Hi everyone, so here is the next chapter. I'm trying to make the chapters longer, but as I have said before I'm really busy so please me patient. I really thank you so much for your reviews, it really keeps me writing.
All questions about the Manon's sack will be answered soon. I'm trying to keep the plot flowing yet keep characters in character, so that's why its taking such a long time. Please bear with me! I'm really not sure about this chapter. I read it over and it's rather vague. Tell me what you think.
Every thing should reveal itself in good time! Thanks! Love you all!
Chapter six
Manon savored the meal as if it were her last. Chicken, soup, warm bread, butter and sweet wine. If it were not for her painfully throbbing side she would have sworn she was in heaven. She chewed on the savory chicken, trying as hard as she could to keep a blissful smile off her face.
Manon could feel his dark eyes on her in the shadows as she sat up on the bed. But in her delight she barely noticed.
It has been so long… she thought licking the bitter taste of wine of her lips and savoring the warmth that filled her chest. By the end of the meal she could not help but smile slightly and half wonder if she were drunk.
"You see much better," said a familiar voice. The phantom stepped out of the shadowed of the room, mask glowing deviously, a mellow smirk planted on his face. Manon bit her lip. He drew a chair from the vanity table and sat down beside her bed.
He looked at the serving dish in her lap and the plates on it and the smirk grew. Manon looked down. Barley a crumb of bread or drop of soup lingered on the china. She had to smile.
"May I inquire about the goulash?" He asked, eyes smoldering naturally.
"Delicious."
"The chicken?"
"Exquisite."
"The bread and butter?"
"Scrumptious."
"The wine?"
"Delectable,"
To her relief, he smiled, almost a grin! She had seen him smirk, leer, and grimace, but not smile. Though she didn't admit it to herself, Manon liked it. Deep in her mind, in its far depth, she admired how handsome he was- and that was deep, deep down in her mind.
But on the surface, this man bewildered her. Merely an hour ago he was snarling and calling her a fool, a day ago he had been cold to her, and a week ago he had tried to kill her.
He stood up, retrieved the tray from her lap and placed it on the vanity. He didn't immediately return back to the chair beside her bed but disappeared in into the black corners of the room that the lantern's glow didn't reach.
Then the phantom returned, and in his hand was her dear bag.
"This is yours, I presume." He said sitting down, gently placing the sac on the puzzled Manon's lap.
Manon looked at it, eyes traveling over the familiar stains, recognizing every smudge of dirt, tracing it with her finger tips. She paused.
Manon looked up at this man beside her, gazing into his masked face- his eyes, searching.
"Thank you" She whispered.
Manon took a deep breath and rested the urge to gasp. The phantom's hands were colder that she expected upon her bare stomach, dangerously close to the wound. Yet, she could tell that it was not only his cold hands upon her as he examined the wound, which made her anxious. The upper part of her dress was bunched about her waist, which would have left her chest exposed to wandering eyes were it not for the soft blankets of the bed. She had securely tucked the blankets upper her arms so it covered her breasts.
"Its deeper than expected," The Phantom whispered, eyes furrowed as he looked upon the open wound.
She felt a cold finger apply slight pressure on her ribs. Manon grimaced, and let out another shuddering breath.
"The infection is beginning… pain as the slightest pressure is an indication of this," he almost seemed to recite.
Lines of concern formed on the visible side of his face as he said, " As we expected, we must extract the bullet now."
With that, he disappeared into the shadows of the rooms and returned with a jug, filled with what she assumed to be water. He sat down again, drew the bedside table, on which the candle lantern lay, closer to him and settled the jug down upon it. He drew a piece of linen cloth from the bed and dipped it into the water.
He then began to gently clean the dry blood and raw muscle around the wound.
Manon shuddered as the soaking cloth touched her skin, cold water dribbling. The dry blood was caught up in the cold drops that trickled from around her wound onto the white sheets, staining it.
Then he dropped the cloth into the jug for a moment and began to unbutton his fine black vest. Once he had shrugged it off, he threw it over to the vanity table, where his long handsome cloak also lay.
He sat back down and proceeded to examine and clean her skin.
Manon's heart skipped as she looked at him again.
His eyes were dark as she hand seen them before, his lips were set in concentration, his mask glowing. Her eyes traced over his broad shoulders. His shirt was loose; its parting slightly opened to reveal a sturdy chest. Manon's mouth went dry.
Manon! What are you doing? A voice in the back of her mind screamed.
The phantom seemed to sense her eyes on his and looked up at her and
Their eyes met.
She spoke the first thing that came into her mind.
"Lets get this over with,"
Moreau laid back quietly, and closed her eyes. Her breath was uneven.
"This will be painful," he said, quietly.
"That is not a problem," She snorted in a unlady-like manor, eyes still on the ceiling. There was silence for a few moments as he sorted through the metal implements on he bedside table. abruptly, Manon heard the metal clanking cease and heard him speak sternly,
"Do you trust me?"
She looked up at him, pausing. Then she nodded.
"I do." And she closed her eyes again.
Lady Evanescence: Thanks for reviewing! You'll know what's in the bag soon enough.
Galasriniel: You are a sexy Erik fan too! I will try to get Erik in a more sexy eventually, once the two have gotten over the fact that he tried to kill her. chuckles
Han Futsu; Anti Normal: Yeah! Mandy the O is my angel of writing! She's such a great writer!
Pickledishkiller: Thanks for your review!