The Storm
My burning despair grows each day. I can feel it creeping in, like a shadow. It cannot be stopped or hindered. This is probably the only reason I am still living. I must write these things down. I must. It has become the primary focus in my pitiful life. So I will continue, dear journal, until I cannot anymore. If I end my story here, know that it is not a happy one.
----
March arrived, bringing freezing rains and cold winds. Notes were still appearing every Sunday. Sometimes with a rose, sometimes without. I threw the letters away as soon as I read them. The roses I kept until the next Sunday. My feelings were confused beyond belief. Some days I would look forward to the rose lying on my bed stand. Some days I wished that they would all disappear. I wish now that I had gone to the police, but my feelings for them at this particular time were not in the highest respect. Breann now ran the theater, and asked if I would return. I hastily accepted and was soon back into my normal routine, which I hated and loved at the same time. I hated the fact that each day was the same; I needed change, differences in my life. Growing up with change had made me accustomed to it. I loved the fact that I was back in theater. My outlet had returned. Even though my voice and acting skills were still quite deplorable, I was able to give a decent performance a few nights a week. Raoul had become increasingly busy with college work, so our usual dates were not as usual as they had been, or as often as I would have liked them to be.
How I cherish those moments! The carefree laughter of our voices mingling in the chilly spring air. And yes, spring had arrived, bringing hope with it, or so I thought of it as a symbol of new life, a rebirth from my past drudgery. Raoul, when I did see him, had something about him that made me fall more deeply in love with him every single time we talked or simply made eye contact. I was head-over-heels in love but still shy around him. What if he did not return my affection, and I was left looking like a fool? So we kept our distance. Maybe Raoul had the same feelings as I did, I do not know to this day. All I wish now is to run to him and tell him that I love him, confess my worries and fears, tell him that I'm sorry and beg his forgiveness. But alas, that is now impossible, for reasons which I have taken the liberty to write down at a later date.
One Sunday I got a particularly unusual letter. I woke up, almost eagerly that morning. Sure enough it was resting there, along with a rose. I picked up the rose and examined it. Still the black ribbon, still the same sweet-smelling bud. I eagerly picked up the note and read:
I cannot hold back the storm. I discourage you from seeing Raoul de Chagny.
This note frightened me out of my wits. Usually the notes were soft and gentle, speaking of love and affection. This one seemed almost like a threat. I quickly threw it away along with my rose and left the house, actually afraid that the secret deliverer might be lurking inside, waiting for me.
You cannot imagine the turmoil of feelings that I had that day. I was frightened for Raoul and my life, actually. The last time there had been a threat a death had occurred. I was not stupid; I could put two and two together to get a complete answer. I had been threatened to stop seeing Raoul at the risk of his life.
I cannot hold back the storm...
Over the rest of March I seemed to hang over Raoul's shoulder every waking minute. I would call him during the middle of class to see what he was doing. He got annoyed with me once or twice, but I didn't care, as long as he was safe. It was my duty and obligation to look after him after all the trouble I was causing. I wanted to stay by his side every hour of the day, but we were only dating and that was near impossible.
The next Sunday it was back to the old love sayings and the rose. I wondered if perhaps I had imagined it, even that if it was possible to have misread the note. But my fears were confirmed near the end of March when Raoul called me, panting.
"I narrowly avoided a car wreck," he gasped over the phone. I began to cry.
"Don't," he said. "Don't cry. I'm all right, really. Just a little scrape on the forehead, that's all. It was a complete accident, and the idiot who rammed into me is gone. Jerk," he added under his breath, which made me laugh and sob at the same time. I cried myself to sleep that night, though in the morning I told myself I was a silly girl, and that had just been a coincidence. But I could not convince myself and now was a constant nag to Raoul, asking him exactly what happened that day. He inquired as to my peculiar behavior over the past few weeks, and I gave him an excuse that I cannot recall at this time. He didn't inquire further.
Every day I regret my actions. Every day I wish I could go and change them. Every day I wake up feeling hopeless and discouraged. But this is my relief, dear journal, my theater outlet. I can confide my true feelings in you, even if I could not confide them into dear sweet Raoul. I still love him, even after these long months. I do. There's an aching in my heart that I cannot seem to comfort, a peculiar sense of longing not only for the body but for my soul and heart. It is a driving hunger in me that I despise and love at the same time. I want to end my life right now, if it wasn't for you. You are my lifesaver. So long as you remain undiscovered. If you are, oh the heartache it will cause! The pain! Not only for myself, too. I want to throw you away and keep you close at the same time. How miserable I am! But I cannot despair on my own feelings for too long. I must finish.
----
In April I had one of the biggest scares of my life. I was petrified for days. Even now I shudder to think about it. I continued seeing Raoul and we had never been happier. I allowed him to put his arm around my waist now, and tender kisses on the cheek were common. My lips were still saved, though. When I explained this to him he smiled delightedly and told me that he was proud of me for having such a strong will. At this I playfully smacked him on the arm. We were having dinner at a quiet restaurant. The evening was passing comfortably enough. I had taken it upon myself to forget what that peculiar note said, and so far I was doing quite a good job, actually. Raoul and I were discussing politics, something I thoroughly enjoy debating about. Our food finally arrived, after the longest wait. When the waiter finally left Raoul blew a small raspberry that made me snort into my water. He was constantly doing things like that to make me laugh, and he did them when I least expected it. After excusing myself we finally settled into our dinner. Raoul was just taking a sip of his coffee when the most terrible thing happened. He set his mug down and began to cough horribly. I asked him if he was all right, and he merely waved me off, grabbing his napkin and coughing into it violently. His eyes grew watery and he gripped the table so strongly that his knuckles turned white. I tried to touch his hand, but he again waved me off. By then I had become worried. Other couples were staring. I blushed, something I am now ashamed to admit. Suddenly Raoul gasped loudly and fell off his chair onto his side. He began to writhe around horribly, making gasping noises in his throat. His hands clenched awkwardly and his frame arched. I cried out and knelt at his side, feeling his head and looking for a pulse.
"Help me," I muttered, frantically feeling his neck. "Help me!"
There was a frantic clicking of cell phone and an uproar in the restaurant. I began to sob, putting my head on his chest and crying horribly. After what seemed like hours the doctors arrived and pried me off of him. They tried to calm me down to tell them what happened. I could not calm down. I kept screaming at myself mentally that it was all my fault that Raoul was almost dead. I could have prevented this by simply not seeing him. Yet I had to be the stupid schoolgirl and flirt with him, no matter the consequences. I was taken to the hospital and spent two days in the waiting room, crying softly or staring blankly at the wall.
I was finally allowed to see him. I was afraid of his condition, but he looked the same, though considerably paler. He opened his palm and I took his hand. They were cold.
"The doctors say some nuts got into my food," he said weakly. He gave a half-smile, which was more of a grimace, trying to keep the situation light-hearted. "Deathly allergic to nuts, you know."
"Don't!" I cried, "Don't do that!" I put my head on his chest and cried awfully. Raoul put a head on my hair and stroked it a few times. When he finally convinced me to go home, it is needless to say how I felt. I stayed up all night and called in sick the next day. After a week Raoul insisted that I go back to work and try to get over the whole thing. He said he didn't know why this was bothering me so, and that I was being silly. I pretended to agree, and I hate myself.
