I own nothing, Phantom. Closet. This is a pointless little one-shot that was nagging at my brain. I do not own the song 'Breathing' by Yellowcard either. Just imagine Christine stayed with our lovely Erik and the two are living together in his sewer…I mean, his lair. Just a little drivel on his thoughts. And his indecisive, commitment issued mind. Bastard. Hot bastard.
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The first thing the notorious Phantom woke to was an effervescent, candle-lit darkness.
He tried to adjust his eyesight to the gloom and groaned, shifting in the large bed as to not wake the sleeping angel. He turned over, just to catch a quick glimpse of her face and climbed out of the bed.
Eyes are feeling heavy but they never seem to close
The fan blades on the ceiling spin but the air is never cold
And even though you're next to me I still feel so alone
I just can't give you anything for you to call your own
He heard his bare feet softly step to the ground, feeling the cold of the stone floor send a shiver up his spine. He paced over from the bed; catching a look at his reflection in a mirror for a mere moment and feeling the angry thoughts fill his mind.
'I'm a monster' ever since the victory of his winning Christine, these thoughts frequently plagued him.
He soon found his hand slipped down his back, fingers entangling with the various bumps and crevices of his scarred flesh.
The shivers traced upward from his fingertips throughout his whole body.
He drew his hand back quickly to his side and shuddered, unable to bear the disgust washing over him at the sensation of his own distorted skin beneath his fingers.
He felt the need to vomit.
He angrily stomped to the edge of the lake, his teeth clenched and knuckles white with pure rage.
Something I've been keeping locked away behind my lips
I can feel it breaking free with each and every kiss
I couldn't bear to hurt you but it's all so different now
Things that I was sure of they have filled me up with doubt
"Why am I to be burdened with this?" he screamed, on his knees in front of the rippling water, "I never did a thing to deserve such misfortune!"
The silence broke and his deep voice echoed.
This was practically a daily routine. He was plagued perpetually by a self loathing that overwhelmed his love and brought him to the point of madness.
The angel never woke.
He stretched his hand forth and into the water, sending droplets everywhere. Tiny crystal beads of liquid hovered in the air. The water shook and blurred his image, rippling and quivering to a stop. He quickly drew his hand back, shaking as he looked down to his bare palm.
How am I supposed to feel about the things I've done
I don't know if I should stay or turn around and run
I know that I hurt you things will never be the same
The only love I ever knew I threw I all away
He shook the water free of his hand and, before he could stop his fingers, his mask was ripped free of his face. He stood now, hovering over the side like an ominous cloud.
"Is this all I am?" he cried, gripping his mask tightly to his side.
As usual, there was no omnipotent deity to answer his query.
"I did nothing….nothing I deserve punishment for…" his angry tone fell to a solemn emptiness.
The silence returned and echoed from the dank caverns. The angel slumbered still, soft breaths barely audible.
The black, leather scrap of material slid against his fingers as he helplessly stared into the lake.
"Why am I this?" he asked, tone rising "WHY?"
The silence held no answer to his questions. The silence never did. No one ever did.
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Crap. Bad crap. Thanks for reading, but it disgusts me. I could do better but this was a quickie idea.