Happy Mother's day! It's not my goal to only update on holidays, it's just coincidentally happened the last several chapters. I meant to update sooner (because that's a surprise, huh?), but I was slammed with finals, and was called into work on some days off. Finals week was one of the busiest weeks of my life. And that's not an exaggeration, either. This last month was just chaotic in general. I had several large projects all lined up at the same time, and spent some days doing nothing but math all day. And I hate math. And then going straight to bed, and then waking up to go to school and then work on papers that were due that same day. It was horrid. I wasn't even putting off my projects either - I was working on them as soon as possible and still barely getting them turned in on time.

Anyways, thank you to those who reviewed my last chapter! Your words are always encouraging and kind, so thank you. I have a song in mind that I listened to on repeat while writing this chapter (especially towards the end of it), but it doesn't exactly fit the story. However, I'm going to go ahead and name the chapter after the song because I listened to it a ridiculous amount of times.

This one is named after Heavy by Linkin Park. I do not own it, nor the Phantom of the Opera. I only own my OC's!

Enjoy!

. . .

Library? I thought to myself in disbelief when I shut the bathroom door behind myself. I couldn't help but to picture an enormous, over-the-top library like from Beauty and the Beast. I rolled my eyes at the thought as I locked the door.

I couldn't hardly believe how obedient I was being with him. It made me want to cringe inside. I felt the need to search high and low through the bathroom for obscurely placed cameras. Why else was he so insistent of me showering? Unless I truly did reek. I hated the idea of him actually being genuinely concerned about my hygiene. Maybe he was a crazy neat freak who was a complete germaphobe.

Well pardon me for not being enthusiastic about hopping in your shower the moment I was left here.

After carefully inspecting every nook and cranny that I might have somehow over looked from earlier, I realized there was nothing. I felt grimy and gross. It never took very long for me to without showering. Some people could pull off going a day without showering, but I couldn't - mostly because the feeling drove me crazy. I wasn't content with sitting around in the same clothes until I could smell my body oder.

I pinched off my stud earrings, and unhooked my necklace. I carefully laid them on the bathroom counter, making sure they were far from the sink. I couldn't imagine the devastation of losing one of them down the drain. They were all I truly had left of home.

I was about to strip my clothes off when I remembered the bandages around my wrists and ankles. Apprehension filled me, dreading to see the wounds underneath. I may have seen them when they were fresh, but I feared to see the progression of it. My mind imagined it red and puffy around the pulsing wound, the ridges of the cuts yellow from infection. The mere idea of it made me feel faint.

Get ahold of yourself. Erik disinfected it last you saw him. If anything, it had improved. Swallowing hard, I found the end of the bandage that was wrapped around my left wrist, pulling it loose. I unraveled it, the pit of my stomach twisting. I took a deep breath when it fell free.

My eyes drank in the sight of it, and I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. To my relief, the wounds were closing. The ugly rope burn was still there - the cut red and scabbed over, but it was healing. The swelling had gone down, and there wasn't any yellowing as my paranoid mind had imagined. I undid the rest of the bandages, the rest of my healing wounds looking similar. I tossed the bandages into a small trashcan that was by the toilet.

Although I was behind a locked door, and found that the room was camera-free, I still felt timid as I pulled away my clothes, feeling the need to cover myself. I pushed aside the feeling, and forced myself to step into the shower. Once I was underneath the soothingly hot water that rained down onto me, I closed my eyes, pretending that I was merely showering at home.

I think I'll do some laundry after this. Then I'll unload and reload the dishwasher. I tried to tell myself - whatever would help smother my fear. Anything to temporarily suppress reality. Then I'll sit and watch TV while I have lunch. Afterwards I'll read for Psychology. By the time I finish, Mina will be home, and we can talk about what to make for dinner.

I opened my eyes, the illusion washing away. If only I was home.

Sitting on a built in rack in the shower wall was a petite bar of soap, along with miniature containers of shampoo and conditioner that were generally found in hotel bathrooms. I just about hated myself for even picking them up. Disgust plagued me at the thought of cooperating with him - for "settling" in as if this were my own shower. I should've been forming a better escape plan. I should have been rebelling. I instead tried to block out thoughts of my current situation, trying to take my mind back to a better place. Back at home - my childhood home. A place where bad situations never truly haunted it. Any "hardships" I faced during then were carefree in comparison to now.

. . .

It had taken all my will power to not cry on the bus, but I couldn't hold them back once I arrived home - home where I was safe from the cruel whispers and snickering. I couldn't stop the hot tears that rolled down my cheeks. I planned to head straight to my room where I could properly cry, but was shocked to find my mom home early from the hospital. I had forgotten that she was transitioning to working nightshifts.

I was mortified when I couldn't duck my head in time from her seeing my red eyes.

"Oh dear, what's wrong?" My lip trembled, shame spreading through my body like a virus. "Come here."

I stood there for a moment before making the decision of moving my legs, bringing me closer until I met her in the kitchen. I climbed onto a stool that was seated before the glossy ebony island, where she stood on the other side in her aqua green scrubs. I tried to swallow down the lump in my throat, trying to prepare myself for steady sentences to speak that I knew I wasn't ready for. She turned towards the cupboard, pulling out a couple of dark, and shiny ceramic mugs.

"I just made some tea." She said, filling the mugs with the steaming chestnut colored liquid. I knew she was just trying to lighten the mood as she passed me a teal blue mug. "Tell me what happened." I touched the warm mug, watching the steam rise into the air.

"Susan's been ignoring me." I stopped to take a deep breath, wrestling with the sob that was trying to break free all over again. "Now she hangs out with some popular girls. I wasn't sure what I did wrong, so I asked her today on the bus, and she said that I'm annoying."

"Susan said that?" I couldn't bring myself to meet her gaze, but I could hear the bewilderment in her tone. I nodded, fearing my voice would crack if I didn't stop to take another breath - a deeper breath. I dragged my sleeve over my face. "Why does she think you're annoying?"

It took me a moment to compose myself before answering. "Her new friends don't like me. During lunch they kept mocking everything I said in a stupid voice."

"Sounds like it's her friends that are the annoying ones." I wasn't sure what to say, and instead picked up my mug, sipping the familiar sweet flavored tea. "I'm sorry they're being mean to you, sweetie. If Susan was a real friend, she would've told them to stop." I wanted to cry even more when I heard those words. The thing was, I had truly thought we were friends. Ones that would go to high school together - college, too. We both loved the idea of moving out one day and being neighbors so we could always be best friends. We had it all planned out. We had already been best friends for more than half of the school year now.

"If someone truly cares for you, they won't put your feelings down, or pressure you into things. They should always take your feelings into consideration as well - not just theirs." My mom threaded her hand into the handle of her mug, bringing it to her lips to take a sip before she continued talking. "She's probably being pressured to act a certain way so the popular girls accept her. Unfortunately, it happens a lot amongst young girls your age."

"I don't know what to do." I admitted, failing to keep my voice from wavering. "I don't have any other friends."

"That's not true." Her voice was strong and confident. I looked up at her emerald eyes as she leaned against the island, resting her arms on the black surface. "I'm your friend. And your father, too." She added in, her lips pulling back into a soft smile. "And we'll always be here for you."

. . .

I allowed the water to continue running until it's soothing warmth dissipated, turning cold. It wasn't until then I reluctantly shut off the water, silence filling the small bathroom. I wondered if he heard it as I pushed the dark shower curtain aside. The coldness that seized my body drove my hand to grab the violet towel. I tried to shut away my inner disapproval as I wrapped it around my body. What else could I do?

You're doing exactly what he wants. My mind hissed.

There is nothing I can do right now! Another side of me screamed in fury. Nothing! No exits, zero strength in comparison, and no weapons! Hell, the lamps in the bedroom were bolted in the wall, and the shampoo bottles were tiny. Everything I could possibly think of had already been thought of by him. I glanced up at the bright, glowing lightbulbs that were imbedded into the high ceiling. The ceiling was too tall for me to unscrew the lightbulbs - even if I stood on the sink. It was a shame, really. If I could have reached them, I would've had something to throw at him.

I averted my eyes from the lights that burned colors into my vision. It was then my eyes focused on the shower rod, and an idea suddenly hit me that made my heart feel as if it halted in my chest. My breath hitched in my throat, hope swelling in me. It was the perfect makeshift spear or club. Bulky, but still definitely a potential weapon.

Oh God, please let this work.

Securing my towel around myself, I stepped onto the edge of the tub, grabbing the shower rod. I tried to pull it out of it's place, but felt my hopes crash to the ground when it wouldn't budge. Either the shower rod was stubborn, or I was pathetically weak. I continued to try to shimmy it out, but stopped once I saw that there were four screws on each side that kept it locked into the wall. Tears of resentment stung my eyes. He really had thought everything through. I angrily got down, imagining myself going out there and clawing his eyes out. With my luck, he'd catch my wounded wrists before my fingernails could get too close to his face. My wrists felt as if they nervously tingled from the idea of him grabbing them.

Still seething inside, I pulled open the medicine cabinet, remembering seeing a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a box of bandages in them earlier. It was as if he expected that I'd harm myself while I was here. Not that there was anything here to do so, anyways. I grabbed the fresh roll of bandages, wrapping up the red lines that had formed on the tender flesh of my wrists and ankles. I wondered why he hadn't noticed my wrapped limbs sooner. He must've assumed that I had discovered the disinfectants and bandages earlier, and tended the wounds myself.

Once I had fixed the bandages, I tried to pretend that I was merely going through my regular morning routine of getting ready. It would have been simple back at home. Eat breakfast, shower, brush my teeth, and so on. While I wasn't comfortable with doing any of them here in the assholes house, getting dressed was what left me the most uneasy.

I had reluctantly picked clothes out from one of the dressers and brought into the bathroom before showering to avoid having to go back out there in merely a towel. Actually going through with wearing them was another thing. They weren't mine. They were his - even if they obviously weren't for him to wear, he still bought them.

Part of me screamed at myself to simply put on my own clothes, even though they smelled like they had been worn for a couple of days straight. Although another side of me knew he would question me if I didn't switch into something new. The idea of him trying to dress me himself terrified me.

Would he really do something like that? I wasn't sure, but the last thing I wanted was to test it. There was no reason for me to believe that he wouldn't dress me himself when he had kidnapped me.

I hesitated, staring at the clothes that did not belong to me. I had tried to pick the ugliest clothes I could find in the dresser, as if I had hoped that he'd find me unappealing then. While I only briefly dug through the clothes, I noticed that most all of them were fairly plain. The tops were solid colored T-shirts, and one of the drawers contained several jeans and shorts. In a hurry to leave his prying eyes, my hand grabbed the first color I knew didn't look good on me. I picked a baby pink long sleeved shirt, and grabbed a pair of jeans before going into the safety of the bathroom. I knew it was foolish to think that a color of a shirt could save me from him, but I was desperate.

I nearly felt physically incapable of even touching the fabric again. You need to get on his good side. It made my skin want to crawl, but I forced myself to slip into the unfamiliar clothes. There was a constant lump in my throat from all my reluctant actions from today. The clothes smelled different from my laundry detergent at home, and I fought the urge to tear them off and scrub my body clean from the unfamiliar scent. I hated not feeling like myself.

Trying to hold onto who I was inside, I reached for my necklace - the last reminder I had of my life before this. I thought of the way my dad beamed with joy when I first put on the necklace - it was the first piece of jewelry he had picked out for me. My mom often teased him for having no sense in fashion, so he took pride in getting me something girly for a change.

As I clasped the necklace on and tucked it into my shirt, I also thought of Erik's proposal, and how stoked I was. I didn't bother to put on my earrings - as long as I at least had the necklace on. While I wasn't sure what to think of Erik, I feared deep down, that I would forget the dreams I had had of Erik if I didn't have the ring with me. I wondered why I lacked the memory of visiting his time last night, and what had occurred during then.

If you went there at all.

I tried to suppress that troubling thought once again. Taking a deep breath, I knew it was time. Part of me wanted to hide in here all day, but I knew that it would not grant me freedom. My hand inched towards the door handle, and every fiber of my being wanted to recoil away - to dig my feet into the ground, unwilling to move. Mentally grabbing ahold of myself, I forced myself to grasp the cold handle.

I must try.

I tried to swallow down the lump in my throat as I turned the handle, easing the door open ajar. I saw that he had cleared off the desk where I ate breakfast earlier. I wondered how he would know when I was ready for him to show me his library. Surely he wouldn't expect me to venture off to find it myself. I knew he was crazy, but not that crazy. He wouldn't want me to make myself at home that much, after all. Opening the door more, I gasped when I found my kidnapper sitting before me on the edge of "my" bed.

"I'm sorry." He immediately rose from the bed. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I figured it would be best if I waited here for you." Of course you would, you creeper. My mind spat angrily, my heart pounding painfully fast in my chest. "If you're ready, I will show you my library." He said it as if I had a choice, but I knew I didn't really. Not if I desired freedom, anyways.

I gulped hard, my throat feeling sticky and dry. I forced myself to nod slightly. A faint smile traced his lips but it never reached his eyes. He took several steps towards me, swallowing the distance between us. I had to make an effort to not recoil back and away from him. He stopped short before me, offering me his hand.

"Allow me to show you the way."

My stomach knotted, my skin crawling at the idea of having to touch his hand again. While I wasn't in the least bit surprised that he would escort me there, I hadn't imagined that I would have to touch his hand again. It only made sense though - of course he wouldn't want me to run off, being the asshole he was.

My eyes tore away from his awaiting hand, meeting his eyes, wondering if there was a way out of this. His fixed gaze told me otherwise.

"I promise I won't hurt you." I knew they were supposed to serve a sense of reassurance, but they didn't. They were merely words, after all. It felt to have taken almost all of my will power to accept his hand. I faintly noticed that he softly smiled again, but I casted my eyes away. "It's just in the other room." He said, leading me towards the door.

My heart felt as if it were going to skid to a stop in my chest as we neared the door. My chance of escaping. My heart then pounded in anticipation as qualm filled me. Did I have what it took to escape? What if I couldn't run fast enough? My throat tightened at the thought of failing.

He reached for the door handle, and to my shock he pushed it right open, the door having been unlocked this entire time. My heart hammered as he guided me out of "my" room, and as my eyes frantically drank in my surroundings, searching for a way out. A long dark hall stretched out before us, lined with tall white doors. White light pooled at the end of the hall where there was an opening. It must've lead out to a living room. Looking at the blinding light, I knew it was sunlight. Windows must've been drawn open out there.

Windows. My mind whispered. Efficient exits.

Erik's grip on my hand tightened, almost as if he suspect that I would try to run. He didn't crush my hand, but held it firmly. I would have to tug hard to break free. My mind screamed at myself to shove him aside and run. My legs instead felt as if they wanted to lock up.

The hall was too narrow for me to get by him. His form seemed as if it blocked off my escape route - even if he wasn't stocky. I would have to squeeze past him - barrel through him like a football player. It would require both a strength and courage I knew I didn't possess.

Run! My mind screamed. Now! Do it now!

My heart felt as if it had crawled up my throat, but my adrenaline immediately simmered and died as soon as he turned, looking down at me. His mask made his gaze seem sharper and bitter with it's ill etched expression. I wanted to shrink back.

He came to a stop at the first door to our right, opening it for me. He did not lead me in, but instead waited for me to go in first. I looked down the mysterious hallway again, feeling drawn towards the sunlight. I knew it was not a coincidence that he stood in my way. His blue eyes watched me carefully, urging me to go into the room before me.

In defeat, I reluctantly obeyed, entering his "library". I wasn't escaping quite yet. Perhaps I would have to get to know the layout of this place first.

Or you'll simply never leave at this rate because you're a coward.

I tried to swallow down the lump that swelled in my throat. Now wasn't the time to cry. I instead tried to distract myself, looking around the room I entered as the bastard shut the door behind us. It wasn't a large room. It was the size of an average guest bedroom, but didn't have any windows or closets.

Figures. It certainly wasn't an enormous library like what my mind had imagined. I rolled my eyes at the thought of the Beauty and the Beast library. Not that that would've made anything better. He was still off his rocker.

It was merely a den with a couple of large dark bookcases that took up two walls. I begrudgingly admitted to myself that it was still impressive, but it wasn't anything spectacular. I would have found it more superb if I hadn't been dragged here against my will, forced to live here for who knew how long. I knew it was Mina's dream to have a library of her own. I could imagine her creating one of her own much like this one.

In the right hand side of the small room was a leather love seat and another matching cushioned chair - both of which surrounded a wooden, mahogany stained coffee table.

"Pick which ever book you'd like to read." Don't tell me what to do. Anything he wanted, I only wanted to rebel against. I admitted to myself that I'd feel that way even if he had reasonable suggestions. His image had soured in my mind. There was nothing he could do to reverse the hatred that radiated from my soul that turned bitter once he crossed my mind.

The only appealing thing about his collection of books was the fact that they were the only source of escapism around here. If I couldn't physically escape, I could at least in the meantime attempt to drown myself in literature. It was better than pacing around the bathroom with each hour slowly stripping away my sanity.

I drew in a deep breath, trying to smother the anger that flickered ominously in me. I instead began to glance at the various books that lined the shelves of his bookcases. He had a broad selection of books. His collection was composed of many different genres, but they were all mostly classics. There were also some modern best sellers from the past decade, along with miscellaneous stuff like history books, cooking books, and instruction manuals.

Maybe he has a "How to Kidnap and Get Away With It" book.

My eyes halted and narrowed upon a certain lavender novel. Next to Jane Eyre was the Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux. I pulled it off the shelf, observing the cover which had a blonde haired girl, who I assumed was Christine, facing a man who was removing a strange black mask. Her eyes were averted, and he was gripping her shoulder with frighteningly long and boney fingers.

That's supposed to be Erik? I thought to myself in disbelief. They couldn't have gotten him anymore wrong.

I froze when I felt my kidnapper creep closer towards me. Without fidgeting, I wondered what he wanted. Was he looking at the book I selected? Was he going to close in and attack me? He instead chose a black book nearby. Straining, I glanced to the side and noticed that he had picked up Dracula. He carried it off, and I remained still, pretending that I was merely reading the synopsis.

I wanted to bolt for the door. I imagined myself ripping it open and racing down the dark hallway, trying to reach the light. My heart pounded as I thought about it.

Should I dare?

Right as I was trying to subtly turn to glance over my shoulder, his voice and close proximity startled me, and I nearly dropped the small novel.

"Lets sit and read, shall we?" He towered behind me, his voice sounding as if it was spoken directly into my ear. His hand hovered towards my back as if to guide me to my seat, but I hastily shuffled away. Inside I was cringing at my cowardice. I wished I had the courage to turn and attack.

The time will come. My mind for once comforted. The time will come when he trusts you - and that will be the time to act.

I steered away from the couch, and sat down in the stationary leather chair. The hell if I was going to share the couch with the creep. He followed, his footsteps soundless. Taking a seat on the couch by himself, he made brief eye contact with me. Wanting to squirm from it, I sank down in my chair, propping the opened book upwards so it blocked my view of him. I knew it wasn't a good posture, but I didn't care.

I pretended to read but I was only on the table of contents. I waited for a moment before peeking at him from behind my book. He was no longer looking at me, his attention directed towards the gothic novel. His bright eyes flickered back and forth as he read, his visible eyebrow furrowed slightly. My gut felt as if it wrenched. He reminded me far too much of Erik, but yet, their pasts were far too different. Let alone time frames.

Lets not forget that this one kidnapped you.

And murder isn't worse? Another side of me snapped back. I wasn't sure what to think of it yet. Logically, it was insanely stupid for me to even ponder over giving my fiancé a chance - that is, if he was still even properly considered my fiancé. The ring on my necklace suddenly seemed heavier than before.

Averting my attention to the book in my hands, I flipped passed the table of contents. I was in desperate need of distracting my mind for a little while. I turned to the first page, my eyes drinking in the first sentence.

The Opera Ghost really existed.

. . .

Whew, now onwards to writing my next chapter! What do you guys think will happen next? What will Clare think of Leroux's classic? Will she ever escape? Will Erik come to her rescue? What is up with this doppelgänger? More will be revealed next chapter!

Thank you all for reading! Please review!