So yeah, another dramatic chapter. Honestly, I just like playing with people's words. I obviously am not allowed to tell you what's running through the Phantom's head even though I know why he is acting all... kah;skldslk<3333, but I hope that its confusing mushy nature is taken as pleasantly weird instead of just shitty writing.

And I'm trying to get the pace going, I promise. I really am... aghgh. These movies I've been watching definitely inspire. Don't give up on me just yet. Pretty please.

10910 / 50000 words. 22% done!

This next chapter of He's There is brought to you by Robert-Phantom holding his music like a schoolgirl.



Really. I'm not just saying that to show the picture. His dispositional 180 in the lair scene inspired the sensitivity here.


HE'S THERE
Chapter 28 - Frozen

Erik,

It is extremely difficult thinking up what to give someone so secretive. I only know a few things about you - you hate people. You like writing. You write on lined paper. Which I don't find sophisticated enough for someone I'm sure has brilliant ideas but isn't telling anyone. So I'm giving you this book, to use however you like. Hopefully one day I will see it again, and it will be when you are sharing something with me.

-Christine

It was at a store with the mom and the Meg, Christmas shopping, when I found a black notebook, small golden embellishment along the spine, that I realized it was twenty bucks well spent to surprise the Phantom with a gift. I had to pull a lot of suspicious shit to get it bought and out the mall doors without anyone noticing, I know the book idea wasn't awesome (if I knew him better, I would've taken more of a chance)... I was more interested in how he'd react to receiving it from me.

We had both been silent as the grave and it was now Wednesday night. I kind of wanted it to be a surprise, so I was walking to the theater, "on my way" to Meg's house to drop it off. I made sure to write "don't open until the 25th", just to give him something to look at without knowing what it was for a few days.

I noticed the strangest thing coming down the street. There was a car parked in one of the lots. Just one. I had never seen it there before, or if I did, I don't remember. If it were in broad daylight, I may have wandered near and taken a look inside or something... It kind of intimidated me in the dark, though.

By now, it felt strange coming here uninvited. He always made me wonder if he was around. No matter where I was, actually. This place was his territory, though.

When I reached the front, I got to my knees and set the white package down on the wood. The floor was cold enough to chill me even through my jeans. The second the book left my fingertips, a startling gust of wind swept the deck like a wave. I sunk down and eyed the area beyond the theater in every direction, studying each straight, silent silhouette for an unnecessary amount of time before I realized it was just me and the trees. I must've been paranoid.

- - -

Two days later, I hadn't a single acknowledgment from Erik for my gift, even if he wasn't allowed to open it, and I was too nervous to go and check if it was missing. Come to think of it, he hadn't spoken to me for nearly a week and I found that peculiar. If he was trying to let me be after what had happened over the weekend, I had had enough time!

I kept hearing about the new stuff Meg and Jeffrey were talking about, and it just made the craving to talk to him worse. I would settle for any conversation. He could text me about the weather if he wanted to.

I hoped he wasn't upset that he'd confessed a great deal to me and I ran out on him, not even letting him take me home. I almost wished now that I had let him. Maybe he would have-

Oh. Oh no. No. I'm done talking about this. He's a psychopath. I don't want him to hug me any more than he already has.





Except for the fact that I do.

- - -

For the rest of that week, I shriveled into my former Lily self. I read my books and watched my movies. This, I knew best. Antisocial-Lily of the past, that stayed home alone on Christmas Eve, even though her parents invited her to come to dinner with them. I didn't feel like it. I had been distracting myself with stimuli all week to feel more in the spirit of the holidays; more in the spirit of living my life; caring about Meg; not being effected by fictional entities (that were ignoring you, even)... I was running out of steam now.

The most appropriate thing to do that night, in my mind, was eat peppermint ice cream upstairs while browsing a "love and relationship" forum I had found, learning what other absurd things people were dealing with in the dating world. I knew, and I'm sure you know, that the thoughts and advice from names like "littlestar92" probably won't do us any good, but I had lost some dignity from this man. Since I couldn't seem to tell anyone what was going on, it was really my last resort to start threads on public boards titled "Men that admit they love you too early" and check every half hour for comments.

"sounds like hes really into u maybe 2 much. i'd say if u don't feel the same then it probably wont work"

Of all the things to crush your anticipation, this, horrendous punctuation and all, was the only comment I had gotten in two hours.

Every so often, I came back down stairs, deflated, and passed the time singing to myself, and at the tree. The whole house was dim with lights and figurines, and I would wander from room to room switching songs and mindsets. This was when everything felt right. Nobody I knew but Meg seemed to understand this frequent desire to shut everyone off and recharge. My mom always gave me this look when I tried to explain it. Or when I asked to leave get-togethers way earlier than my parents wanted to. I don't know why I am this way. Sometimes it would be a real pleasure to be able to turn it off, but apparently there is no such switch.


Around 8:00, I received the first text from Erik in quite a while. He told me to come outside.

Naturally, my first thought was "fuck fuck fuckety fuck fuck". The sky was black. I was unprepared and almost tripped on the stairs. I had to get dressed very quickly and when I reached the front door, my heart was already beating a mile a minute. With a mirror by the door, I placed my ear against the wood and looked my reflection in the eye before turning the knob and cracking it open, discovering there was nobody even there. I opened it a little further just for the sound of the hinges, hoping it might draw him closer. Still, the very small section of porch I could see was phantom-less. I don't know why I was doing this to myself. I let my eye see just an inch more of the ground and a thin green stick was protruding from the edge of the door frame. (what in the hell was this?)

I leaned out completely and looked down the front of my house. I realized then that my entire yard was covered in roses.

I re-closed the front door and stared at myself in the mirror, mouthing "what the fuck" to my reflection. I know I have been using the F-word frequently - it's the Phantom's fault.

I reopened the door. He still was not there.






If he had left all of this here and was gone now...


I stepped outside and closed the door behind me, approaching the roses and dropping to my knees to pick up but one and twist the stem in my fingers. The deep red was sparkling from a fresh layer of snow. They were real. And they must have been there a while; the petals were hardening.

This rose in my hand appeared to be thorn-less, but when I checked another, I found it thorn-less as well. A third was the same. It seemed that every rose had been de-thorned. There were dozens of them, everywhere. I found it hard, by the shape of my house, estimating how far they stretched, so I gradually left the doorway, careful not to step on a one, until I was as far out from the deck as possible. They stopped at the property line. I was smiling hard enough to make the shivering hurt my face. This was the most conspicuous gift I had ever received, one I knew I was never going to be able to explain to the other people that happened to live here. I laughed out loud just to see my breath in the air and whispered his name to myself several times, overcome with merriment. I wanted to call the bastard right that second to tell him he was crazy, (as well as thank you), but my phone was still back in the house - I had left it somewhere in ecstatic stupor. As I turned back towards the house, I realized there he was, hidden by the porch light, at the left edge of the deck.


O-o-oh.



"How did you know this is what I always wanted?" I joked.

"You're easy to read."

Tchheheh. I thought I was going somewhere with this when suddenly I was out of words. "...T... Thank you." I tried to say, but my voice seemed to get caught in my throat. How does one really thank someone else for showering your entire front yard with flowers? ...

He came close enough for me to take his hand. Like the petals, it felt stiffened by the cold, as though I were clutching a mannequin's.

"...You didn't have to do this, you know."

"Everything I do, I choose to." ... "It made for a very nice look on your face, didn't it." I was grinning like Meg did when I called her Mrs. Vanhorn. He shifted just slightly out from the dark and... he was smiling too. Not as hard as me, but it was a start. "A much better look than what I received a week ago."

"...I didn't mean for it to be that way. I had to go. But I've been thinking a lot about what you said to me. You know, when you said my eyes were dead, I-"

"They don't look dead anymore."

"...They don't?"

"No."

He paused.


"They're quite beautiful when they're alive. Actually." My smile continued, somewhat uncomfortably, until I realized I was just standing there practically petting his hand and he was still a distance away. He seemed content with it, almost, but when I rose my touch along his arm, he sharply inhaled and jerked free. I found that strange, the way he did it.

"Can-" It threw me off. He grabbed my hand again, realizing what I was trying to do and, arm first wide, set his other hand on my back, then drew his face, turned away, to the top of my head. ... I didn't understand the precision of this "embrace" if you'd call it that. All that seemed safe was lightly touching him over the shoulder and looking down the street.

"You heard me thank you, right?"

"You don't need to thank me."

"You gave this to me and I didn't even ask for it."

"What I gave you was a disappointment. If things were not as they were tonight, you'd have much more than this."

"Erik. You deserve an expression of gratitude."

"I got it long ago."

"I can't seem to remember giving it to you."

"You didn't give it to me the way that you're thinking."

"We could argue semantics all night. I still don't know why you can't take a simple thank-you for doing something sweet."
"...You're allowed to take from me."
"...What?"


He stopped talking so I quietly sounded his name. He didn't respond to me. Worse, his face was falling and a very cold edge of his mask was digging into my temple. The body loosely in my arms felt dead, really: no movement, no color, and no warmth. "Erik?" He retracted, still clutching my hand like he needed it for something. His stare suggested he didn't know how many times I had just tried for his attention. "You're not making any sense."

“...I've given up... trying to make sense. If you did too.. we'd have something very worth it, I promise...” He sort of muttered this to himself, thought a moment, and then raised my hand into the shadow of his cape until it touched his chest.

"Are you alright?"

"With you, always," he replied, seeming amused.

"...Then how are you going to feel when I go back?-" He couldn't come up with an answer. "Do you have somewhere to be tonight?" He continued to think, as if the answer wasn't readily apparent.

"...I'm already there." He raised a corner of his mouth. The way he did it reminded me so much of the night his own blood dripped onto my face, I almost felt I was reliving it.

"But you can't stay here much longer."

"I never can, can I."


Just then I saw up the street a pair of lights coming down the hill. He saw them as well. It was a danger to be talking to him out in the open like this, but I didn't have the heart to send him away. I'd almost rather be caught than cut any of it short.

"I'll make up for this another time." He loomed over me and I did not realize what he was doing until nervously, his lips touched and retracted from my forehead.

"You're freezing, anyway," he said. His eyes were hollowing, like they were departing everything before I could even tell him goodbye. The strength of his hand clasping mine died as he motioned backwards into a disquieting darkness beyond the deck. I was brought back to the roses. The scene seemed something I had discovered long ago and was finally returning to.

- - -

I came back in the house in a trance-like state. It was very odd. It was almost like I had drank half a screwdriver, except that I hadn't. The guy was acting stranger than strange and still bloody romancing me. I went upstairs, laid on my bed, and probably died a little inside before I realized I had to save and pile in my closet as many roses as possible before the parents were home to discover this odd sight.

And they did. I didn't have superpowers. I couldn't pick up all these roses alone. They saw them, and they also did not appear to believe me when I insisted this was a prank that Meg thought up because of some inside joke. We had done some funny things to each other before (like leave fruit on each other's doorsteps), but this one seemed too over the top for especially my mom to come to terms with. They weren't really that pissed off, moreso just confused, but I had anxiety just knowing what the real reason was, and worse, I wanted him back here.

The man who had faded into the dark, pretending he could not feel the harsh temperature, was somewhere he shouldn't be on a night like that - I could feel it. But more, I had never thought so strongly that his rightful place was with me before, and I couldn't believe that I had succumbed to this idea. It left me standing in the light of the refrigerator, resisting the urge to chug the wine bottle on the bottom shelf. I'd learned my lesson about drinking just because you're confused, and I still don't recommend it. In fact my advice is to stay in school, do your homework, and not get involved with strangers that can be nice enough to you that you forget they are cutting up their faces and stalking you in their spare time.

The Christine in me didn't give a shit. I had been fighting her emotions for some time now but they were bound to overthrow me. Being a little slammed might have helped.

(You know I'm joking, right?)

All I actually did was close the fridge door, wander back into the study, and wait for Meg to get on aim, knowing we'd talk about nothing important for a while and then it'd slowly lead into something involving Jeffrey.

I let that happen. I was very good at pretending I had nothing better to discuss. She didn't know (or probably care) that inside I was falling apart; that crumbling you feel when you can't scream out loud for being so astounded with something you have just seen or heard or... in my case, felt. It was better this way. Meg could go on being happy and I could wait for Giry. Giry would know exactly what to do now that I was too deep.


Favorite Quote(s)

It is extremely difficult thinking up what to give someone so secretive. I only know a few things about you - you hate people. You like writing. You write on lined paper. Which I don't find sophisticated enough for someone I'm sure has brilliant ideas but isn't telling anyone.

It was almost like I had drank half a screwdriver, except that I hadn't. The guy was acting stranger than strange and still bloody romancing me.