AN: Just a friendly hello, and welcome to my fic! This is my first time writing, so I would appreciate any helpful comments!
Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom, or any of the song lyrics used.
The Phantom
"Shit!" he growled as he slammed the lid down over the keys of the instrument. The heat from his hands created a ghost-like print upon the ebony surface. As he watched the hand prints fade away he realized that he had to accept that his attempt at practicing was not going well. He was distracted; annoyed with the way his lesson had gone, which had been poorly. His teacher was firm, and he had not been playing up to his and especially not her standards. Madame Giry had dismissed him a half an hour early saying in her cultured accent,
"Go, Erik, you are troubled, you have been for weeks. You are no good to me and you are no good to music in this state. Search your soul, discover what troubles your mind and come back to me and to music when you are at peace."
She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. She looked deep in his eyes, as though searching for some hidden secret.
"Yes, Madame," he replied coldly, allowing his frustration with himself to turn to anger towards his teacher. Madame Giry was the closest Erik had ever had to a mother, and she knew him well enough to know when she should be concerned. He respected and resented her for this. She made him care about his life; she was the reason that he was here at all.
He knew what was troubling him, and had known for weeks. It was the same problem that always plagued him. His desire to live a normal life fought with the knowledge that he never could. There were many of life's experiences that he had missed out on, and many more that he would miss out on. There would be no wife, no children, no loving family. Every time his thoughts wandered down this path it was as if a black cloud would descend. It was a cloud he could never shake no matter how hard he tried. It clung to him like mist.
He walked to his favorite practice room, deciding that if Madame Giry would not push him tonight, he would push himself to play well. This was how he found himself, at 10:30 at night, shouting obscenities at a piano like the madman he could be. After slamming his fists down, he slowly dropped his head to the instrument, his body slumped over in a posture of absolute defeat and frustration. Eventually he sat up, and knowing in his heart that he would accomplish nothing else this evening, he packed up his books, and left the room. Even if he had been getting work done, it was time to go; he had an early appointment with Nadir tomorrow. He eased into the hallway, thankful for the darkness that allowed him to creep along in shadows, features unrecognizable, although at this time at night it hardly ever mattered, not even the dedicated music students practiced this late during the summer. He was still cautious however, just in case someone was around. Then his heart froze as he heard music coming loudly from around the corner. He looked down the hallway, and saw that the lights were on in what he thought was the band library. Who would be there so late at night, and playing music so loudly? The music was bright and folksy and as the chorus came in he heard a clear, pure voice singing along with it.
And it's you and me in the sun and sea
I'll offer my arm to yours
It seems to me no mystery
It isn't so I'll try hard to speak
He felt entranced, and had actually started walking towards the light, when he saw shadows within the room creep towards the hallway. Erik spun around, and dashed around the corner before he could be seen. He leaned against the wall and berated himself. He had almost been seen! He left the building from another exit and wandered back to his apartment to sleep, only to be haunted by dreams filled with that clear, pure voice.
He awoke the next morning to the sun streaming in through his window, the patch of light stopping just shy of his bed, as if it was afraid of the darkness that lived there. He glanced at the clock and saw that he still had a half an hour before he had to get out of bed. He lay there, watching the sunlight stroll across his floor, edging ever closer to his bed, but never quite touching. He reached out a tentative hand, as if to welcome the light before drawing quickly away, as if burned.
He went to his session with Nadir. Nadir Khan was his therapist, had been since Erik was 18. Erik had been an angry young man, and it was Madame Giry's insistence that had led him to Nadir's office. Nadir had gained Erik's trust from the first phone call. At that time in his life, Erik had blatantly refused to be out in public during day light hours, and told Nadir as much. Nadir agreed to do a late night session, and after he had gained Erik's trust, had urged him to be out more during the day. There had been many ups and downs through out their relationship, but it was all worth it. Erik would now come to Nadir's office early in the morning, while the sun was out, but there were less people around. Nadir hoped that someday Erik would realize that he could live the life he so desperately wanted, but always denied himself.
"Good morning, Erik."
"Nadir."
"And how has your week been?"
"Distracted."
"Tell me how."
"The same as it always is, Nadir. And you know it. I still have a desire for a normal life, to live and laugh and love as a man was meant to."
"But you can have a normal life, Erik."
"No," Erik paused, hesitant. "I can't."
"Why do you believe you can't?"
"Because of this," he gestured up to his face. "Because of my abnormalities."
"Erik, you speak of your abnormalities, but if you would actually take the time to get to know others you would find that you are no more abnormal than your average young man."
"Even if that were true, who would I talk to? I never see anyone throughout my day except for my professors."
"Well, Erik, my lad, you don't see anyone because you choose to take your day at night whilst everyone else is sleeping. So you say that you never meet anyone in the music building at night? Not even janitors?"
"I hardly ever see anyone."
"But you do see some people then? Who was the most recent? When was the last time someone other than me or Madame Giry saw you?"
"Last night . . . well, she didn't see me, and I didn't see her. I heard her singing down a hallway, and panicked."
"Well, tell me about her?"
"I can't tell you anything about her. All I know is that she had a lovely singing voice."
"Why didn't you introduce yourself if you thought she had a nice voice?"
"I was scared."
"Why were you scared?"
"You know why."
"Humor me."
"Because she would see my mask and then wonder. And then she would ask questions, and I don't want to answer them. Even if she didn't ask, if she was polite, I'd still see the questions in her eyes. She would only befriend me out of a morbid curiosity."
"Erik, not everyone will be hateful, or harmful, or cruel to you because of your appearance. I know that you've met your share of hurtful people, and many of them were people who should have loved you unconditionally. And I can't guarantee what this girl is like. I don't know how she'll behave towards you. I don't know how anyone will behave towards you. But you don't know either. Assuming the worst of this girl puts you on the same level as people who have harmed you. You both are judging on assumptions, on first impressions, and we all know how accurate those can be. I won't promise that you won't get hurt, Erik, but I do promise that I'll let you yell at me about it if you do. Just think about it."
"Any other words of wisdom?" replied Erik frostily.
"When you use that tone with me, I know I'm correct. Continue to think about it, Erik. That's all for this week, goodbye."
Erik stood up and walked out the door without another word.
He left his session deep in thought about what Nadir had told him. In his heart, Erik knew Nadir was right. "That doesn't mean I have to be happy about it," he muttered to himself. There were people in his life that loved him. Nadir himself and Madame Giry were concerned for his well-being. Both had seen his face, and had not run from him. Somehow, they both let him know that they were sorry about his face and his life, without making him feel miserable about it all. But there was another voice in his head, the one that loved to play devil's advocate. Over the years he had learned to ignore this voice, this demon, but sometimes it came creeping out. Now it was arguing with his hope that he could gain more friends. "Two out of how many, Erik?" whispered the voice. "Plenty of people have seen your face and ran . . . or laughed, or even screamed. Nice odds." Without knowing how, Erik found himself at the door to his attic apartment. He had found the place through Madame Giry; the owners of the house were a retired couple from her church. They often traveled, left Erik alone, and asked a reasonable price for the apartment, and also, they didn't charge Erik for utilities. They had told him that they weren't looking to make money in their old age; they had enough to get them through. They mainly thought it was a good idea to have someone in the house while they were away on their trips, and having a renter live in the spacious, open attic seemed like just the thing. Even after two years of living there, Erik was still surprised by the space. One could almost call it the third story of the house. The walls were high, and there was enough height that Erik only had to stoop when he was in the farthest corners. It was not just a good place, it was a good home.
Erik decided to wait a few days before returning to Madame Giry. He could not stay away from music, however, and that night he found himself in his favorite practice room playing and practicing and pouring his heart and soul into music. He had spent the last two hours practicing his lessons music, which included some wonderfully impressionistic Debussy, and now he wanted to work on his own, to continue his compositions. He had been working easily for a half hour, scribbling notes on the page and continually playing passages as he made changes when he suddenly reached a dead end. He had another theme he wanted to work into the piece, but he couldn't hear where it was meant to go. Or maybe it was meant for another piece. Suddenly he was unsure of what the melody even was. His muse had fled him as quickly as she had come. He dropped his pencil, ran his hands through his hair and stretched his sore muscles. He had been sitting at the piano bench for the last three hours and his body was beginning to protest. He stood, and as he turned, he caught his reflection in the mirror behind him. He didn't look often, but tonight he felt compelled.
He surveyed himself in the mirror. He started at the floor and traveled up his tall frame. Standing straight and tall, as he always did, he was several inches over six feet. In his youth he had been lanky and gangly with it, with little grace or ease of movement. Now, at the age of 26 his body had filled out. He was solid and strong, and through Yoga he had toned his muscles and taught himself grace and ease of movement, which had been a suggestion from Nadir because of its calming effects. His height and his bulk gave him a powerful, intimidating aura. At last he brought his gaze up to his face. He had a suspicion that the lines around his mouth and eyes were noticeable only to him. He was the only person in the world who was that intimate with his features. He looked at his mask and grimaced. His mask was made of leather, thin and molded perfectly to his face. It also perfectly matched his skin tone; in dim lighting very few people realized he wore it. If they only knew the truth, he thought darkly. But before his thoughts could continue down that dark path, he stopped himself and used a technique Nadir had taught him. Instead of focusing on the aspects he loathed, he looked again and searched for something positive to say. He studied his reflection intently, and decided that today's positive thought was how intense he was. His entire form was intimidating, and he was proud of that, but to top it all off his deep green eyes flashed with power. Yes, he was intense.
He turned from the mirror to look at his composition again, but he wasn't ready to continue work. He reached into his gig bag, pulled out his copy of Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy and left the practice room, intending to head up to the second floor to his favorite hiding spot. In a random, hidden corner outside the Recital Hall balcony there was a large, overstuffed chair that was ideal for reading and napping. He would give himself a half hour break, and then he would go back and finish his piece. His plans changed however as he turned the corner. Once again, a light was on in the band library, and music was pouring out of the door. Once again he felt entranced, and walked toward the light, and the voice. He crept along the wall, keeping to the shadows. He stopped right before a large window that seemed to have been built just for him. He could hide in a shadow that was cast, but still view the entire room. For some unfathomable reason he was afraid to look, as if he was on the edge of a precipice, and to look would be to fall. Finally he steeled his courage and looked into the room.
She had her back to him, and her head was bent down, staring at something on the screen of a copy machine. She was on the tall side of average, and some how he knew that if he were to embrace her, his chin would rest perfectly on her head. Her hair was a deep chocolate brown, and he was unsure of the length, although it had to be long because of the elaborate messy bun that it was in. She wore a tank top that was the color of the ocean, which contrasted nicely with her chocolate brown gypsy skirt. But the most fascinating aspect of this girl was her voice. It was true, and untrained. There was purity in it that he had never heard before. He listened with absolute joy and she sang a tune that he recognized from a child's cartoon movie.
So this is love? Mmmhmmmhmmm
So this is love?
So this is what makes life divine?
She punched a button on the copy machine, and then began to perform a swaying, swinging dance to match her song. Her loose skirt flowed around her bare legs, and he saw a wooden beaded anklet around her left ankle. Her feet were bare with a pair of flip-flops resting casually by the copier. On her toes was a shade of bright pink. Just as she began to reach the height of her dance, the copy machine stopped, and she stopped spinning mid-twirl, the spell broken. As she stepped towards to the copy machine, he stepped away from her, and away from the light.
