• This is the second chapter!! Hope you like smile


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    Chapter 2- Can you Make Tea?

    Erik put his face in his hands, shaking his head slowly. "Just ... try," he gritted between his teeth. "Take a look at the music, Olivia de Chagny, and don't make me angry!" His fingers pulled slightly at his mask in a desperate attempt to take in some air. Leaning back on his couch he sucked in great mouthfuls, desperately fuming and trying to control his anger. Pure rage boiled within him.

    "Just try," he insisted, taking his hands away from his face and the mask that had slipped slightly down it. "Please. As a personal favor, try. I want to hear what you sound like." Now he stood and thundered to his organ, where he sat and rammed his hands on the patient ivory keys - perhaps just a bit hard. A few pipes spat dust, coughing out long, low notes and he took his hands away as if burned. A heavy sigh escaped his lips.

    "NO! I will not sing! You cannot make me, Erik," she angrily not even looking at the music. Her dark blonde hair hung loosely around her shoulders in curls and her eyes flashed with anger. She would not sing not once not at all, not even the Opera Ghost could make her sing. Besides she hated her voice even though people have told her she was good. To her, her voice sounded dead when she sang like it wasn't full of life or emotions. That was the reason why she never took up lessons for singing, and she had not even tried to sing in the past couple of years.

    He slammed his hand roughly on the keys again. "God damnit, woman, you will sing!" he roared, the whole of his house echoing with the sound of his bellow. Standing, he was at her side in a moment, reaching out to grab her by the shoulders. At last he could touch someone again; though it was in anger, and he did not cherish the emotion as he once did.

    "You ... will ... sing," he gritted, his eyes desperate and needy. "Tell me why you won't! I'll listen, I swear!" With that he realized what he was doing and dropped his hands. "I will listen," he said, his eyes still wild. "Just tell me why you refuse to sing."

    "Fine! I'll tell you," she said her whole body shaking in anger, "It's because when I sing I have no emotion what-so-ever in my voice. I bring no life to it and I can't seem to get out of it. I just stopped after realizing it when I was 12. I never sang after that. I continued to dance though since that seemed to be the only way to let my emotions show when I preformed." She glanced down at the music for the second time, the first time being when he had first handed it to her; that's when she had started this whole thing between them. "Still though even after telling you this I will not sing not for anyone." She really didn't care how angry he got with her she was use to his anger anyway by now since she has been in his service for almost a month.

    His body began to shake, almost a relapse of his angry fit, before his chuckles became audible. Shaking his head he began to pull at his mask, as he did when extremely amused now. His shoulder heaved with silent struggles of mirth.

    "Good Lord, girl," he said softly, and fell back on his couch, tipping his head back and putting up his feet. For a moment he was the perfect invalid with a hand across his brow. "You put in the emotion. The emotion doesn't control you. Do you think -" He had to pause, to collect himself before saying the name. "Do you think C-Christine had all of that emotion when she began to sing? I had to teach it to her - she couldn't just throw it in her voice! Only a few people can put any given emotion in their voice on cue. It isn't an easy thing to do. I can teach that," he told her solemnly, now no hint of laughter.

    "I won't sing! That's final I don't care what you can teach, Erik you can't make me. And beside I don't want to be compared to Christine! I bet that's how you are when you meet any girl is compare them with Christine. How would you like it if I compared you to anyone I like or who use to a suitor mine that I actually liked?"

    She was now not only angered by his laughter but by the mention of the name Christine with her own problem. Oh she loved her aunt yes, but still being compared to how she’s like or how she wasn't like Christine drove her nerves crazy.

    "How dare you!" he thundered. "I can't even think about her without wanting to crawl into the corner and die. I can hardly say her name and you have the gall to ask me how I'd like it if you compared me. You have the gall to accuse me of stacking everyone up against C-"

    He couldn't force himself to say the name. He struggled for air, feeling a sharp pain down his left side, and he knew another of his heart episodes was coming on. "Get out," he managed, waving his right arm - the one that he still could move - as his vision swam. He no longer cared that tears were audible in his voice.

    She was about to turn around and leave but she didn't. Her conscious was telling her to help him, and she didn't like it. "Erik...Look you just made me angry I said stuff I didn't mean. Please I'm sorry," she said as she walked over to him slowly as she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders tighter.

    He waved her away, concentrating on staying upright, then took a quick deep breath and forced air from his lungs to speak. "Go on," he begged, and then tried again. This time it came out weakly. "Please."

    The word sounded unfamiliar in his ears, tasted strange in his mouth. He leaned back against the cushions, trying to go slow so as not to hurt himself. Now it was a struggle to stay awake.

    "Please don't send me away. I hurt you, and possibly made you so stressed out that your body is doing this to you. Please, Erik, you're probably the only person that's sort-of like a friend to me here, and I don't want to lose that," she said sitting next to him. Her voice was soft and kind as she spoke.

    It was true what she said he only other possible friend was the Madam, but Olivia's fellow ballerinas/ballet rats wouldn't even talk to her; possibly found out what had happened when Raoul had come here and both Olivia and him started arguing. Erik had come to her after that and had talked with her about it that made her feel a whole lot better.

    "Look, will you leave me alone?" he snapped, his aching lungs and heart crying out whenever he spoke. "I don't like being seen like this."

    Now he lowered himself down on the couch, laying on his side and closing his eyes firmly. He didn't want to think about being her friend; he didn't want her to see him, weak and needy, like this. He wanted to be left alone, to die if he had to, without showing weakness. He didn't want to be seen as anything other than powerful, commanding Erik, the Phantom of the Opera, and he most definitely didn't want to be seen as weak, heart-attack Erik.

    It was only sheer pigheadedness that kept him awake now.

    She opened her mouth to speak to him but she closed it once more. She though didn't leave him, she couldn't, sat on the couch but she didn't move closer to him. Her face written with concern and soon she let out a sigh, "You need help, Erik. You do and I'll help you if you just let me."

    "Can you make tea?" he asked, wincing at the similarity to a memory.

    Can you make tea?
    You mean ... English tea? With milk?
    No, Russian tea, with lemon. Go light the samovar.

    A wave of pain washed over him, both physical and emotional. He shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut.

    "Yes I can make tea, Erik," she said standing up and nodding, "Is there a certain type of tea you want?" When she said this it showed she can make different types of tea.

    "Russian tea," he said weakly, "with lemon. The samovar's in the kitchen above the basin."

    He closed his eyes, weak from rasping even these words. His heart ached horribly but he could feel himself slowly inching out of the danger zone. He knew he was lucky to have just a mild turn; often he blacked out for an hour or a day.

    All right," she said as she began to boil the water, and make it exactly how he wanted it. After a good 5 minutes it was done, and she poured the tea into a tea cup for him. "Here you go Erik. Just the way you asked for it," she said holding out the saucer and the cup for him.

    "Thank you," he managed, sitting up slowly and accepting the tea. With his eyes half-closed he gingerly sipped at it, choking on the scalding heat of the tea. It got caught in his windpipe and for a moment he simply struggled with the air, trying to suck it into his abused lungs. When he could breathe he tried drinking again, and finding it worked, nodded in approval.

    "Pretty good," he wheezed, grinning at her. "Thank you, my dear."

    "You're welcome and thank you for your compliment on my tea making. When I was young my mother taught me how says that a man always likes a woman that can make decent or very good tea," Olivia said smiling watching him drink her tea.

    "Your mother was smart," he said, trying to stomach being around someone in his moment of weakness. After a few moments he tried to get up, then fell back, splashing some tea on himself and cursing horribly under his breath.

    "Olivia," he managed, "do you think you could leave me for a few minutes? Or come back tomorrow?" He pleaded with his eyes, wiling her to understand.

    "Sure...All right," she said as she stood up, "Don't do anything too rash, Erik. You need your rest. And thank you about my mother. She was smart, and was dearly loved by a lot of people. Helped out everyone in need." She then started her ascent up to her room hoping that Erik was all right.

    Wincing, he sighed and called her back. "Just a moment, Olivia, can you come here for a second?"

    He cursed himself, but felt the need to thank her again. If it hadn't been for her stubbornness he wouldn't have had his heart attack, but nor would he have been reminded of his own human weakness.

    "Oh sure," she said as she turned back around. She walked back to him and knelt down in front of him, "You're all right, right Erik?" She gave him a look of concern wondering what else he wanted from her even though just a second ago he told her to leave.

    Shakily he reached out, and took her hand gently although it pained him to do so. Gently he squeezed it. "Thank you," he said again, and the words stuck in his throat. His tea forgotten he clung to her hand weakly as though it were a link to his survival. "Yes, I'm all right. I just want to say thank you."

    Aware of how weak he must sound he shuddered.

    "You're welcome Erik. But you must have rest. You should lay here you'll be comfortable," she said squeezing his hand back in return and giving him a big smile. That smile showed that she didn't mind what she did for him and that she appreciated his thankfulness towards her.

    He nodded as though he were a small boy obeying his mother and quickly finished his tea, laying back, though he did not release her hand.

    Nodding his thanks he began to close his eyes and gave a soft sigh, though he knew he would not fully relax until she was in her room and he could remove his mask. He had not slept with it on, ever, as far as he could recall; not unless he fell asleep while writing or composing.

    "Sleep well Erik," she said softly placing her fingertips on her lips then placed those finger tips on his forehead. She then stood up and let go of his hand once more starting to go back up to her room to leave him for now.

    Stunned, he could only stare after her. Her touch on his forehead had made him reel slightly and he tried to control his breathing, almost hoping that had been a hallucination - but neither enjoying that thought, or wanting it to be only a hallucination. Smiling, he pulled off his mask and placed his face against the pillows.


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