A/N: Alright. 1. I've had severe writer's block, but an odd version - I've been writing everything and anything but this. (Tut tut to me XD) Like, a intended 3 page short story has turned into 10 pages with no end in sight.
2. Exams. Who likes exams? I don't. Just last night, I had a dream that I'd been doing a maths exam but hadn't realised that there were 5 pages, and so had only done 1 sobs
In regards to this chapter, it's long, and it doesn't make sense to me. Suffice to say that both PMS and alcohol have a huge effect on Christine.
I promise, however, that next chapter WILL be better - this one was fairly awkward, with the plot of it changing about 10 times.
So anyway, enjoy (hopefully), and REVIEW!!!! (Please) All it takes is a single mouse click and a short note telling me what you thought of it!
Till later!
Chapter 4 - Sleep
It had been an hour, and I was still unable to sleep – thinking about how that damned letter-writer could have got into my room!
I could still remember every word of it…
Miss Christine Daaé
Why on earth did you wear that monstrosity? I really had thought that you had better taste!
If you had been wearing that disgrace to art in consideration of your…boyfriend… then you are free to use the chain attached to this so you are able to display your mother's locket – which is a clear demonstration that your mother, at least, had taste in jewellery – and hide that…thing.
P.S. Congratulations on your engagement – though I am of the opinion that it will not be a very long one. Do you like the ring?
I sighed. I hated the ring, for that matter. It was gold, and had a monstrously huge diamond (not exactly my favourite gemstone) and would have cost a lot of money.
That fact alone was enough to put me off it.
I smiled slightly. If I were like Meg, and able to find something positive in absolutely everything, then I would be "cheered" by the fact that at least my stalker had taste in jewellery. She would probably find the fact that she had a stalker quite flattering.
Of course, I would never be like Meg.
How on earth could anyone have seen Raoul proposing…!? I was fairly sure there had been no one around.
My head hurt. I leant over to the small bedside radio – which read 4:00.
Damn.
And how did he know what the ring looked like!? Not that he had actually straight-out said that it was hideous, but…
Oh great, Christine, now you have the ability to read the ulterior thoughts of a stalker who's sent you two letters each almost 70 words long!
I growled in frustration, and turning so I was lying on my stomach, buried my head in the pillow.
I woke in the morning feeling decidedly un-rested and weary, and with pre-period cramps. However, seeing the letter on my bedside table gave me the energy to put into place an idea I'd thought of while trying to sleep.
The fact that I'd woken up late, and my strange reluctance to actually get ready, resulted in my being late to work for the first time in 4 years – since I started work.
Come to think of it, it was my first time ever being late at all.
I walked into the office at around 8:15, to the shocked murmurs and whispered insults of my colleagues. Perhaps it was because I was tired, but for some reason the gossiping made me irritated.
Sometimes…
"Christine!"
If only I could leave it all behind…
Namyr, the closest person in the building that I had to a friend smiled up at me as I sat down.
I acknowledged her with a "Good morning" and opened my laptop, to see the day's news pop up.
Impossible.
"Namyr," I said softly, not looking up from my screen.
"Hmm?"
"Have you seen the news today?"
I heard her turn her own laptop on, and turned so she wouldn't see my face. Not that I needed to – when I glanced tentatively at her, she was staring transfixed at the screen.
"Good morning," echoed the room as the PA system sounded, everyone looking up in surprise.
"No doubt you have seen the news – and we thank you for coming in to work so early of your own volition. The current situation means that overtime work's going to be regrettably necessary."
At this, murmured complaints started around the office. I didn't particularly care – all that overtime meant to me was losing myself in my work for a bit longer.
The cause, however, was a bit more worrying.
Looking over involuntarily to Namyr, I almost winced at her rigid posture and stricken face. I watched her, concerned – wishing I could say something.
Knowing that I wouldn't.
The speaking finally ended, and she relaxed. I released a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding, causing her to look over at me.
"Christine?" she asked dazedly, noticing that my attention was drawn to her.
I shook my head and smiled slightly.
"Nothing," I murmured.
She sighed, and opened her thick folder, chatting to an unresponsive me as she did so.
"There's so much work now – I can't wait till Christmas when we get a bre-"
The speaker's voice cut her short.
"Also, could Miss Namyr Aiith please report to the manager's office? That's all."
Almost everyone had glanced at her, and as she stood, silent tears dripping down her face, most of them mouthed apologies and 'good luck' to her. Smiling sadly at them, she packed up her belongings, and turned to leave.
But before she did, Namyr looked back at me.
I pointedly averted my gaze, and I almost felt her hurt as she quickly left.
Biting my lip, I turned back to the screen and closed the news headline. I didn't need it open, after all – it was burned into my memory.
And no one was going to forget Jerusalem's bombing very quickly.
Definitely not all the others like Namyr who hadn't already been sacked, but would now.
Suddenly, a thought struck me and I almost cried out loud in shock.
Jerusalem is in Israel. Raoul is going to Israel today…
What had the letter said?
Congratulations on your engagement – though I am of the opinion that it will not be a very long one.
My lip started to bleed as I bit down harder.
If that bastard of a stalker hopes that Raoul's going to die, he's either mentally ill or a sadistic…bastard!
As I started typing, attacking each key with a vengeance, I noticed a couple of people look up at me, startled.
The lunchtime chatter today was even harder to ignore, mostly because it was about me.
"She thinks she's so great just because she got accelerated at school!" whispered some unknown bitching colleague.
"Did you see how mean she was to poor Namyr? And after Namyr went to all that effort to be nice to her!" exclaimed one of the many men who'd been chasing after Namyr, even though her husband had only just died.
"Apparently she only got the job because the government made the boss employ her!"
Be quiet…
"I can't believe that Raoul de Chagny is actually dating her!"
Stop talking…
"The only reason she got employed was because of her parents!"
Shut up…
"Why does the fact that her parents died make her special?!"
SHUT UP!!!!
I stood suddenly, my chair scraping high-pitchedly against the floor.
Packing my stuff quickly, I almost ran from the room. I went to our section leader's private office to inform him I was leaving early because I felt sick, and rushed home.
I didn't cry.
Meg, unsurprising, was not there. What was surprising, however, was a result from the…experiment…I had set up.
Before I did anything, I went to get a bottle of wine and a glass. I may have had low alcohol tolerance, but I probably needed it.
Besides, it wasn't as if I was going to drink the whole thing or anything like that.
I sat down, holding the letter in one hand, and a copy of the note I had written in another. Setting down the letter, I forced myself to re-read my note.
Mr Unknown Stalker
With the uttermost regret, I must inform you that I have absolutely no idea how you have managed to infiltrate my house, but that I really wish that you desist from repeating.
With the same level of regret, I offer my gratitude for the series of gifts – another thing, however, that I would like you to cease doing.
I detest the idea of ungraciousness. However, I hope your feelings are not hurt too much when I inform you that, despite what you may believe, I am not the type of female who delights in the possibility of possessing a stalker.
Yours insincerely,
Christine Daaé
P.S. I have no idea at all where you got the idea that my engagement with Monsieur de Chagny will not last. Has your psychologist recommended pills yet?
I winced as I read, and took a few sips of the wine. To say it was an impolite letter would be an understatement.
In fact, saying it was an understatement would be an understatement.
Burying my head in my hands, I willed the note to vanish from existence, or do something that would mean I would never be reminded of it again.
Sadly, the piece of paper did not comply with my wishes.
How depressing…
Slowly, I started to open the reply, dragging out the action by interspersing it with random sips of alcohol, in the futile hope that something would interrupt.
When no disruption was forthcoming, I resigned myself to reading the neat, precise writing.
Miss Christine Daaé
"Mr Unknown Stalker"? What a fascinating idea.
I am pleased to hear that you have no intention of welcoming an unwelcome observer into your life. It would cause me great surprise if you did display such a lack of judgement.
As to your first two comments, I will acquiesce to your request – insofar as it goes.
I offer my condolences for the events at your pitiful place of employment today.
The letter ended abruptly, surprising me slightly. I read over it again, trying to see if I'd missed anything.
I don't know how long I sat there, contemplating the letter, but it seemed like only a few minutes before agony suddenly rippled through my body.
I barely made it to the sink before I started to vomit.
"Christine?"
I heard Meg's voice, and then felt her rubbing my back as I trembled. When I'd finally finished and collapsed weakly on the kitchen floor, I heard the tap turn on above me.
"Are you alright?" she asked, bending down next to me, and I nodded, still gasping for air.
"Just pre-period stuff," I managed to whisper, before I started to giggle hysterically.
She grimaced sympathetically, ignoring my insane laughter. And then she looked at the table, and saw the bottle.
Even in my dazed, confused mind, I got ready to run.
"Christine…!" she grated out, and I flinched. "You idiot! You know how quickly you get drunk!"
"Sorry," I apologised meekly, and Meg sighed.
"Whatever," she said, rolling her eyes, "lets get you to bed before you do anything else stupid."
Meg helped me stand, and aided me in walking to my room.
Well really, it was more like she dragged me to my room – I was no help, swaying like a drunkard, and pointing and laughing at random objects around the flat.
"Christine, you're drunk," she sighed to me, and I blinked owlishly.
"Huh…?" The word sounded more like garbled mush, which she seemed to take as confirmation.
We finally made it to the room, where she forced me into my bed and tucked me in like I was a child.
"You need to lie down, even if you aren't planning on sleeping," she informed me gently but firmly when I protested incoherently. I gave up without much of a fight; I really was quite tired, after all.
So she went to make something to eat, which left me alone to sort out my messed-up head and try restoring some semblance of order to the chaotic jumble of nonsense.
Looking back, I suppose it was inevitable that before I knew it, I was crying.
"What's wrong!?" exclaimed Meg, alarmed, rushing in the room to my loud sobs.
"Bloody PMS," I whimpered, before she hugged me tightly.
"What happened?"
So I told her about Namyr being sacked, and mood swings, and not being able to sleep. She listened patiently, before finally standing up.
"I'm cooking pasta – I don't want it to over-boil," she told me when I asked her where she was going.
We continued our conversation as she cooked, calling from opposite ends of the unit.
"So why does everyone hate you anyway?" she asked. I shrugged, and decided not to do it again – even a small amount of movement made me queasy.
"I work harder, so I get more pay," I replied simply, though that wasn't the real reason.
"Have I met this Namyr girl before?"
"Probably not…" I wouldn't have introduced them – Namyr wasn't a friend, after all.
She'd just been nice to me, when I didn't deserve it. I started to feel depressed again.
If only I could have done something…
Meg's shriek echoed around the unit, followed by the sound of shattering glass.
"Meg?!" I cried out, alarmed, swinging my legs over to stand up. The next minute I regretted that, as my head throbbed and I fell back on to the bed.
There was a brief pause, before to my relief I heard her voice again.
"I'm alright, Christine – I was just slightly clumsy."
I fell back on my bed, exhausted, and closed my eyes wearily.
"Christine, why are you so worried about that friend of yours being sacked?"
Absent-mindedly, I replied, "I'm not really worried – more like guilty. I mean, if I'd vouched for her then she wouldn't have been fired. I suppose it was inevitable though; the only reason she still had a job was because both her parents and her husband had worked there, and she was 5th generation or something."
Another pause.
"Are you sure you could have done something? If you'd said anything, mightn't you have been fired as well?"
Tears welled at my eyes. I was so tired…
"Well at least I would have done something! I feel so useless, and everyone hates me, and the worst part is that I know why but I don't have the nerve to do anything about it! I feel like such a coward!" By the end of my speech I was sobbing quite loudly.
"Christine, just go to sleep," sighed Meg, and I shook my head despite the fact that she wouldn't be able to see.
"If I sleep, I'll have nightmares," I informed her petulantly.
"Christine, you are tired. Sleep, dear…" I heard her come closer, and noticed in the back of my mind that her voice had changed slightly, taking on a strangely hypnotic quality.
Despite my best efforts, I felt my eyes flutter closed.
"But…" I protested feebly.
"Sleep, Christine. You won't have nightmares. Sleep…"
And so, I slept.
A/N: I have no idea what happened at the end - next chapter's just going to go as my mind directs me to send it.
Any suggestions?
