What Doesn't Kill You…

MissCyraf

35

"Now That's Romantic…"

The next day was a frenzy of activity, Kathryn and I finally were able to talk without other people, mostly Nathaniel, hanging around. I still liked the man, I was just still a bit jealous of him stealing away my best friend here. I wanted to blame him for the kind of fallout Kathryn and I had been suffering through, but I knew, if I was honest with myself, that the fault was my own. I've never been honest with her…maybe it's time to start. Baby steps. After all, "the good I stand on is my truth and honesty"…And I owe it to her. Working together like we used to, we gathered the dirty costumes and took them to the laundry in preparation for the night's performance. I asked about her evening, she described how they went to a common restaurant for dinner, nothing as fancy as the night after the opening. Still, she had a good time, describing how the customers would provide each other with entertainment. Word had gotten around that he was the lead in the Opera Populaire's new show, and he had wound up serenading her in front of the entire patronage of the restaurant, as well as the cooks and servers.

"I always loved hearin' 'im sing, Gwenny. It jus' makes my 'eart do back flips!" She fanned herself with a fluttering hand, I laughed agreeing.

"Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. I love guys that can sing. When I was in school, there was this tenor who was just amazing! I had the biggest crush on him…" I chuckled. "It wasn't just the voice, though. I guess I just thought they were more romantic." Kathryn snorted at that.

"No' bloody likely. No, Natty's jus' special. All the other singers 'ere…romance is no' wha' they care about." I nodded, putting more force into my laundry churning.

"I guess most romance has just died out, along with chivalry." Kathryn agreed, complaining that though Nathaniel magically serenaded her, he forgot to bring his wallet, and she ended up paying for the meal. I tried to sympathize, but ended up just choking on barely contained laughter.

"Luckily fer me, it wasn't much…I suppose yer right, romance is dyin' out. Though, I did 'ear somethin' interestin' the other day…"

"Hmmm?"

"About the Phantom." I paused in my stirring, sharply glancing up at her. I'm not ready to give up that secret yet! She continued, though, unaware of my sudden panic.

"I 'eard that 'e is really a ghost, and 'e stays 'cause 'e's lookin' for his lost love, forever wanderin' the halls 'til he finds 'er again. Now that's romantic." And stupid.

"I guess," I muttered. She randomly paused in her own work, flashing me a grin, her eyes sparkling wickedly.

"Well, if yer no' interested in tha', I know somethin' you will be interested in."

"What?"

"Graham! Graham Scott! You know how 'e's workin' here now? Well, 'e was talkin' to Nat the other day, and 'e asked about you! Nat thinks 'e really likes you! …Too bad 'e thinks yer married. Don't know how tha' idea got in 'is head…" Her brow furrowed slightly, her excitement clouded by mild confusion.

"Oh! I told him I was married!" I blurted. She gave me a puzzled stare, and I rushed to continue. "Well, you know how I went to the gala? Well, I met someone there, and he was really nice and absolutely insisted that he escort me, and I didn't want to turn him down, so I let him. I really only wanted to talk to the man I was—interested—in, but he wouldn't leave me alone, and then I saw him! Well, Graham was with him, and I didn't know what to say in front of all those people and panicked a little, and I didn't want the man I was interested in to think that I was there alone looking for him, so I lied. I said he was my husband. Graham must have heard it." More lies! I'm actually getting worse! What the hell happened to the baby steps! Ugh! Kathryn's face wrinkled up as she attempted to absorb my words.

"You," She poked me in the shoulder, "are a very odd girl…So…this man 'ho accompanied ya, wha' was 'e like?" I grinned at her over my shoulder as I bent to collect the wet laundry.

"I'll tell you later, I promise." Conversation drifted to another bit of juicy gossip, and I made a mental note to try and do better. The rest of the afternoon passed fairly quickly, we actually got our work done early. Taking advantage of the extra time, we headed out of the Opera Populaire to do a bit of shopping.

o o o o o

He had missed several performances now of the Opera Populaire's comeback show, something that, when he realized it, rankled deeply within him. I have never missed a show before, this firebrand woman comes into my life, and I have missed three! Even when Christine was present I would not miss a performance…truth be told, though, she was often in them, while Gwendolyn is not. His thoughts lingered on the girl, he was allowing himself to become far too close to her. I am a fool, my thoughts center on her too frequently, my feelings for her dictate my every action. If I continue, she will leave, and I will not survive in the wake. I am truly digging my own grave…Enough! Enough of this, I have struggled too greatly to return to what I was. She will be my downfall. I will simply limit my interactions with her. Starting now. Right now. I will not see her again until—until…He sat at his organ, unable to compose, his mind too tightly wrought on the girl for him to concentrate on anything else. He had started to write another aria, again for a soprano, a certain raspy voice in mind. But with the thoughts of her voice, he then wandered to their last meeting, the way she had held his bare hand in hers, the way she had tried to stop his pain. No one has ever done anything like that for me, they have always caused pain. Perhaps she truly does care. He had felt sudden elation at the thought, wanting to know if it could be true. If she could care for me...You know she will not, but it is a possibility. No, stop. It is impossible.

Never the less, he was no longer content with sitting alone in his darkened caverns, hoping to spend more time with her. Even if she does not care, she still abides my presence. A great step beyond any other of human kind…I wonder if she would like to see the opera with me…The thought came unbidden, jostling him. This has gone too far! Erik, you idiot! You let another woman control you, why am I so foolish! I have helped her enough, I am endangering myself, my sanity. I am in danger of becoming what I once was, I cannot allow this! I must tell her that I will help her no more! She has her mirror, let her go, leave me, before I become lost…Setting his jaw, he callously shoved away his own unwillingness to let her go. It is necessary. Vital. I will tell her nowWith each step closer to her room, though, he felt more and more reluctant, more nervous about what she would say, how she would react. A sensible person would graciously accept it, aware of all the help they have received. A sensible person...Gwendolyn is far from sensible. I do not believe this will go well…She will hate me for this...

Reaching her door, he froze before it. Unwilling to push it open. …She is the only one who has ever treated me like a person, a man. I could not bear her scorn, much less her hatred. And here I stand, about to bring it down upon myself. I can survive everyone else's, I always have, but the one person who has shown me affection, kindness, understanding? No. No, I cannot do this. Sucking in his breath, he felt the desperate need just to see her again, just to talk to her. Especially after last night…He had realized after her excitement over the Shakespeare, when he had fled to be alone on the rooftop, that he knew nothing of her interests, her family, not even much about where she had come from, the future. I care more about her than anyone else, and I know nothing of her. I must speak with her!

"Gwendolyn?" He pushed open the door, sliding into the room. It was empty. Where did that blasted girl go now?

He discovered her in the entrance hall, leaving the Opera Populaire with her English friend, arms linked, laughing. A feeling he was quite familiar with crawled up his spine, and he glowered, jealousy burning within him. Look at her! Going out with her friends while I am tormented over the very thought of her! He wanted to call after her, make her stop, to pay attention to him, to notice him. But they pushed through the doors, still laughing, oblivious to him. Bitter, he mentally debated briefly about what to do.

"Gwen, ya promised tell me more abou' the gentleman you were with tha' night," The English woman's voice wafted to the where he stood on the second level. What gentleman?! What night! Startled and incensed, his jealousy and bitterness increased tenfold, and needing to know more, he flew down the Grand Staircase to follow them, only to halt in front of the doors. I have only set foot outside the opera house once in fifteen years…to follow Christine. They were getting farther and farther away, harder to track. Pressured, his envious need overcame his better judgment and he hurried after the retreating pair into the streets of Paris.