The Friend Shop (Phantom of the Opera)

▪ Chapter 13 ▪

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Um....I didn't realize it's been nearly two months since I updated. I AM SO SORRY! Some stuff I couldn't control has been really bothering me lately and disturbed my writing for a while. I am back in full swing though, so, expect more! I hope I don't let you down.

On a side note: I wrote this chapter to destroy your hearts and set up for something in the future (I honestly don't know what but I'll find out). And, trust me, there won't be a lot of flashbacks. I don't like flashbacks usually. But, this one felt important enough that I didn't want to tell it. I wanted to show it. Don't skip!! (I'm looking at you, friend of mine who may or may not be reading it on here!)

Anyway, enjoy! I love votes and comments!

sarahandmarquis

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Chapter 13

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When dawn crept into the darkness of the living room, Erik jerked awake and pushed aside the blanket he found wrapped around him. The room lay empty, the girl who had previously filled it with light had long disappeared into the night to return to her own home.

How could I have forgotten! She must work this morning and I kept her up late.

Berating himself, he rose and straightened his suit and mask, pleased to find this time the piece of porcelain remained on while he slept. Now that his mind had cleared, he wondered if she had loosened the strings in the beginning part of the night, but brushed aside that idea, refusing to believe she would betray him like that. No, the ties had just tugged loose at some point.

He stretched, popping his joints after having slept at an odd angle for so long. Wincing at the pleasant pain, he saw a scrap of paper sitting on the coffee table, a few words and a phone number scribbled across it.

Picking it up, he read the note.

Erik, this is Dalir's phone number. Please, consider calling or texting him. I know it isn't easy for you after all that you two went through but he misses you.

Christine

Beneath her name, ten digits sprawled across the page, burning a hole into his eyes. His phone, an occupant of his left pant pocket, felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Sinking back onto the couch, he fished the device from his pocket and stared at it.

Nadir, how could you want me back? I ruined your life. I destroyed your mother's life. How could you miss me?

He flicked the phone on and opened "New Message," hesitating before slowly typing in Dalir's phone number. His hands shook, the text message box empty, the curser blinking tauntingly at him.

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"You promised we'd go fishing today, Papa!" Ami pouted, following his adopted father and friend out the door of their small home.

"I'm sorry, Ami, but Nadir and I have to go into town. Why don't we go fishing tomorrow? And, your mother is baking cookies and bread. Go help her and we'll be back in time for supper." The middle-aged Persian man lightly patted the masked boy on the head and gave him an encouraging smile. "You're a good son, Ami."

"Thank you, Papa." Thin arms wound around his father's waist, tightening to give him an affectionate squeeze. "I'll be patient."

"Thank you, son." His 'papa' pressed a soft kiss to his hair and led Nadir away to the small car waiting in the driveway.