"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Erik demanded as he heard the sound of soft footsteps behind him. He turned and saw Amelia staring at him. "Sit back down," he ordered. She ignored him and continued to head deeper into his lair. Erik stood and grabbed her arm. "I said sit back down."
She tugged out of his grip and pushed past him. "I have been sitting here for three days, three days, doing nothing but listening to you bang on that stupid organ, waiting for Raoul to come. Well guess what? I told you already, he is not coming. But since you can't seem to get that through your thick skull, the least you can do is let me read a book while I wait."
He followed her angrily as she let herself into his personal library, and glared at her from the doorway as Amelia began to go through his collection. She ignored his dirty looks and perused the books, pulling one off a shelf every so often and flipping through it. "Half of these aren't even in French," she sighed.
"No," Erik answered. "Because French is far from the only language I speak."
"What else do you speak?" Amelia asked casually, thumbing through a random book. She studied the words on the page. "I think this is Italian, but that's no surprise seeing as you're the Opera Ghost. That brings up another question I've had. What am I supposed to call you? Because I refuse to call you 'Phantom'."
"Monsieur will do," he replied coldly.
"Well Monsieur doesn't answer my question about the languages," she said, putting the book back and pulling down another. Erik noted that her tone when she said 'Monsieur' held the same amount of sarcasm his did when he addressed her as 'Madame'.
"Besides French, I can speak English, Italian, Russian, and Arabic to name a few."
She glanced sideways at him, her lips turned slightly upwards. "Just a few? So you're an educated man as well as talented. Interesting." Erik raised his eyebrows. Talented? Apparently his 'banging on that stupid organ' wasn't as bothersome as she tried to make it seem. He shook his head, trying to clear it. He knew what Amelia was doing. She was trying to flirt with him so that he would feel guilty and let her go.
"Did you find something suitable Madame?" he snarled, trying to maintain in control of the situation.
"Not yet," she replied cheerfully, pulling out another book.
Erik knew she was taking her time simply to push him, and he had had enough. He grabbed her arm, twisting her away from the books. "You try my patience," he growled.
"Well obviously you need to work on that then," Amelia replied, turning back to the books and picking up one that she had put back twice already.
He yanked her back around, his hand going to her throat. "Don't trifle with me girl."
Amelia kept her gaze steady. "I'm not afraid of you."
"Then you're a fool," Erik replied, throwing her backwards against the bookshelves. "Do you know what I could do to you, silly girl?"
"You're capable of a lot of things," she answered slowly, rubbing her hip as though it pained her. "But a lot of people are. That doesn't mean that you'll do anything. You're not as scary as you think you are. On the outside you're big and mean and tough, but on the inside you're just alone and scared and vulnerable."
Erik took a menacing step towards her. "You know nothing!"
"The fact you keep denying it tells me that I'm right." Erik lunged at her, but before he could lay a hand on her, Amelia held up a small book. "Why's this one blank?"
For a moment, Erik was caught off guard. He hated how Amelia could switch subjects on him like this. How she could stay so calm and collected. It told him one thing though; her tears were most likely fake, a desperate attempt to gain pity. "I believe it was meant to be a journal," he answered.
"You believe?"
"I didn't buy it," Erik replied. "Someone else must've given it to me as a present."
"Who?" Amelia asked in surprise.
"A friend," he snapped.
"You have friends?" Erik shot her a glare that would shatter stone. Amelia glanced back down at the book. "So I can use this?"
"For what?" Erik demanded. "For the deepest, most innerpersonal thoughts of Amelia Barineau?"
"Well actually, I used to write poetry. It's something I'd like to get back into, and now that I've got nothing but time on my hands, I might as well."
"No."
"Why not?" Amelia asked. "It's not like you're using it."
Erik crossed his arms. "No book, no matter how unused, should ever be subjected to subpar poetry written by a talentless little girl who thinks she can write it simply because she's bored."
"So you'll think about it?"
This girl was infuriating. "Will it shut you up?"
She gave him an impish smile. "For now at least."
"Fine." Amelia clutched the book in her hand and strode triumphantly from the room, a smirk on her face as a steaming Erik trailed behind.
Mia was pretty sure the Phantom had bruised her side when he pushed her into the shelves. It was throbbing painfully but she ignored it. Conceal, don't feel, she reminded herself. Don't let the pain show. Besides she had more important things to worry about. Mia glanced down at the book, hoping the Phantom didn't see the letter tucked within its pages.
But on the upside, she had a chance to write poetry again. She remembered that fateful day when her mother banned her poetry. That day was still seared into her memory, the memories never once leaving her mind.
"Amelia Marie de Chagny!" her mother screamed as Mia's bedroom door slammed open. Mia watched fearfully as her mother stormed in. "What on earth do you think you're doing?"
"I'm…I'm reading," she stammered, holding up the book.
Her mother snatched the book out of her hands. "Poetry again?" Mia hesitantly nodded. "Now you listen to me young lady. I've had enough of this poetry nonsense. This is the third school in less than two years! I am running out of places for you to go! No one will take such a hopeless case! You act out, you have a complete lack of respect for anyone, and all you ever do is waste your time with that damned poetry!"
"It helps me!" Mia protested. "Please Mama, you have got to understand…"
"Yes, it helps you become a nightmare!" Her mother began to pace. "You are completely hopeless Amelia. You have no hope for a decent future. You have no decent education because I can't get a school to keep you long enough, you are the least ladylike girl I have ever seen, and to top it all off, the only thing that could ever be used for marriage negotiation is your name."
Mia felt tears burning her eyes, but she pulled another book from her nightstand drawer. "You remind me every single day, Mama," she whispered.
"I'm sick of this, Amelia!" Her mother yanked the other book out of Amelia's hands and threw them both into fireplace.
"No!" she screamed, lunging forward towards the fire.
"Sit down." Her mother grabbed her shoulder and pulled her backwards. She then went through the rest of Mia's books, pulling each book of poetry off the shelf and tossing it into the flames as Mia watched in horror. After she was done with the books, she methodically destroyed all of Mia's journals and carefully handwritten poems.
"You can't do this!" Mia cried as tears streamed down her face.
"It's for your own good," her mother replied. "And if I see you with any more of that nonsense, you know exactly what's going to happen to it." Mia buried her face in her pillows and began to sob.