Chapter Eleven: The Lash For Betrayal

Once I'd recovered from the near-desperation that had upset me so, I dressed for rehearsal and proceeded to the theater. Every person I passed in the hall gave me a suspicious look, but I gulped and ignored it. When I entered the theater, the rest of the cast was loosely assembled onstage, talking amongst one another with whispering voices. The speech ceased completely when I approached the stage. Most of them were looking at me uncomfortably, still as statues.

Sighing to myself, I took my position and kept my eyes lowered. Monsieur Reyer cleared his throat, tapping his music stand with his baton. His silver moustache was upturned in a prudent, tight expression, eyes creased in an indifferent glare that seemed to rest on me. I lifted my eyes for a moment, finding that everyone was looking at me. Carlotta, just a short distance away, was looking at me with a terrified face. She said nothing, but shifted a few paces further away.

"Let us commence rehearsals," Monsieur Reyer stated, "We will do a full run-through, and anything that needs further work will be addressed afterwards. Are there any questions?" Monsieur Reyer raised a brow, his mouth frozen in a wordless response. There was nothing but an uncomfortable silence. I bit my lip. I don't know what James had told everyone, but it certainly wasn't doing me any good. "Very well. From the beginning of Act I…"

Anyone that was supposed to be offstage seemed to magically appear on the wings of the stage. Apparently no one wanted to be near me. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe this was not to blame on James at all. Perhaps Madame Giry had said something. After all, she seemed to maintain relations with Erik. What better way to keep the rumors from spreading than to counteract them with her own rumor? If people were afraid of me, they wouldn't go asking questions. But what could she have possibly said? James was giving me an odd look from across the stage. It didn't seem to be of fear, but more of scrutiny. I would have to get to the bottom of this.

Rehearsals were far too short in length. Carlotta was not her usual snobby self and cooperated relatively well for once. Unsatisfied with the performance of the dancers, Monsieur Reyer and Madame Giry kept them afterward to work through their routines once more. The rest of the cast left immediately for their rooms—all except for James.

As I entered the hall outside the theater rather dejectedly, James grasped my wrist and pulled me to the chapel. "Faye, are you all right?" He asked in a hushed voice. He was looking at me in concern now, but I couldn't understand what was going on. Somehow, I'd been thrown outside the ring of discussion. I looked at him for a long time before saying anything. My heart was racing with the need to tell him the truth, but deep down inside, I knew I could never tell him. I closed my eyes and took a breath, turning my face away with my shoulders raised.

"I'm fine," I answered, "Just fine." I breathed a sigh. "Will you excuse me?" I turned and pushed past him, unable to properly cope with the situation. A ghostly chill was setting onto the air. The candles were burning low now. It wouldn't be long until the dancers were done, and then, he would be waiting for me in the darkness of the theater. He was my jailer, and this place was my prison. I couldn't decide whether it was a good thing or a bad thing.

When I reached my room, I closed the door and leaned against it with a sigh. I had no one to talk to, except for Erik. He was not a friend, either. He was my mortal enemy. There was no sense to this madness. I dwelt within a cave with only the freedom to sing and to dance. As I thought over this fate, I came to realize that this was the whole purpose of it all. If I could only sing and dance, and act, these were my only forms of expression. In place of a social life, I was to devote myself to the sole aspiration of performance.

I could hear the dancers returning to their rooms. It was time for me to go. My feet seemed to be attached to the floor, my fingers closed around the air. I took a deep breath and forced myself to unlock, opening the door and moving down the stairs. I had to convince myself that I was still a hawk—not a measly little songbird in the Phantom's cage.

The corridors seemed darker than usual, but I wouldn't let it phase me. I kept taking deep breaths. I was still alive, I reminded myself. That was the one thing I had going for me. I also knew I was very capable of wielding almost any weapon. That was another positive thing. However, I knew that Erik had tapped into every weakness he could find—romance, the arts, my fears…

The doors into the theater seemed to loom thousands of feet over me, every carved angel looking down through hollow eyes. I gulped and opened the door to a dark theater with only one candle lit on the stage. I hated not being able to see where he was. He could lunge and attack me from any place, for all I knew. After allowing my eyes the time to adjust, I made my way down the most visible aisle, arriving at the stage with no sign of my tutor.

Shrugging, and feeling a bit relieved, I had a seat on the edge of the stage to await instructions. It was well over a few minutes before he spoke. His voice seemed to resonate from the ceiling, but I could not see that far up, so I simply listened. "It is good to see that you are punctual, mademoiselle. I believe we will start the evening off with your aria from Act II, since you are already warmed up." His voice swirled around the walls of the Opera House, but I didn't let it affect me. He was trying to encapsulate my mind within his vocal trap, and tonight, I wouldn't let it work. Tonight, it was strictly business. "Proceed, mademoiselle."

I felt like the air was dead. I felt no life within me as I prepared to sing as he instructed. I knew if I could not bring emotion into my voice, he would be unsatisfied, and would urge me to perform it again and again until he approved. Straightening my posture, my shoulders fell back, my chest moving forward. I dropped my jaw and took a breath. The notes came out easily enough, but softly. This did not prevent the words from being heard, but expressed bashfulness at approaching the piece. Moving my eyes upward, I caught a glimpse of his shadow moving around the circular walkway nearest the chandelier. He seemed to be pacing, but I didn't look for long. My eyes drifted to look out across the empty rows.

Vaguely, I understood what I was singing, but the sheer volume of the notes was captivating. As the aria built, I gave into the feeling of loss, and let the notes tremble throughout my being. I was singing of death and betrayal, yet ultimately, my body was at a state of complete relaxation. Singing of such horrors and tragedies seemed only to coax me into tranquil state of mind. I knew I was nearing the height of the song, but the notes continued to sail effortlessly, the dynamics building at a moderate pace until the entire hall was filled with gorgeous euphony.

There was a rest for another bar and a half, and the silence seemed to linger breathlessly. Erik's presence felt closer, but my eyes had closed by now. I didn't care where he was. The rest of the song came out with a mystical lull, until the last notes died away, wafting gently through the theater. Then, all was silent. It wasn't an empty silence, really, but it wasn't a full silence either. I opened my eyes and looked down. I could see his shadow looming over from behind me. It was very threatening.

"I apologize for my rash words earlier. I did not take into consideration what was going through your head. I suppose I just assumed you were being foolish," he spoke evenly from behind me. It's not what I expected to hear, nor was it what I wanted to hear. The more he accepted who I was, the more inclined I would feel to get closer to him. I didn't respond. I only stood there. He reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder, looking to hear from me on the subject no doubt. "Now that I look back upon the situation, I realize that I was wrong. You were being wisely rash, and while I felt you were being a desperate fool, you were merely a desperate, helpless woman."

"Yes," I replied.

"Yes?" He repeated, as if confused. I paused for a moment, before shrugging off his hand and moving away. I turned a bit to look back at him.

"Yes, you were wrong." I turned on my heel and walked a short distance along the stage. I didn't want to be close to him right now. "What will you have me do next, Monsieur?" I asked politely. He was quiet for a moment.

"Faye…"

"Perhaps the aria from the final scene," I suggested immediately, looking around the theater as if it were interesting, "I recognize that it requires a bit more work than I have allowed." Erik was again silent. I could tell that our moods were colliding again; something that seemed to happen quite a bit.

"No," he replied briefly. I heard him step away into the shadows now, and he seemed to be contemplating. He paced, returning to me. "I want to work on your presence," he stated.

"What about my presence?" I was irritated with him. I'm not sure why, though. He must have sensed this in my voice, for he stood in front of me and gestured emphatically, pointing at me in a manner of accusation.

"You, Mademoiselle Faye Lavonne, are being a selfish little cow. You stand in one place on the stage, sing, and expect people to be entertained by that. You do not address your audience, nor even try to communicate with them on a more serious level. Do you even think of what kind of influential people may be sitting out there? Forget influence—do you even care about those who have traveled from all over France to see you? Or have you too big of a head to care about such things?" His outburst was pointed and angry, his eyes flashing with sparks of annoyance. He took a breath, almost shuddering to look down at me. I crossed my arms in a casual manner, and eyed him.

"It's not very inspiring to look out over empty rows of seats," I sassed. I knew I was only fueling the rage that was growing within him, but for some reason, I liked it right now. He whipped his arm up, catching me in a firm headlock. Surprised, a gasp escaped me before I struggled and almost fell over.

"If you continue to have this attitude in my theater, I will see that you are hung from the chandelier," he warned through gritted teeth. In a burst of strength, I threw him from me, gasping for air.

"This attitude never seemed to fail Carlotta!" I refuted. He rose carefully, brushing himself off.

"And do you aspire to be Carlotta, or do you aspire to be Faye Lavonne?" He demanded.

"Does it even matter to you anymore?" I shot, stomping the stage angrily. I drew my lips tight across my teeth in aggravation, before biting down on my bottom lip. I could feel my self-control failing. He shook his head, speechless for a moment.

"Sing it again, Faye. And this time, sing to me." He shifted off the stage and took his seat in the audience, looking at me expectantly. Disgruntled, I grumbled to myself a bit before focusing in on him and trying to think of how I would sing it to him. If I were to do as he asked, it would be far too much like opening up to him. Still, he seemed to have calmed down, and was kindly being patient with me. I had to at least try.

I certainly felt as though I was wearing thin by this point. He pushed and pulled and dragged me until I was worn out like a doormat. I was tired all of the time and had minimal patience with his orders. My desire to please was fading by the day, and my heart was becoming cold. He was no longer inspiring to me. He was just a burden—a symbol of pain and torment. What reason would I have to obey such a presence? I looked at him now, and did not feel the least bit driven. I felt homesick…homesick and lovesick. A knot formed in my throat.

"Come closer, Erik," I said. He hesitated, as though he had made up his mind to keep his distance. He was still contemplating punishment for my earlier actions, I could tell. He seemed almost timid at first, but he rose and moved to the orchestra pit, keeping his eyes on me warily. I centered myself and looked down at him, thinking. I'd come such a long way from day one, and somehow, tonight felt as though it should be a milestone of sorts.

I looked straight at him and concentrated. I thought back to everything he'd said and done. There was so much to hate him for, and yet, so much to love him for. But right now, I just couldn't channel those thoughts into my voice. I stared at him blankly and shook my head. His eyes remained on me, but they were not burning. They were not anything. There were cold and lifeless. That's why I couldn't sing. He was still sitting there attentively, waiting. He was waiting for something that simply would not come.

"I can't sing to you," I stated, letting my shoulders sag.

"And why is that, Faye?" He asked smoothly. He seemed as if he was expecting such a thing to happen. I raised my head and eyed him. His expression had not changed. I guess the correct way to deal with this situation, while he was calm, was to be honest.

"You seem so indifferent and cold… like you might not want to be here," I answered. A little smile crept into his features.

"Yes, Faye. You see, that is how an audience views a new singer on the stage. That is how almost every single person in the audience on your first performance will be looking at you," He explained serenely. I frowned and sighed, seating myself on the edge of the stage.

"Erik… I… I don't feel like I can do this," I admitted sheepishly, looking over at him. I was sure he would get angry at some point. But I felt no rage within him tonight, which was strange for his general demeanor. He rose and approached. I dropped my gaze and watched his feet draw near. He put a gloved finger under my chin and raised it. A small smile was on his face. Was he drunk?

"Practice makes perfect, my little songbird," he said tenderly. I was very tempted to ask what was wrong with him… perhaps what he was planning… he had to have been planning something, what-with his acting like this and so forth. But I saw absolutely nothing beyond the tranquil orbs of his eyes. I was disturbed by this new attitude. He was far too relaxed, and whatever his intentions were tonight, he was in no hurry. "Would you like to try again?" He asked. I blinked. He never asked if I wanted to sing. He just told me.

Baffled, the response came out in a bewildered fashion. "I… well… sure, all right." He smiled and returned to his seat while I resumed my stance and looked at him. I wasn't sure that I felt better about the situation at this point, but at least I understood that it was necessary that I impress him. That didn't make it any easier to sing to him, but understanding his mentality restored some of my confidence. He sat back and seemed to scrutinize me a bit more.

"Breathe," he whispered urgently. I breathed and closed my eyes, concentrating again. This time, I'd get it. I felt a bit more determined. Opening my eyes again, I looked straight at him and started singing. Albeit, it was a bit awkward at first, but as the song progressed, I grew more comfortable and moved a bit more within reason. When I finished, he smiled a bit. "Better," he said.

I bowed my head a bit, and wondered absently when I was to receive punishment for my earlier actions. He stood and walked off into the shadows, reappearing moments later on the stage. His arms were folded behind his back, his brow creased in thought.

"I have learned, Miss Lavonne, that the best way to torment you is not by use of pain," he began. I clenched my fists and took a breath. "Nor is it by use of words or commands, or any kind of physical force…"

"What are you saying, Erik?" I asked. I just wanted him to get to the point. I was tired of games. He stopped beside me. I could feel him smirking, but didn't look at him. I couldn't bring myself to do that. I knew that whatever he had in mind must have been ingenious and completely cruel to my nature.

"Stripping you of power… and stealing your control, is the best way to destroy you inside, Faye," he whispered. I made a move to run, and he grabbed my wrist calmly but firmly. I could already feel myself fleeing into a panic. My heart started beating faster, and my breathing became quick. My eyes darted around, desperately seeking an escape. This could only end badly. "Ideal punishment for betrayal," he finished.

"I didn't betray you, Erik," I whispered, closing my eyes. He reeled me in close to his body and stroked my torso. "I realized that I couldn't…"

"You almost did," he pointed out.

"This isn't necessary…" I could feel his lips caressing my jaw slowly. I groaned softly as he moved down along my neck. "Erik… please…" I leaned into him and realized he had it all figured out by now. By being gentle and loving with me, he could undo every quality that protected me from falling. He could bring me down very quickly, and he would win.

I was sinking. He was sliding me down to the stage, making his intentions quite obvious. But the only light was the one flickering candle that cast an eerie glow across us. How had he come to know me so well? "My little tiger is not so ferocious after all," he whispered, breathing on my lips, but not kissing. My mouth opened to speak, but I couldn't. I shuddered. I could feel myself breaking out into a sweat and my fingers tried to lock with his weakly. My eyes were closed. I couldn't bring myself to open them. I felt him take a deep breath, and his lips closed around mine, pressing a deep, passionate kiss. I couldn't take this. I was falling apart, and he was enjoying it far too much.

I was so weak now. Struggling, I could do nothing. He released my lips and I gasped, suddenly shoving at him uselessly. "Erik… please," I panted softly, opening my eyes. Looking into his, I could see a haze settling over the burning coals of desire, which he seemed to blink away. "You can't do this to me," I whispered, sinking back down underneath him.

"I lead," he whispered into my ear, fingers moving along my side cautiously, "You follow."

Suddenly, the door in the back of the theater flew wide open, light spilling in. Erik recovered quickly and whipped out of sight. Gasping, I closed my eyes and tried to pull myself together. But James was running down the aisle. "Faye?" He called, leaping onto the stage and picking me up. He cradled me in his arms as though I had taken a terrible fall. I could feel myself breaking down again. I nestled into James's embrace, let loose, and cried.

I don't think he asked me any questions. At some point, he lifted me up and carried me off to sleep, but I wouldn't let him leave me. I became feverish late in the night, tossing and turning in his arms until he quietly assured me that there was no one there but him. This life was a nightmare, and my perceptions had been seriously tampered with. How could Erik have done such a thing? It was cruel. Apparently, he did have a heart of ice.

But I had too big of a heart to accept such a thing. I believed in him far too much, and despite the fact that James had rescued me from Erik's torture, I knew he couldn't stop it unless he took me far away from it all. And I would never get far away, because I loved Erik. I had no way of coming to grips with the situation. If I told Erik what I was feeling, he would laugh at me. He would call me foolish. He might even get angry. I could never be sure, and that's what I hated about him. He was so unpredictable, which made things much more difficult than they had to be.

At least Erik could be certain of the fact that I would never try to betray him again. James would ask things of me when I was functional, but I would either lie, or not answer.

My life had to be nothing but music, dance, and theater. That is all Erik wanted me to care about.

A/N: OMG LOOK! I wrote! Sorry for the sucktastic chapter, but I had to pick it up somewhere. :-)