Chapter 80 Novena

"For heaven's sake, leave her alone!" snapped Meg, her eyes wild with anger. "She doesn't know who he was, and she wouldn't tell you even if she did." She shoved past Roxanne and hurried over to Christine's bed.

Christine sat down upon it, still gasping for breath. She wanted to fall upon the floor and sob out her broken heart, but she couldn't do that with so many people watching her. Her hand rose to her neck again; his touch still burned. How had she ever thought he'd be glad to see her? That everything would be right again, just as soon as she was back here?

She'd tried to hide Raoul's ring, and most certainly had not worn it upon her finger, hoping the gesture would show she no longer accepted their betrothal. Raoul had protested, but she'd been able to placate him, turning one of his own methods of ignoring what he didn't want to hear back upon him, as they'd entered the ballroom earlier.

So why had her Angel had such hate for her in his eyes when he'd torn it from her neck? Surely he must have understood why she wore it that way? Hadn't he seen the returned love in her eyes when they'd moved nearer to each other on the staircase? No one in the world had existed to her once he'd appeared. Time - and her heart - had stopped as he'd stalked towards her. She'd thought it would be mere moments before he'd take her from Raoul and claim her as his own.

And he had claimed her. But he'd thrown her to the wolves as he did so, disgust in his eyes once he saw Raoul's ring.

Oh God, he hated her. He truly hated her. She couldn't hold back the tears then and they flowed freely down her cheeks.

"It's all right," Meg said soothingly, though she could barely be heard above the uproar in the dormitory as she pulled the curtains shut around Christine's bed as much as she could. They gave very little privacy, being made of such flimsy material, but it was better than nothing. There'd never been such a scandal, and their fellow ballerinas - most of whom had not been there to see when the Phantom had appeared in the middle of the Ball - were leaping upon every detail from those who'd been lucky enough to be part of the opening dance.

Christine could do nothing but fall into Meg's arms when she sat down next to her. What could she say? How could she explain when everything about her Angel must still be kept secret? And with so many girls around them clamoring for even the tiniest snippet of information about the mysterious masked stranger?

She'd been deliriously happy to be back and had even enjoyed dancing with Raoul in front of everyone, giving him that last moment before she could rush off and find her Angel. The costumes had been exquisite, the music had astounded her - it was better than anything they'd ever had there before. And she'd been thrilled to see Meg walk down the staircase behind their managers, a statement to the prominence of her friend's new position. Her heart had glowed with pride, and for a short time she'd forgotten everything but the simple joy of being home.

But then as the music had risen to a glaring crescendo, her Angel had appeared. And he'd never looked more breathtaking. Or more terrifying.

He'd strutted around the staircase, scorn pouring from his lips like poison, humiliating all those who stood, stunned, around him and brandishing a sword with a skill that made her breath quicken. She remembered little now, of what he'd said to them, only their impotent outrage at his scathing remarks.

Then he'd turned at last, sheathing his sword as he mocked her own pride and lack of skill - her stomach twisted; was that really how he saw her - and asked her to return to him. And in that moment, everything had changed.

Gone was the sarcastic stranger and in his place was her Angel again, asking her for forgiveness, begging for her love, his voice catching in his throat as his eyes locked with hers. Gone was the fear she'd felt when he'd first appeared, that he was showing himself to a world he was supposed to be kept secret and safe from. All that was left was one heart reaching out to another and finding sanctuary.

She hadn't even realised she'd begun moving towards him until they were almost touching, the tension between them palpable in the air. Nothing else in the world mattered then, but him.

She didn't know now what she'd wanted to happen next. That he embrace her, that he take her hand, even say her name - how long it had been since she'd enjoyed that simple, sublime pleasure? That he declare his love for her and claim her as his own in front of everyone there?

How bitterly that idea rankled now. Any romantic notions of that moment had shattered into a thousand pieces when she'd seen the fury in his eyes as his gaze had fallen to the traitorous jewel hung around her neck. And he had claimed her then, but not in the way she'd dreamed. His dark eyes had burned with hatred and his mouth twisted into a cruel grimace.

And yet again, she knew not what her heart had pledged itself eternally to. Every ounce of anguish and fear she'd felt of him before came flooding back. He thought she'd betrayed him again; just as she had by leaving with Raoul. How the wounded look in his eyes seared her memory.

But it was not she who'd left him this time; it was he who'd spun upon his heel and strode away from her, back up the staircase, disappearing in a haze of smoke, leaving her to face the man she had just truly betrayed, alone.

"Is he still out there?" she asked Meg fearfully, sitting up and away from her friend.

"Yes, of course," Meg reassured her. "He told Maman he would stay there all night. You've nothing to be afraid of in here."

Her heart fell again at Meg's attempt at comfort. If only her Angel knew that the chains he'd alluded to were very real. But they were held tightly by Raoul - not him. As soon as Raoul had returned to her - thankfully empty-handed - he'd ordered that they were to leave. But Madame had been adamant that it was far too late at night for them to do any such thing and Raoul had been persuaded to have Christine put straight to bed instead. Madame had tried to take her to her own rooms, but Raoul would have none of it. He'd insisted she be taken to the dormitory, with all the other girls. He'd followed them then, to the top of the theatre, grabbing a chair as they walked, then slammed that chair down at the entrance to their rooms.

Much to the amusement of the more vocal of her fellow ballerinas, it seemed as if he was determined to keep guard out there all night. She felt utterly trapped. If she could have opened the iron-grated window above her bed and escaped through that, she would have, but she knew it didn't move. She sighed in frustration, angered again at how little control she continued to have over her own life. Raoul had said they would leave first thing in the morning, as soon as it was light. She supposed she was about to be whisked back to Isabelle's estate, where he'd keep her forever. It was like the walls were closing in around her.

"Come on," Meg said, "let's get you into a nightgown and into bed. I'll make sure they all quiet down," she gestured with a nod of her head to the others in the room. "You need to sleep, you must be exhausted. We can talk more in the morning, when we can find some privacy." She was unbelievably anxious to not only learn all that Christine knew about the Opera Ghost, but to know every single detail of where her friend had been for the past three months as well. The curiosity was about to kill her, but she knew Christine would never share any secrets with so many other ears straining to listen in.

"Sleep?" Christine expelled a hopeless breath. As if any such thing could be achieved with the rage of confusion and pain in her mind.