Note: Thanks for the input, helped a bunch. I promise no more questions, I'll shut my trap and abuse Raoul some more. Raaa!
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16
There are things Raoul knows that he must come to understand: that the Phantom will not allow him to escape, and that if he attempts again he will be beaten again, or worse, put into the water. He does not know if he could cope being in the lake again, and the very thought sends a shudder through his body. Erik does not notice. The man is writing, composing. It is all he ever does, and for the most part ignores Raoul except for meals.
Raoul is no longer bound as a prisoner, and he does not wish to encourage any more hostility. He is one man, and can only handle so much.
They sit together, some feet away from the bed, in the chamber that resembles more of a study than a bedroom. The table is small, but it accommodates them both. Erik is silent, scribbling quickly, and Raoul wonders if it is wise to disturb him.
"Give me something to do," he finally says, and Erik does not stop writing. Raoul sets both legs beneath the table, and his fingers idly fiddle with his cuffs. Erik has finally given him fresh clothing. He remains ignored. "Anything," Raoul fails to keep the childish tone out of his voice. He clears his throat. "I don't even know what time of day it is anymore."
Erik says nothing, but he gives a short nod to the grandfather clock in the corner. It is old, covered in dust, but it seems to work. Seven thirty-six. Raoul sheepishly ducks his head, and his hands find his lap. "I didn't hear it," he says.
"Of course not," Erik's mouth twists into the wryest of what could pass for a half-smile. "The ticking would drive a man mad. I have modified it."
Raoul suppresses a comment he knows will only earn him more pain. Instead, he finds something else to talk about. "I could help you," he offers, and the words remind him just how bored out of his mind he really is. The half smile turns into a sneer.
"You," he snorts. "You cannot even read music. You are useless."
"I read music," he says, defensively. "But music is not my life." Raoul immediately questions what his life has truly come to.
"That, Vicomte, is the ravine between us. Your utter lack of appreciation. Now be quiet," blue eyes, unimpressed beneath dark brows, meet him briefly before going back down to their work. Raoul realizes that the Phantom has not wore his mask since he banished Christine. Raoul averts his own eyes, disturbed that he has not noticed. Rather than dwell on the thought, he timidly lifts a sheet of Erik's music, and immediately lets it go when he catches Erik looking at him.
"I could put these in order," Raoul waits, holding his breath, as Erik stares at him. He seems torn between utter annoyance, and indecision. "You work in chaos," he adds, and Erik's brows contort, considering. Finally, he plucks one of the sheets from the jumbled pile between them. His index finger taps the right hand corner.
"They are numbered. One-hundred and three pages," he lets it drop. There is warning in his tone, but not an unwillingness to compromise. He continues on working, and Raoul takes his silence as permission. Slowly he begins to pick a few pages off the table. "If you crinkle, or lose any of my work," Erik adds, without looking up. "It will not be pleasant for either us of."
