. I'm in your home, and I just… what I'm trying to say is that you can take your mask off around me. You don't have to keep it on just because I'm here. It won't make a difference to me. I promise. Okay?"

With a sudden swiftness that made her gasp, Erik was in front of her, kneeling at her feet and grabbing her hands. She emitted a frightened squeak at the sight of his eyes blazing into hers. Wide, unblinking, flaming irises surrounded by stark white, holding a strange sort of glint that filled her with caution. They'd never looked so… insane before. Or threatening. Her heart began to race.

"You have to swear something to me, Christine," he hissed with urgency, his hands tightening their hold on hers almost to the point of pain. His voice sounded as crazy as he looked, and she cringed deeper into the chair, trying not to panic.

"Erik?" she whispered. "You're scaring me."

He pulled her closer, and in result her feet fell from the chair and onto the floor between his knees. She could feel his distressed breaths on her face with how close he was now, and she blushed at their proximity.

"Christine," he said roughly, a warning undertone to his words, "You will not touch Erik's mask. You must swear it."

"What? How can you…? I wouldn't do that!"

"Swear it!"

"I swear," she whimpered, beginning to squirm. "L-let go of me, please."

He released her immediately, straightening and turning away from her, his breathing rapid. What had he just done?

"Forgive me," he said distantly. "I am not feeling myself at the moment. And you must rest. Perhaps it is best if we both retire."

"Erik?" she breathed, tears welling up.

"It is a sensitive topic, you see… my mask. It would be best if you do not mention it again. Do you understand, Christine?"

The sudden tightness in her throat did not allow her to speak, and so she nodded, feeling like an idiot because he was still facing away from her. Maybe she was an idiot. An idiot for nodding, an idiot for starting this conversation, an idiot for insisting to Nadir Khan that she was completely safe, an idiot for coming here with him in the first place, for trusting him…

For trusting yet another person who would only end up deceiving her.

The puppies?

I'm…sorry. I hate to disappoint you, but sadly, there are none.

A sob burst through her lips, and Erik turned to glance down at her, the madness in his eyes lessened from before. She was shaking hard, and hot tears spilled down her cheeks. He took a step toward her in concern, and she wrapped her arms around her chest as if that would protect her.

"N-no!" she gasped, standing from the chair and trying to keep her balance with the way her head spun. She was seconds away from falling apart. She needed to get out of here. "I mean… I'm f-fine. You're right, I should r-rest. Goodnight."

Erik reached out a pleading hand, but she had already fled from the room.

Light headed and feeling very nauseated, Erik collapsed back onto the piano bench, a concerned Sasha whining below. Even the dog didn't like what had just transpired in here. He cursed under his breath, putting his aching head into his hands and forcing himself to breathe evenly.

What had he just done? The poor girl did not deserve such an overreaction. Already he could not get the sight of her precious eyes—wide with fright and confusion—out of his mind. Erik had scared her.

He despised himself.

It was entirely his fault; her inquisition was perfectly natural. After everything she had already had to go through, she would of course be cautious about something as strange as the man taking her in being in a mask. She only wanted to ensure she was safe.

Perhaps if he weren't so exhausted and weak, he would have reacted much more agreeably. At least he would like to think as much. He contemplated going to her, but thought better of it. She would still be frightened, and time to lick her wounds was best. She would feel safer that way.

Erik knew he needed sleep more than anything. He had to take better care of himself, especially with Christine here. He vowed not to show her a hint of his madness again. He would sleep and eat and do whatever he needed to appear normal for her.

Sasha followed him to his bedroom, and he locked the door securely behind them. After turning on the ceiling fan to the highest setting, he stripped down to his underthings and collapsed tiredly onto the bed. He removed the suffocating mask last, nearly whining in relief. Already he felt much better without it, but he would still sleep for a few hours. When he woke, he would shower and eat something, and in the morning, he would make it right with Christine.

She would feel safe with him again.

Four days felt like a lifetime.

His eyes, bloodshot and watery, blinked blearily at the television. He didn't even know what he was watching anymore. He couldn't pay attention for more than a few seconds at a time to figure it out. Bittersweet memories were much more tempting to tune into. Whenever a particular thought would pull him under, he would bury his face into the pillow she had used when she was here, letting her scent make it all feel more real.

Pathetic tears soaked the pillow now. Sky knew it was only a matter of time before her smell faded altogether, and that thought only made him cry harder. God, he was such a loser.

Grunting at the effort, he reached for the beer bottle on the end table, only to find it empty. He swore loudly. Now he would have to get up.

The walk to the kitchen took an embarrassing amount of effort. The whole apartment felt like it was in motion, and he stumbled on his feet the entire way. The refrigerator light was almost blinding, and he had to focus very hard to see inside of it.

Sky was very distressed to discover that he was out of beer.

"Son of a bitch," he shouted dramatically, slamming shut the door of the fridge and sinking to the kitchen floor.

The tile was cold against his shirtless back, a welcome feeling on his heated skin. Everything was spinning, his mind worst of all. Wondering how he got here. All alone. How he lost her. What he had done to her.

Why did he have to ruin everything?

I h-hate you, Sky. I despise you.

He groaned, placing a heavy hand on his forehead as if that would block out the memory. A worse one came in its place.

You're a disgusting creep, and I want nothing to do with you.

"Shut the fuck up," he moaned to the empty room, wishing he could just go back to remembering the good moments.

Obviously, Sky was having a rough time. That afternoon after work, he'd received a call from his lawyer who said it would be a good idea to send the girl all of her belongings back. He thought it would make Sky look good or something, so he had obediently started to pack away her stuff. Of course, going through her clothes and such brought back all of the memories he'd done such a good job at repressing the last few days, and he had broken down.

This can't be real. She can't be gone for good. What have I done?

The thoughts were torture. Drinking had never been his usual way of coping; he'd always favored immersing himself in something more productive, such as work or exercising, but he knew those wouldn't get rid of this level of pain. He'd even considered downloading a dating app for a meaningless hook up or two, but the thought immediately disgusted him. No. It would only hurt more to have a stranger in his arms, not after her. Nothing would ever compare to having her.

Murphy still hadn't gotten any news on a trial, so at this point they were working on doing whatever they could to make Sky look like a good person. Tomorrow morning before work, he would give the police station her things so they could mail it all to wherever she was staying, and after work he would go to his first psychiatry session. Then, they would gather proof of treatment for his behavior, and would be able to use that later if need be.

What did any of it matter if he couldn't get her back?

Maybe he was insane, as she'd said. Delusional. Sick. Would she forgive him when he got the help he might actually need? Would she want him if she knew he was actively trying to get better? Never in his life did Sky think there was anything deeply wrong with him, but looking back on everything he'd done…

What if Christine was right? What if Meg had been right too?

P.S. Get some therapy.

He never did. Maybe Christine would be with him now if he had.

Sky just couldn't believe he'd taken it that far...how badly he hurt her. It wasn't supposed to ever be like that. More than anything he wished he could have Christine here in his arms, and he would kiss her and touch her and love her with nothing but gentleness and pure worship until she felt every bit the goddess she was. Every ounce of love he had to give to her.

He was sure he would die if he didn't get the chance to make things right.

Tears dripped from his eyes and fell into his ears uncomfortably, but he let them. It would take too much effort to move from the floor. He felt weighed down, dizzy, and movement sounded like a bad idea. The last thing he needed was to get sick. So he remained there, his mind spiraling downward toward sleep, willing the love of his life to show up in his dreams.

It was the very first night in two months that she was spending alone. She had a giant, cloud soft bed to herself, a thick and plush comforter and new pajamas to keep her warm, and glowing moonlight streaming into the room through the windows so that it wasn't too dark. She could even see stars twinkling in the black night sky from where she lay…but only when she blinked away the blinding tears.

How long had she prayed for this moment? How long had she imagined the relief of finally being able to sleep in her own room, in her own bed, no unwelcome body pressed against her or heavy arm trapping her close? She had imagined she would feel relieved, safe, secure, ready to get back to her life again, ready to live again!

But she didn't feel any of those things. She felt more confused and hurt than ever before, and it scared her.

Erik had scared her. The one person she trusted had frightened her. He'd threatened her. And now, she had no idea what she was supposed to do. She tried to convince herself that she was still safer than before, but now she wasn't so sure about that.

Christine held her breath to still the sobs, but more broke through anyway, and so she wept with abandon. Might as well, she decided, as she was alone anyway.

Alone.

What surprised her the most was the aching longing she felt to be held. Maybe it was because she'd gotten so used to the tactile affection, or maybe it hadn't been as bad as she thought… or maybe she was just insane.

Eventually, she cried herself out, and she glared at the digital clock on the bedside table. It was half past one in the morning, and she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep no matter how hard she tried. The hospital had given her pain medicine each night during her stay there, and it had always helped her sleep deeply with no dreams. She wished they had given her some to take home.

With a shaky sigh, Christine decided to venture downstairs for a glass of water and maybe a snack. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark long ago, and she could see well enough as she navigated the quiet house without turning any lights on. Her fear of waking Erik upstaged her fear of the dark. She hoped fiercely Erik was a heavy sleeper. She wasn't ready to see him yet.

His bedroom was on the opposite side of the first story from the kitchen, but she still tiptoed quietly as she gathered her water and snack. When Erik had given the tour of the place earlier, he had only showed her the door to his room. He'd showed her inside every other room, including his office, and it made her wonder what else he might be hiding.

What would she say to him when she saw him again? She wasn't sure if she should address what had happened or not. What if she did, and he only got upset again? Could she handle it? She supposed she would have to…it's not like she could go anywhere else. She depended on him completely now.

God, what had she gotten herself into?

After eating her fill of mint chocolate chip ice cream straight from the carton, she put everything away and refilled her glass of water. She felt completely drained, and hoped she would be able to fall asleep now. As she was just leaving to return to her room, she very nearly dropped her water at the sight of glowing twin lights fixed on her from across the kitchen.

"Jeez," she gasped, placing her free hand on her now racing heart. "You scared me."

"I apologize," he said, his voice much silkier than it was earlier. "It was not my intention. I did not know you were in here. It is still dark."

Erik reached for the switch on the wall and flicked it up, and Christine squinted against the sudden light.

Embarrassed to have been caught, she awkwardly crossed her bare feet where she stood. "Y-yeah, I didn't want to disturb you, so I kept all the lights off. Sorry."

Now, Christine could see Erik looked much better than before. He must have gotten some much-needed rest, and he wore long, black pajamas. How…normal of him. His chin length—it had grown since she first met him, she realized—black hair looked smooth and clean, and his posture was straight. Having dreaded facing him just moments ago, she felt okay being with him now. He was clearly not in the state he was before.

"Christine?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you sit?" he asked politely, gesturing to the dining room table. "I want to talk with you about…earlier."

She obliged warily, bringing her water with her. He sat across from her.

The few hours of sleep he had gotten worked wonders. His quick bout of insanity felt long gone, and for that he was much relieved. Christine looked like she had been crying, and it gutted him, knowing it was his fault. He needed to make her feel safe again, which meant honesty.

"First," he began, "I am very sorry about earlier. I should not have gotten so…I mean—I should not have been in such a state. It is my own fault. It has nothing to do with you. Understand?"

"Um, sure, Erik."

"Good. Good. Certain emotions, ah, often consume me, and it is hard for me to deal with them. My—my mask is a topic that can be very—how do I put this…"

"Triggering?"

"Yes. Exactly."

"But why, Erik? You got so scary…over a birthmark. I just don't get it."

The mask suddenly felt stifling again, and he gulped, unable to meet her stare. He looked down at his white hands instead. Honesty, Erik.

"Christine, I do not have a birthmark, necessarily. I was born—" he paused, and she waited quietly. Eventually he was able to go on. "I was born s-severely disfigured. A face such as mine must be covered. There is no other option for me."

Christine's brows furrowed, trying to imagine it. She couldn't.

"I need no pity, child," Erik then mumbled.

He must have misunderstood her expression. She shook her head. "Oh no, no, Erik. That's not… I'm just trying to picture it, I guess."

He gave a tight smile. It was chilling. "Your pretty head would never be able to conjure up this face, my dear."

Christine pondered his words, chewing on the inside of her lip. The prideful part of her was positive she could handle whatever was beneath the mask, but as she thought more about it… what if she couldn't? A face such as mine must be covered. There is not other option for me. The words filled her with unease. And hadn't he told her that he'd worn the mask all of his life? Did that mean his parents made him wear it as a child? What sort of face could someone have that their own mother would want to cover it?

Erik's voice interrupted her stressed train of thoughts. "Now that you are aware of my madness, you must wish to leave. It is understandable, I assure you. I can make arrangements first thing in the morning."

Christine quickly reached across the table and placed a hand atop one of his. "No, Erik. I mean, I was scared, but now I…think I can understand. I would understand more if you'd show me, but you don't have to yet. I can wait until you're ready."

Would he ever get used to her soft touch? He savored the feeling for a moment, and then released a trembling breath. "I appreciate that. Now, why are you not asleep?"

She shrugged a little as she shyly brushed her fingertips against his cold, papery skin. "I couldn't sleep. I'd hoped a snack would help."

"Do you suppose it did?"

Christine yawned hugely in answer, and Erik's mouth turned upward.

Her cheeks heated. "Will you…walk me to my room?"

"Of course."

She held his hand as he did so, wishing she had the nerve to ask him to stay until she fell asleep. She didn't. Once inside the dark bedroom again, however, she gave him a quick hug, noting how he stiffened when she did so. The feel of his skinny body through his thin pajamas brought a deeper flush to her cheeks, and she immediately drew away, embarrassed.

"S-sorry, heh," she said pathetically, looking up at him and only able to see his glowing eyes in the darkness. She tried to read the emotion there, in his fiery depths, and failed... but whatever it was made her belly fill with warmth.

Cold, trembling fingers came up, and Erik just barely brushed the length of her face from temple to chin, the breath from her parted lips tickling his hand when he finished. How badly he wanted to lean down and taste that sweet breath, feel the soft plumpness of her lips against the grotesque thinness of his own. Just imagining it brought a pathetic weakness to his knees. Would he be able to withstand that sort of affection from such an angel?

No. He certainly would not.

"Goodnight, Christine," he said, using the power of his voice, and savoring the sweet smile she gave him—it—in response. It was a heady thing knowing that he could reduce the angel to putty in his arms if he so desired, just with the power of his voice. It was the only thing about him one might ever consider attractive. But he would never cross such a line. He could not do such a thing to her.

Erik used his natural voice then. "Sleep well."

"You too, Erik," Christine whispered, watching him go as her mind silently screamed for him to stay.