After the Lair

Mamma Mia

|| Christine Daae ||

America sucked.

Erik tried to put me on bed rest, but I refused. I was in a new COUNTRY for crying out loud.

That's what started the argument.

Well, sort of.

He was drunk, actually.

"Erik, I'm going out," I yelled, trying to open the door.

"No, you're not," he called back, slurring slightly.

Oh, please no.

"Are you drinking?" I whispered as he stumbled in towards me.

"One," he said.

"More than one."

"Maybe. You don't control my life you little-"

"I'm sorry, let me stop you. You're clearly so drunk I can't even stand in front of you," I yelled.

"You can and you will," he shouted.

"Not until you sober up," I screamed.

He raised his hand and brought it down on me like a whip. My back screamed in agony, in sync with my mouth. I had to leave. He was going to kill me.

My vision hazed.

"RAOUL PLEASE STOP PLEASE!" I screamed. He was here, straight out of a nightmare.

Erik stepped back, looking confused. I saw the glaze that alcohol gives disappear from his eyes, but I was long out the door before his apology came.

I stumbled through the streets, my eyes swimming with so many tears I couldn't see my own hands, even if I brought them up to my face.

I saw a silhouette of a man. "Erik, no," I said.

"I'm not Erik," an American accent said.

I looked up and he bent down.

"Darling, what's your name? Why are you crying?"

"C-Christine. Christine Daae," I said.

"Landon. Landon Fredrickson at your service."

I looked at him and my heart skipped several beats. He had soft brown hair and dark blue eyes and perfectly straight white teeth.

"Here, let me take you to my house, I can help you."

|| Erik Destler ||

Raoul. Raoul. Raoul.

He had hit her.

So had I.

She was gone.

I WAITED THREE DAMN MONTHS FOR HER TO WAKE UP.

Now she's gone.

She's gone and...

I love her.

||Landon Fredrickson ||

She was gorgeous.

She was French.

She was in pain.

She was vulnerable.

I was bored.

"So, Christine, tell me about yourself."

"Nothing to tell," she said.

"Oh, I reject that. A gorgeous French girl like yourself. How old are you?"

"18."

"I'm 21."

She blushed and giggled.

"What do you think of me?" I asked.

"You're handsome and stuff," she muttered.

I grinned. I liked her.

"You must love deformed men if you find me handsome." I joked.

"You have no idea," she whispered.

|| Christine Daae ||

I loved him, didn't I?

He hit me and I loved him.

"I need to go," I said, standing up from the bench we were sitting on.

"You can't!" Landon yelled, grabbing my hand.

"Yes, I actually can," I said.

Then there I was in the same position as the night at the graveyard.

"I'm not done with you yet."

"HELP ERIK PLEASE!"

The door flew open again.

It was...

Oh, my God.