What Doesn't Kill You…
MissCyraf
29
"Not To Me"
Bounty hunters! So that is why he attended, especially without Christine! He is feeding them information! He had begun his dance with the firebrand girl for pure amusement, greatly relieved that they could flee whenever they wanted to, her mission accomplished. And why not take advantage of the situation? He had simply wanted to dance, to finally enjoy a night with people, even people he despised, and a woman, like a normal, anonymous man. A woman I certainly do not despise…Something had shifted between them over the course of the night, her attentions on Raoul had rankled within him more deeply than he had expected, certainly more than simple hatred for the man would produce. I was…jealous. He had had enough experience with the emotion to be able to identify it easily. But not just with the foolish Vicompte either…
Anyone that had looked at her, his Gwendolyn, had become a target for his anger. As soon as he had seen her, glorious and glowing, in her gown, he had felt a familiar sense of possessiveness. It was not, though, the same emotion he had felt for Christine, murderous wrath and insanity did not sour it. But he hadn't realized it, not until he watched the young man's eyes rake over her form appreciatively, press his greasy lips to the back of her hand. They had made small talk, Gwen had flirted with the Vicompte generously, not knowing the pain she was causing him. He had been allowing himself to live in the fantasy that they were indeed married, he was a normal man with a beautiful, intelligent…comical, caring, graceful, fun, and utterly enchanting wife. He had been taking pride in having her on his arm, barely keeping himself from parading her about the hall. She had joked about their wedding, including white roses and lilies, and lavish decorations, and he tried to push away the thought that it would never happen. Not to me.
And then they had approached the boy, the living personification of everything that he could never have, never even dream of having, and the illusion, the fantasy, had fallen apart. Wanting to protect Gwendolyn, as well as himself, he had accompanied her, to make sure that…the boy did not steal her off, like he has done before. She had indeed left him, though, walking away arm in arm with his most hated rival. And watching them, he had privately relived the horrors he had been trying to escape, the memories of Christine sailing away with the Vicompte, again and again. She had then turned to wink at him, a small gesture, but one that struck him to the very core. Promising him that she was still loyal, would return to him, had not forgotten him, and would not abandon him. And I will do everything in my power to keep it that way. And so he had stood, waiting for her like an obedient lap dog, something he would have never done before, absorbing the mindless chatter of the aristocracy around him. Then, one of the young men let it slip, no doubt to impress the ladies, that they were bounty hunters on a dangerous mission in search of the infamous opera ghost. Resisting the urge to laugh, he had contained himself, expressing polite interest. Delighting having an enraptured audience, they informed him that they were finding out details of the ghost from Raoul, who had encountered the monster before. He is the enemy…When she returned with his nemesis, he had pulled her away as quickly as possible, his jealousy and hatred for the boy increasing tenfold.
He had had every intention of telling her the information he had gathered, that Raoul, like he had thought, was the enemy, that he had been right. And that she should never see him again. Instead, everything had come out wrong, he had been distracted by his own enflamed emotions to get to serious talk. Then, she had said he would never have to see the boy again, and he had hoped that she meant that she wouldn't either. She is mine, she cannot see him again…The thought had thrown him, surprise ripping through him. Deciding to think on it later, he only wanted to spend the evening with Gwen, to actually have her enjoy the evening instead of constantly bickering and snapping at each other. When he had noticed the Vicompte watching them, though, ice ran through his veins. He will not take her from me! Meeting the young lord's gaze, he continued the dance, steadily drawing nearer with each twirl. By the end of the dance, they were only a few yards apart, each trying to stare the other down. Still afraid that the nobleman might be pursuing Gwen, he had tucked her against him, wanting the young man to know, for sure, where her loyalties lay. You will not have her. Take Christine, keep her, I do not care, but stay away from Gwendolyn, or so help me, I will get past my qualms and put your head on a pike! He had felt Gwendolyn pull away from him, he believed her to be getting a drink. And with his eyes on Raoul, she would be safe from the young lord's grasp. Move towards her, and I will kill you, bastard! After what seemed like an eternity, the Vicompte relented, giving him a curt nod and walking away in the other direction. Watching him go, he wondered vaguely if the man had any idea of his identity. I doubt it, or the bounty hunters will have swarmed me by now. Occurring to him that Gwen wasn't back yet, he wandered towards the refreshment table. His eyes then suddenly caught on her, a wrenching surprise overtaking him. Her dress…it is ruined. And her hair…It had fallen out of the lovely combs, curls tangling around her face. Her face, her face! It was flushed and waxy, her eyes rounded with such strangling depth of emotion, they made him shrink away slightly when he called out to her and they fixed on him. Something has happened. Worry, a foreign emotion to him, scratched at his senses as he approached her. Not knowing entirely what to say or do, he irrationally barked questions at her. She had reacted even more irrationally. 'Just get away from me!'
Seated on the roof of the Opera Populaire, far away from the prying eyes of society, the scream echoed in his mind. Confused and despairing, he dropped his head into his hands, still stunned by the power in it. What did I do? Feeling like he had lost the one person he had dared to care about, again, he sat in veritable agony. I thought she might have even cared about me…that I might actually have a friend. I am a fool, a fool for believing. Her scream sounded again and again in his brain. I do not understand, I do not understand…Her behavior made no sense, and he unreasonably connected it to the only explanation that made sense to him. She is afraid of me, afraid of my face. Squeezing his eyes closed against the anguish that threatened to overwhelm him, he cursed himself and the face that had doomed him from birth.
