chapter 24

A campfire in the forest after rainfall. The bed smelled of him. I thought it would smell awful like he had tonight until our bath. But no. Damp sulfur and a hint of wood. Just like the rest of the home smelled.

I laid there for a while, tossing and turning. Unable to find comfort or ease. Even with Erique playing softly just around the corner, I couldn't sleep. My mind was too fucking busy.

All my thoughts jumbled together. Murder. Comfort. Care. Home. What tomorrow morning would bring. What this all meant for us. Even though there shouldn't be any form of "us". Because I still had to go home…

Not to mention that he saw me completely buck ass naked.

When I imagined a bath with him once upon a silly thought, it would have been sensual and fun. I didn't think it'd be out of necessity for both my nose and mental state.

We hadn't talked about us. It was best we didn't. Just act like it didn't happen. And go back to the way it was. Just friends.

I wonder if I'd ever be able to tell him the whole truth? And if I did, would he even believe me? Would it even help how I feel about everything?

I hated this.

Unable to take the traffic jam in my head anymore, and the conflicting feelings with it all, I tossed back the blankets and swung my legs over the side. Bare feet hit the cold wooden floor and carried me out towards the living room.

I watched from around the corner as he played. The melody was familiar. I couldn't place it, but it was nice, and it was calming.

The minor chords were harsh and dramatic. Anguish saturated the air. Yet, it was a beautiful type of pain.

I'd fantasized about seeing him like this. In the mellow glow of candles and the fireplace. He was for sure the epitome of beauty. The dream of every dark romance. Even with how drained I knew he was; he was still an enchanting sight.

Lost in the music and madness of everything, I closed my eyes and rested my head against the wall.

The organ had a completely different feel to it when he played. It was something that wove itself through you. Its haunting sound could carry you or drown you. Both welcoming to the spirit, if you were open minded. The beauty that came from pain was often the worst. What kind of pain do you have to endure to create something so soul stirring?

The music faded into a softness and then finally stopped. I opened my eyes to find him standing, staring at me.

"Please don't stop," I said.

Without a word, he retook his seat. Fingers settled onto the keys and danced away. Something different, more melancholy. A slow waltz of some kind.

Practiced moves caressed the keys perfectly in time. Its melody forced images to my mind. A gifted book. Caress of hands in the dark. A kiss so perfect it could never be duplicated with another.

The white shirt he wore, which matched the one he lent me, hung on his shoulders, the loose fabric flowing with expression as dozens of silver pipes towered over him while he played.

I forced myself to look away. To avoid any further fantasies or delusions of what could have been. It didn't matter that he called me baby. A term I didn't know he knew. Nor that he'd been referring to me as my Heart this whole time.

What a wicked man.

Now that I could focus better, I roamed the space instead. Sparse would be the word I would use to describe it. There wasn't much to look at. Simple wood furniture, though nice, nothing resembling the work done in the bathroom.

He'd cleaned up. No more empty bottles or torn sheet music cluttered the floors or tables everywhere. Though a new graveyard of crumpled papers had started building up around his organ.

The only thing that really had any life and finesse to it was the tall dark brown pipe organ Erique played.

However, there was one thing that really stood out. Several hats from different countries hung around the walls or rested on globes, busts and shelves. One sat on a skull—gonna ignore that last one for now.

He liked hats. The Phantom's hobby was hats.

The faintest smile hit my lips. It was all I could muster up with everything going on.

A brown settee sat not too far from where I stood. I took a seat on the small couch that paralleled the fireplace and pulled my knees up as far as my borrowed shirt would allow me without exposing everything. Not that he would care. We'd just taken a bath together.

The mix between Erique's beautiful playing and warmth from the fireplace soothed me like I needed so desperately.

The notes slowed and skipped up a little into something else. I recognized it. Voi Che Sapete . The song we'd been trying to get me to sing.

He'd told me once that it was about a young man figuring out what love was and that he was excited about it. A very cheeky, fun song. Pretty sure he meant sex. The thought of Erique trying to talk about sex. It would hurt to laugh if I did. For as sassy and smooth as he seemed sometimes, he was also very reserved in some ways.

Erique was so good. He'd slowed down the bubbly piece to a soft, almost sad tempo. The way he played the piece now seemed to give it a different meaning.

Entranced anytime he sang, I sat there unmoving, staring at the back of his stiff and yet swaying body. The powerful voice I'd come to know, rumbled softly along with the new version of the melody he played.

"Voi che sapete Che cosa è amor, Donne vedete S'io l'ho nel cor.

Quello ch'io provo Vi rudirò; è per me nuovo, Capir nol so."

Something in the anguish of his words filled my eyes against their will. Like I was being forced to see into his pain.

What was he doing? I didn't want to feel anything more.

"Sento un affetto pien di desir, ch'ora è diletto, ch'ora è martir."

The organ stilled and only his voice remained. Erique rose to his feet, turning slowly to find my eyes.

"Gelo, e poi sento l'alma avvampar, non so cos'è."

His steps slowed and his voice weakened the closer he came to me.

"Sospiro e gemo senza voler, palpitl e tremo senza saper.

Che cosa è amor?"

An arm's length away, he fell to his knees and hung his head low. Palms rested on the floor, as beautiful dark, wavy hair hung freely around repentant eyes as they looked up from beneath the white of a different mask.

If you were to look up "unbearable" in the dictionary, this would be the photo underneath the word.

The urge to reach out for him, comfort him, and hide him away was so strong as I watched on.

"Je l'ai dans my heart for you."

The last sentence barely fell from his lips. It was different from the ending I'd heard many times before, and it was said in French.

I'd just borne witness to the most heartbreaking display. No man had ever gone so far as to even say sorry and mean it, and the shit thing was I didn't know whether I was mad, sad, or hurt now, or not.

Until he jumped into the tub with me, I wasn't sure what his emotions were. His demeanor had been so cool. Or was it? I was kind of lost during that time.

Even before I came to the practice room with the intention of leaving him behind, I didn't know my own feelings on it.

"I... I..." His voice was hardly audible as he tried to speak.

Unable to take it anymore, I extended my hand to the groveling man before me.

Within a moment, the commanding, intimidating presence that the great Palais Garnier had known and feared, crawled desperately to take my offering.

Lips covered it in kisses as tears leaked out from beneath his mask. His face pressed against my hand like I was some sort of deity. "I'm so sorry, my Angel. Sweet Melody. So sorry."

Erique crawled closer, sobbing into the folds of the borrowed shirt that barely covered my thighs. Gripping at it tightly, as if the floor was going to fall away beneath him. It was hard to listen to him cry. It tore my heart into pieces to hear it.

I ran my fingers through his hair, trying to calm him? Reassure him? Or soothe myself?

"What are you sorry for?" I asked.

"Like all the monsters you've met in the dark, I hurt you. How you could stand to let this thing near you at this moment, baffles me..." The disdain for himself rang in his voice with venom.

It was different to see him without the fa?ade of the Phantom to keep him strong. Begging on his knees, groveling and sobbing was a man, not a mask. Not a character. But a man who desperately wanted to right a wrong.

"...The terror in your glittering eyes at the sight of this diseased face. Despicable were these hands when they landed against you and you fell, I…"

"Erique, I tripped on my stupid dress. You didn't touch me," I said.

"No. You saw…" he said pathetically, gesturing to his face. "You fell. With my own eyes I saw you…"

"I think you saw what you wanted to see. I only saw you run away after you freaked me out." His mouth hung open at my words, and realization sparked in his eyes. "You didn't hurt me. You didn't do anything to me. It only hurt me when you left."

He buried his face into my lap again, digging his fingertips into my hips. Any other time I would have loved his head in my lap, touching my skin. But not like this. I never wanted to see him like this. It hurt so much.

"Truly, from my heart I am sorry. I swear by the stars I wanted to come to you. Even when you attempted to play your lullaby, Moonlight Sonata , I warred with myself to come to you," he said. "I couldn't bear the rejection of your friendship for what I'd done. Thought I had done. And now what you've seen."

"You were there?"

He nodded vigorously against my stomach.

What hurts worse? Knowing that he'd left me, or didn't?

I sighed. It was a losing battle to think about it.

In this light I could finally see the extent of his birthmark creeping out from beneath the edges of his form fitted mask, especially at his hairline. One side of his head had the brunt force of it as it crept down his neck, and below his shirt. The distorted skin of his right hand suggested it at least reached that far.

Modern dating and history have told me to move on from this. From him. He's unstable. A serial killer, if I were honest. And he'd only be someone I'd have to train. The idea of training another man how to be an adult already drained me.

"If you showed me your face right now," I said, lifting his chin. "This... that has you trapped in your own hell; I wouldn't care. It wouldn't change anything. Just as you said nothing could change how you feel for me."

"I will give you everything, my Melody. Anything you desire. But I do not know that I could ever give you that. Nor would I want to. Not even my own mother could bear it," he said, and gripped the hem of the shirt tighter. It was obvious he was trying to regain some composure. Until finally a neutral face that tried to hide pleading eyes appeared. "If you would permit me to be your teacher once more, your friend, I will never do that again unless you command it. I will never leave you."

I somehow believed him.

I pressed my lips onto the little exposed flesh at the top of his forehead. The Phantom's body melted under the touch and he sighed.

Erique righted high on his knees, hands flying to meet my face gently. His eyes were misty, yet intent. "I am so truly sorry to have done that to you." He kissed my forehead and wrapped his arms around me. The feeling of safety and care cradled me like I'd never known.

Erique was my angel. My demon. My friend. And now branded on my heart.

Shit .

"There are things I need to share with you, my Heart ," he said.