Hey all. Shivers back. The last chapters ending was lame, but forgive me, it was one in the morning. I am kinda pissed with this story right now, I don't understand something. According to my hit count, it has been visited 650 times. Now, when only eight of these 650 people review, it makes me feel depressed. And Yes, Napea, I had to include Mamoru, lol. Maybe his delightful elderly wife will one day make an appearance, hmm? Just a warning, there will be a few racist comments in this chapter. I am by no means a racist, even though my parents aren't exactly tolerant. But this is how my Raouly must be.
Bitter Taste of Blood in Your Mouth
Christine walked brusquely through the halls of her school, startling a few freshmen who , (even thought to her ears she was stomping) didn't hear her approach. Dropping her pack on the floor with a thump, she sat at the desk, and pulled out a notebook. Using this time to write a short song, she was forced to look up when a large, rather tan hand slammed down onto the desk.
" Hello, Daae. Did you think I would just let you get away with your stunt on Friday? Your lucky that towel head freak sent you home, otherwise you would have gotten this sooner."
Leaning in, his curly gold hair brushing her forehead, his sneer was quite prominent on those damn sparkly teeth. He failed to see the sharpened pencil she had in her grasp. He couldn't ignore it, however. She looked up into those eyes of his, before sending her arm arcing upward.
Raoul Chagny felt the pain blossoming and fell on his backside. Gripping his right shoulder, he pulled his hand away, only to find it soaked on dark red blood. She had stabbed him in the stretch between neck and shoulder, the pencil sticking up from him. It was the first time he had ever seen her scared. She covered her mouth, her gray eyes looking a little closer to their old bright blue.
She couldn't believe it, she had stabbed him! She thought he would dodge, or maybe get a scratch or..
She felt a strong pair of arms around her, and a arc of pain blazing through her forehead, then, there was nothing. Nothing but darkness.
Raoul felt the boys tug him to his feet, Richard applying pressure to his shoulder, while Moncharmin continued to steady him. Looking up, his mind reeling, he saw Bouqet knock out Christine, and continue with his abuse, even though she couldn't feel it. The blurry vision increased, as did the pain, until he only had enough strength to mutter, as he lost consiousness as well.
"Make her pay."
Nadir Khan was admittedly confused, to say the least. Raoul Chagny was hospitalized for an injury he wouldn't explain, almost dying of blood loss, and now, Christine was missing! Nadir shook his head as he paced. No, not Christine, Miss Daae. He couldn't think of her like that now. For all he knew she was dead somewhere! He had rung her new residence once, receiving quite the cold word form her new guardian.
Erik drove as quickly as possible to the damn school, a fury he had only felt with killing kindling inside. He remembered his words to the principal, who hadn't even bothered to introduce himself. He had told him Christine's choice to be a truant skipper was none of his concern. But now, it has been two days, longer then he was willing to tolerate the girls absence.
He knew the possibilities. She had either run away, which was plausible, though it hurt his pride to admit it. Or she had been taken. Exiting the car, he strode purposefully toward the door of the school. It was still dark, as it seemed like there would be rain, but no students had gotten off the busses, which had parked about two hundred feet from his own spot. Ha continued up a little sidewalk , cursing in French when a drop of rain pelted his hand.
Wiping it off quickly, he was surprised when it stained his fingers. Rubbing them together, he was puzzled at the blood there. Was it the apocalypse? Obviously not. It wasn't until he heard the screech of the girl who had just gotten on the path that he looked up.
She was there. Christine. He couldn't bear the sight of her like that. He just couldn't. That's when the rain started to fall, washing the land . It mixed with her blood was it fell upon Erik, soaking him in iron and tears.
Nadir Khan pulled his shades open, looking to see what the commotion was. Falling from his desk chair, she ripped the window open, pushing the screen out. There she was. Christine. Who could have done this? His angel.. His bloody, hell driven angel. He whispered prayers under his breath, picking up the phone .
" This is Connie Everclear, reporting to you from Cocoa Beach High school, where a girl was found, tortured, raped, and blinded this Wednesday . Reports haven't found any fingerprints or semen, but the damage done has proven that this was not consensual. The girl's name was Christine Daae, daughter of the late violinist, Charles, and his wife, Cecelia . The thing that makes this case so unusual, was the fact that she was.. Well.. She was apparently crucified. The captors nailed her hands to a board, before somehow getting her up this giant flagpole, sitting outside the front of the building. They then nailed down her feet, and secure her with rope. They nailed a sign above her on the pole, the police have yet to release the details of it's messa-"
Connie broke off, as she pressed her earpeice , before speaking. "Actually, we have just received confirmation that the note, which was written in Latin. It was apparently written in her own blood. It read 'Hic lies Sarcalogos , Regina of Damno.' translated, it says, Here lies Christine, Queen of the Damned. With the culprits still on the loose, the girls new foster father has moved her to a private hospital, and wishes that his name remain anonymous."
Erik waited for news on her condition, his long fingers tapping out the beat to some Mozart, while his brain was burned with her image. Even naked, covered in blood, bruises and rope burns, she had been beautiful. He didn't know what he would do, should she pass away. The helpless feeling he hadn't had since his mother , may she burn in hell, she started to whore herself.
He couldn't even find the strength to go find her kidnappers, and give them some hell. The doctors had spoken with him, explaining everything in details he was sorry he asked for now. They had poured bleach, or some other cleaning substance into her eyes, holding them open until she was blinded. The doctors told him they were the oldest wounds on her person, besides the blow to her head. Apparently, they didn't want to have to worry about being identified.
There had been uterine damage, from some instrument or another they had used to rape her with. They had removed her ovaries, and everything else with them. He had felt like slapping himself when the dark voice in the back of his mind danced at that thought. No children, no deformed children, when he took her as his own.
Their beatings had left her with shattered wrists and broken arm, which would recover, in time. The bone had come through the skin, which had to be treated for infection and tetanus, before stitching. One of her legs had been broken, it was their guess that she had fallen from the flagpole once, breaking a leg, only to be dragged back up.
Both collarbones had broken, her nose had nearly been gone, thought they said they would attempt plastic surgery when she was strong enough. The bleach had made her gray irises white, and her black pupils gray, for some odd reason. The doctors told him she suffered from tears on her anus, and a broken tailbone. It had been fixed, but the extent of the damage done would hinder her healing by months. Sitting would be impossible for the first two months, and most likely highly difficult for the third.
The doctor hadn't needed to tell him that her mental stability would be iffy during these periods. After all, the girl had been through something traumatic before this, during her childhood. The doctor was forbidden to disclose it under the patient confidentiality agreement, so Erik had been left in the dark. What had happened to the girl? How could it have been as horrifying as this? He was used to inflicting damage, not grieving the affliction. He refused to leave her bedside, the girls haggard breathing the only releif he had.
He was planning on using her too, but he would never rape her! Never. He remembered his mothers tears, when the johns would get too rough, and she would come home, still without money, and now with no hope. He would get beaten then, just for being. He would not allow this to go unpunished.
Christine would be avenged, and whoever did this would learn of Hellfire when they were found. After all, She was his. When she woke, he would be there. Now and forever. He supposed she would grow used to it. He had her last name changed to Bathory, as his was. It wouldn't do to be caught by paparazzi. Kissing the girls forehead, he turned out the bedside lamp, his pupils dilating in the black that surrounded them.
Queen of the Damned..
It echoed through his body, as each beep of her monitor filled his black heart with hope, hope for a future he had only ever dreamed of. How could she refuse him now, being as scarred as he? Inside, of course, more then out. He took her hand, mindful of her broken fingers, which must have been hit with a bat, or something of the like.
He didn't know what drew them together, maybe God was finally giving him something as sullied as he, a filthy gift for a filthy man. But she was so beautiful to him. Odd. It was unexplainable, but he somehow found her even more beautiful, beaten and broken, then perfectly composed in her sweaters and sneakers. She was his little broken sparrow.
It was a wonderful feeling, not being solitary. He could sit and stare if he wanted, maybe take of the mask? No! That was out of the question. Should she wake and see him, she would think him a monster, and merely hurt herself trying to escape. Stroking the white leather, he let his eyes fall closed, thinking of this whole predicament.
To coin a phrase from the King and I, it was a puzzlement.
AN: I am sorry, but it was necessary for the plot. Erik is not cold to her suffering, but he is feeling numb to it, like many people who find loved ones like this are. The horrid thoughts about children he has are natural, guilty mind mechanisms. Please forgive ma, and review.