Page 13 of Erik

He slaps his forehead. “Of course, I’m sorry.” He strokes my hand, before throwing his hands up, pressing their palms against his cheeks. As if to steer me away from painful thoughts, he squeaks and jumps on the spot, “Oh-my-god! Erik! Erik! Over here!”

Thankful for his silly heart, I slap his bulging forearm with a belly laugh. “Stop mocking me! I never sounded like that.”

“You did squeal when he stepped on stage, missy! I witnessed it first-hand.” He pinches my nose. “You dragged me to enough Muse of Darkness concerts back in the day to recognize your super-fan mode when I saw it.”

“Liar.” I spread the fingers of my left hand in front of me, holding the pinky as I count. “First, I never sounded as loud as that.” I move to my ring finger. “Second, you tagged along.” I abandon my own fingers to jab an index into his sternum over the black t-shirt he’s wearing. “Andyouloved every minute of it.”

He rolls his eyes, bursting out in a contagious laugh. “Whatevs.”

I stick my tongue out before sobering up. “Jokes apart, since the first time I heard it, Erik’s singing has always impressed me. I hear real anguish in his voice.”

Butterflies scatter around in my stomach when the words almost escape my tight lips. I’m not ready to share with Hadley that Erik’s heartache is akin to mine. Nor am I telling him now that I wrote a damn song about that, either. I know my friend. He would nag the heck out of me, trying to understand my reasons for believing I can read Erik’s emotions better than most people.

Hadley’s already heard my redacted version of what happened in those refugee camps, while I waited authorization to migrate to a new, permanent country of residence. It’s taken me a lot of painful, hard work to leave that behind. Bringing back the gory details to mind could send me in a dangerous downward spiral. I won’t risk my sanity.

So, I offer him the truth I can divulge right now. “I believe he hides painful scars behind his party-till-dawn mask.”

“We’ll never know that for sure, hon.” He smooches my temple. “Will we?”

6

Erik

Since finding out Ms. Christine Daae, the angelical vision from the past, is the singer haunting me in the present, I’ve composed all the songs we needed for a couple of albums to come. Although the band members have gotten off my back, filming our biopic has reached an unforeseen snag - me.

For weeks now, I’ve watched Christine throughout the movie set, always from the shadows. I’ve researched, and learned all I could about her, including the fact she’s scheduled for one single scene in the movie. When we shoot that scene, she’ll be gone. I can’t find it in me to let her go.

I stand by the window of my trailer, blinds drawn up, an empty glass of water in my hand, stalking her as she struggles to wring an uninterrupted string of notes from her guitar. I slap my forehead when she plays a whole musical phrase.

Smirking, I bolt to the door, swing it open, and leap to the asphalt. With long strides, I rush to the spot under the tree where Ms. Daae tries to play her guitar. As I cover the short distance from my trailer-slash-office to my new obsession, I sing the lyrics toAngel, a song I wrote almost six years ago and has become one of the band’s enduring hits.

High notes mask pain too deep

Yet my heart knows, my soul weeps

She jerks upright, pops her eyes open, and freezes mid-movement. The tip of her fingers turns white for lack of blood circulation because she’s pressing them too tightly against the guitar’s neck. I sink to a crouch in front of her, and pry her digits away from the polished wood, one by one. I get immense satisfaction at the way her C-cup breasts heave. My proximity affects her as much as her light beckons me.

I probe her hazel stare, mesmerized by the golden specks reflecting the bright sun, even under the protection of the green canopy above us. She blinks a few times. If I talk now, I doubt she’ll process any information. I wait for the initial shock waves to wash over her. A telltale vein throbs, bluish, on the left side of her neck. I suppress a smug grin when her throat works on a hard swallow.

With a wink, I separate the guitar from her chest, and murmur, “Let me show you how this is done.”

I take the spot on the grass on her right, plopping my ass on it, propping the musical instrument on my lap. I glance over to her, and my heart skips a few beats. The sight of her open expression, and curvy figure, turns me on to the point of discomfort. My pants grow tight. I can’t afford this complication right now. I’ve got too many things on my plate as it is. But my cock hasn’t gotten the memo. It twitches inside my leather pants trying to get closer to her sinful curves.

When her tongue comes out and glides over her full lower lip once, it’s my turn to fight a perched throat. As she repeats the gesture, I battle the urge to swoop forward, and kiss the fuck out of her tempting mouth.

Instead, I offer her a lopsided smile.

Her lips tremble when she tries to smile back, but the result isn’t less enticing. “I - I haven’t gotten the hang of it yet.”

The husky quality of her voice does funny things to my chest. My silly heart bubbles up in there. I steel myself against the feelings. I can deal with my raw desire for the siren without further complications. Love has nothing to do with what I want from Ms. Daae.

I shake my head, dropping my chin, pretending to tune the guitar. “Watch me and try to memorize where I position my fingers on the frets.” I glance up to her face. Her eyes are glued to my left hand. She doesn’t blink, doesn’t meet my stare, but nods once.

This time I don’t stifle the smugness. She can’t witness the hunger in my expression as I devour the picture she presents to the world. Wretches like me have no business meddling with angels like her. I’d only sully her. She’d be better off if I left her alone. Unfortunately, nobody has ever described me as compassionate, or selfless.

Over the last weeks, I’ve tried to convince myself to move on, forget her. I’ve avoided direct contact because I knew once I got close to her, I wouldn’t let her go. Right now, all I want to do is conquer her innocence, subjugate her light. My dick throbs as I envision the sexiest scenarios for this beauty by my side. My vivid imagination runs away from me, creating multiple ways to make her beg, to have her screaming my name in pleasure.

With great effort, I yank myself out of the sultry daydream, to play my song on her guitar.

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