What Doesn't Kill You
3
"You Would Leave Your Angel...?"
Brilliant green eyes scanned the stage of the Opera Populaire. Only a small collection of ballerinas were left on stage, Madam Giry drilling them again and again until they were prefect. The edge of his lips curled into a slight wry smile. Now there is a work ethic to be admired…Where is everyone? Where is Christine? Slipping away from his position amid the curtains, pulleys and rafters, he climbed onto the hanging walkways above with the ferocious grace of a jungle cat. Ever mindful to stay out of sight, he crept through passageways in the walls that no one else was aware of, seeking his prey. Beautiful Christine. With his uncanny hearing, it wasn't long before he caught airy wisps of her voice coming from her dressing room. A vicious scowl soon followed, he'd picked up another voice. Probably that fool of a fop. How can she allow one so unworthy in her presence? Finding the passage that connected to her room, he moved to his place behind her mirror, able to see the entire room from his vantage point. A young man, swathed in the latest fashions that the best of Paris provided, was seated in a heavily cushioned chair beside her vanity. Seated before it, the lovely star of "Don Juan Triumphant" was preening, primping her hair. The silent observer's eyes hung on her, enraptured by her delicate, effortless beauty.
"As soon as this ridiculous show is over with, we can leave Paris, live in my villa in Marsielle. You will love it there, Christine. And you will never have to come back to this place ever again," The young man reasoned. Christine frowned prettily, as if confused.
"Do not say such things, Raoul. The Opera Populaire is my home, I could not stay away forever. All of my friends are here, and I will want to see the shows." The observer, who was gritting his teeth at Christine's would-be abductor, focused again on the young woman, hopeful that she would ignore her young suitor.
"Do not be foolish, Christine. This man is a greater threat than even you realize. We must escape him, and to do that, we must leave Paris for good. To where he cannot follow us." Hah. I could follow you anywhere, fool. Dot you not realize that I know everything that is said, everything that is done in my opera house? Christine glanced at him, her fragile brows furrowing in worry.
"Is there at least opera in Marsielle?" She asked, turning back to the mirror to apply a light pink balm to her lips. Raoul brightened, seeing his opportunity to persuade her.
"Of course there is. We could see all the opera you want there," This seemed to satisfy her, she smiled.
"Good then. I will be your wife, so I will not be able to perform any longer, but I still wish to see the opera, Raoul. It is my life. And I will want to invite Meg to come visit," She replied, continuing to prep her reflection. The watcher's heart sank, he felt like choking. You would leave me, your Angel, for him? For that idiotic fool whose only cares are of his clothing and hair? He chose to believe that for Christine, the opera, the music really was her life. He ignored the obvious fact that even now, her cares were really only about herself. He watched her longingly as she fluffed her brown coiled plaits, pinched her cheeks to make them blush. I have to stop this, I have to stop him. He is taking away my inspiration, my goddess of song! I will NOT let him! He glared daggers through the mirror as Raoul stood to leave.
"I leave you to your rehearsals, my dear. I shall come to get you later this evening for dinner?" Christine, soothed, didn't bother to look up from her grooming, nodding. "Until later then, Christine," The young Vicomte planted a kiss on her cheek. "My angel of music." With that, he strode from her dressing room, the door clicking shut behind him. Christine stood, frowning and wrapping her arms around herself, and gazing around the room.
"Life not in the Opera Populaire…" After a few moments of what appeared to be serious thought, she moved to her wardrobe, plucking a satin green gown from the swarm that were overly stuffed into it. The observer, though he would have loved to stay and watch her go about her afternoon, turned away, stomping down the passage. HIS "angel of music"!?! That—that vile, disgusting little worm! How can I prevent this? He will take her away after opening night. I could follow her to Marsielle, but she will marry him! No. I cannot let that happen, he is not worthy of her. If she would just stay here, with my music, with me, then everything would be fine. It would be perfect. I will make her stay with me. She believes he loves her, but she cannot know what real love is until she sees mine! I must simply prove to her what I will do for her! I will do whatever it takes! Madness boiled behind his eyes, pumped through his veins. Practically shaking with rage and fueled by the insanity that had now completely overcome him, he followed the pathway until it dipped into a lake of near-freezing water. He climbed into a small black boat, his mind churning, working at how to keep his love, his Christine.
o o o o o
Leaning into my bathroom mirror, I attempted to correct the lipstick smudge under my lip. I was due at the party any minute, I told Mom I would be there in a half hour over forty minutes ago. She was a stickler for punctuality, and I knew I would be getting a call about my tardiness soon. I hate this. What was she thinking? She knows how I feel about the 19th, why would she do this to me! Ok, relax. This isn't about you. Just calm down, go to the party, pretend like you're having a great time…even with Mom's random blind date guy…just get it over with. It's only a day. Yes. Not even, maybe like three and half hours. I can do this. Wiping the excess lipstick on a washcloth, I stood back to consider my appearance. I wore a satiny Kelly green form fitting dress that wisped across my toes when I wore my black heels. Criss-cross fabric pieces circled my waist, ran up my sides and then cross again to form an elegant high-necked halter top. I wore silver chain earrings with black crystals hanging from the ends, and a few black pins in my hair to match. While squeezing into the dress was harder than I remembered it being since the last time I wore it, the real challenge was in getting my unruly auburn mess into a hairstyle that was both elegant and kept it out of my face. Although my hair was pretty short—I had long locks that I had been rather proud of, but chopped them off to create a "new me" when Josh and I broke up—only reaching a few inches below my ears, my curls tangled easily, and taming them into a respectable look seemed like a daunting task. With a straightener in one hand, gel and mousse in the other, and a comb in my mouth, it took me at least twenty minutes to manage. Another half hour for makeup as I coated my under-eyes with concealer, hoping the dark circles from an all-nighter paper spree would miraculously vanish. Mascara, a red-brown eyeliner to match my hair ever so slightly and off set my blue-grey eyes, and a rosy lipstick. I ignored blush, feeling like it would have looked like too much. I guess this is the best I can do…I could still see about a million flaws, but I hoped that no one else would notice. Applying deodorant while clomping in my strappy black heels to my bedroom, I ran through my head a mental list of things I wanted to take. Tossing the deodorant stick onto my bed, I dug through the little sequined black purse I had planned to bring, checking off items in my mental list. Lipstick, concealer, eyeliner, mascara…little brush, cellphone, money, ID, hair bands, bobby pins, keys, breath mints? Chapstick…I had to stuff the chapstick into the clutch, my list barely able to fit into the little bag. Grunting as I forced the clasp shut, I made a mental note not to open it if I could help it. I clopped back into the bathroom, leaning contorting my body so I could see it at different angles. Heartily wishing I had my beautiful full length mirror, I smoothed my dress, checked my teeth, slipped the chain of the purse around my head, and headed out the door, the party looming before me. 'What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger…'
I hung by the back wall in my parent's living room, avoiding the lovely couples as they glided around each other, exchanging pleasantries. A drink in one hand, my purse in the other, I felt awkward, and would have loved to been invisible. Several people made eye contact, approaching me. I made basic conversation, but felt a little oppressed by the crowd and generally ended them as quickly as possible. Over the past few months, I had developed a nervousness around people, a strange phobia that they were always judging me. The party set-up was like a nightmare to me, I was surrounded by people I didn't know in my parent's rather large home, not a familiar face in site. I wasn't exactly sure what caused my anxiety originally, only that I was never a particularly outgoing person, and always attended big parties with Josh. As a photographer trying to make it big in fashion, we had attended many fancy "swarees", as he liked to call them. He was the outgoing one, a regular social butterfly. I never really had to do or say anything on his arm, just smile and act like I was having a good time. Now though, my shield was gone, and I was alone. Alone in a room full of people….It doesn't seem possible, but somehow I manage. God, why did I have to go to this? I'm so bad at things like this and people are staring…I wasn't sure if they actually were or not, I just felt like all the eyes in the room were pasted to me, as if a bright spotlight were on me. I almost wish there was a spotlight, maybe then I could at least pretend it was a show and pretend to be someone else…
My mother had yet to see me, and I was hoping to avoid her and "the young man" she had insisted on me meeting in the car. I wondered vaguely how long I would have to stay to be polite and keep Mom happy. I had run into Dad earlier, he had been hanging in the background too, never one for big parties. We had jokes at our introverted-ness, and then Mom began to call for him. Making my escape, I fled to the living room to look busy and inconspicuous. Though my plan for being unnoticed by my mother had worked, I was now blessedly, yet awkwardly, alone. My solitude didn't last. I saw Mom making a beeline for me, her eyes locked on mine, dragging some poor fellow behind her with a vice-like grasp.
"Gwen! Finally I found you! Your father said you were here…" I tried not to frown at his betrayal. "This is Jonathan. He works with your father. Jonathan, this is my daughter, Gwen. She's a grad student at Georgetown." She pulled Jonathan over to me, swinging him around in front of her so we were only about two feet apart. Her hands on his back, she shoved him ever so slightly, so we stood now only a foot apart. Flashing me a wide smile, my mother abruptly turned on her heel and left. That left me with Mr. Jonathan. I gave him a wry half-smile.
"Sorry about my mother, she can be very pushy sometimes…" He laughed as awkwardly as I felt, and I sincerely wished I had been left alone after all. At least I could look mysterious in my seclusion. He brought up my studies, asking about my focus and what I planned to do with it. At first I was relieved, thinking that I could talk on hours about this topic. I was surprised, though, to find how quickly the conversation dried up. He was politely interested, agreeing and asking questions where he should, but something about him gave me the creeps. He had a pleasant, perhaps handsome, face with light brown slightly curling hair cut close to his head. Bright eyes, but seemed to withdraw coldly, like there were darker thoughts behind them. Wide smile, but perhaps too wide for the subject manner, and flashed at strange points in the conversation. His posture sloped toward me slowly, leaning a bit too close to me. I would take a small step back, and he would follow, his eyes wandering over my face, neck, below. He brought up more topics, his education, his interests, asking questions about mine. I became increasingly uncomfortable as his eyes roamed around, his friendly smiles became leers. I tried to hide my discomfort, but was fairly certain it was apparent to him. I was beyond nervous, and talking to a strange man who didn't seem to understand social boundaries was getting to me. His eyes never left me, behind his laughs there seemed to be a sort of calculation and analysis. I wondered what he could possibly be analyzing. Me? Trying to see if I would make a good girlfriend or maybe even one night stand…No. Don't be stupid, Gwen. No one is interested in you, and even if this guy was, I'm really not into him. He's…creepy. What was Mom thinking?
At the soonest break in the conversation, I excused myself, saying that I had to use the restroom. He watched me as I walked away, and feeling trapped, I headed to the bathroom hoping to see a friend or parent on the way. Knowing that he was still watching me, I strode down the hall to the bathroom, passing my mirror. I paused, turned to it, touching it slightly. I saw movement behind me, and a flash of panic drove me to scurry into the room, slamming the door behind me. Locking it, I leaned against it, sighing. Pulling out my phone, I checked the time. Ten. I had already been there somehow for two hours. Have I wasted that much time on that creep? What the hell was Mom thinking? How could she not see how icky he is! How am I supposed to get out of here without him swooping on me again? Gripping my phone, an idea struck me. I flipped it open, started dialing the house number. Mom or Dad would pick up, I could tell them how yucky weird he was, and they would save me, whisking me away to meet other people or perhaps even to a cab home. As genius as the plan was, it was doomed from the start. No service. I cursed the reception hole that was my parents' home, and slumped back against the door. I would have to handle it myself. Standing erect, throwing my shoulders back, and forcing my most confident, aggressive smile, I quit the bathroom. He was waiting for me. I felt my new-found confidence draining with every step I took toward him down the hall. No one else was, around they were all huddled in the living and dining rooms, loudly conversing. He stood in front of my mirror, his figures running over the frame, the glass. Suddenly I was furious, feeling violated. He turned his head slowly, eyes wandering over my form. Not allowing myself to be intimidated, I gave him a devilish, hard smile.
"Like my mirror?"
"Yes, I was just admiring it. Beautiful piece. It's yours?"
"Yes, I picked it up in a little shop a few hours from here. I'm very fond of it." He nodded, once again invading my bubble by standing too close. I stood between him and the mirror, feeling like it was my purpose to defend it from him. In the hall away from the crowd, the din of people had faded into a hum. The light was neutral, not too bright, not dim. The hall was decorated pleasantly, my mother loved simple elegance and the hall, just like the rest of the house, reflecting this. And yet, I felt like the environment was pressing down on me. As I stood between Jonathan and the mirror, air seemed unable to reach me. I felt like I was choking as we stared at each other, a showdown of will. He looked down first. Victorious, I allowed myself a smirk. I never expected his sudden fluid movement as he slammed me back into the mirror, one hand seizing my arm, the other pressed against my mouth, covering it completely. Pressing his full body weight against me, I was unable to move, to shout, to even slam my knee into his groin, which was my first reaction. Pressing more weight against me, I felt the glass begin to crack behind me. I struggled, trying to loosen his grip or maneuver his hand so I could bite it. Fighting the panic, I tried to tell myself that he was stuck. He would have to let go of me sometime, we were in the open in my parent's house. And as soon as he did… I WILL KILL HIM! Rage and fear started to block out the logic as my baby splintered into my back. I thrashed from side to side and minute pieces of glass fell, other shards of glass cutting into my flesh as I fought against him. As I tried to recall anything from the self defense class I had taken a few years ago, the glass drew blood, I could feel it running paths down my back. The pain only increased my struggle, my mind reeled, self-defense moves flitting through to find one that would remedy the situation. But I was unable to move, his full weight pressed against me. The glass penetrated deeper, pure fury overtook me. Blinded by anger and terror, I hardly felt the glass give way behind me. My nails digging into the wrist that was gripping mine, the support behind me gave way. Jonathan was the only thing now keeping me upright, and he abruptly released me, trying to step backward. I was still clawing at him, and he only achieved in dragging me forward. Now completely off balance, I flailed, teetering backwards, expecting to hit the mirror, or the wall. It never came.
