Chapter 4
Surprises
It had been an excruciatingly long day for Isabella. After her encounter this morning, she had not been able to focus during practice, falling out of spins and stepping on toes all over the place. With opening night a mere week away, Madame Giry was to say the least, livid.
She stayed late, determined to make up for the horrid practice. But it had been no use. Her thoughts were somewhere else tonight.
As she walked back to her room unaccompanied, she pondered the fact that it might not have been the best idea. He could be there waiting for her in the shadows, ready to strangle her for the strong words she had used with him earlier.
But, to her relief, the trip to her room turned out to be uneventful. As she turned the knob, she realized that she had forgotten to lock her door. She only hoped none of the stagehands had rifled through her things, never guessing what truly lay behind the door.
She swiftly swung the door open and had to grasp the door frame to keep from falling down. There he sat, in the armchair in the corner of the room, next to her bed. At the sight of her reaction to him, a smug smile crept across his face. It didn't last long.
He stood up from the low chair with the grace of a feline, and made his way towards her. Isabella turned to run, but he caught her from behind and drew her into the room, shutting the door behind them.
He pushed her up against the door, one hand holding her wrists in front of her, the other holding her chin, forcing her to look at him. His put his knee against her thigh to keep her pinned against the door.
"Why do you run from me…Isabella?" He purred her name, gloating in the fact that somehow, he had come to learn it without her telling him. She only glared at him, determined not to speak.
"Have I left you without words? I never thought that possible" he commented mockingly. He took the liberty to trace his fingers along her cheek bones and slowly across her lips.
Tantalizingly, he traced her collarbone to the locket she wore. "Hmm…what do we have here?" he questioned. He picked it up off her neck with his long fingers, studying it as if it would give him some clue as to who she was.
"Is this a gift from your lover my dear?" he asked, trying to get a rise out of her. Breaking her silence, she replied, "No. It was from…my father." A tear stained her cheek, catching him off guard. Erik slowly dropped the locket and let go of her. "I'm sorry" he said quietly.
Her cheeks flushed with anger and flames danced in her eyes. "Sorry for what?" she spat, pushing him out of her way. She moved to the other side of the room, keeping her back to him.
"My father is not dead, though God knows sometimes I wish he was. Maybe then I would have some peace." She crossed her arms, and moments later, sobs began to rack her small frame.
Slowly, Erik walked up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. He turned her towards him. "If he is not dead, than why do you cry?" Isabella was taken aback by the sincerity in his voice. "You wouldn't understand" she replied. "No one understands" she repeated as she walked around him and sat herself on the edge of the bed.
Her anger returning, she asked him "And what business is it of yours? Why are your standing here in my room?" She stood up and walked towards him. "And what right did you have to come in here, uninvited, and push me up against the door like a savage?"
He stood stock still, not having answered any of her questions. Quietly she asked him one final question. "What is it that you want with me monsieur?"