A/N: I'm not sure what it was about this chapter but I found it really tough to write and this was the third version I put out. I actually quite like the finished product.
Amber: Thank you for the compliments. I'm trying to make Antoinette believable but give her an extra depth, I wanted her to be a bigger feature in this story than she was in Coincidences. Though even in that I thought she was integral to the story.
Modesty: Thank you for the review. You're making excellent progress on your fic, I can't wait to read more about your new character.
AngelofMusic:- I think Philippe is an interesting character, maybe he is trying to protect Raoul, maybe he has alterior motives…Thank you for your time to read and review!
Becks: Thank you for the review, please keep reading.
You All made my day!
Chapter 14- A War Within
The constant drip, drip, drip of the damp from the ceiling in the corner to the pail beneath was slowly starting aggravate his nerves. Drip. He stood and paced, wandered to the cupboard at the far end of the room and drew out a book, opened it and read the first few lines on the page he had left it at.
'When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate,' he read aloud. 'Nor set down aught in malice: then must you speak, Of one that loved not wisely, but too well'
He snapped the book shut with a crack and threw it to the back of the cupboard. He pondered as he paced how Othello, as magnificent an individual he was, could ever kill the woman he loved. To allow her to die at his own hands, at anyone's hands. Othello, foolish yet intelligent. Driven to jealous murder by the person he thought was closest to him. Driven to murder.
Perhaps he was Erik.
No, Erik might not be a master of love or romance, he may not be the expert but he knew that fundamentally, that deep, deep down, at the core, in his own black heart, that if anyone so much as laid their hands on his love he would kill them.
He placed his hand on his chest and collapsed back into his seat. The pain ripped through him again, flowed through his veins and poisoned his weak heart. The thought of her sent him reeling, his head pounded and his body ached, he barely had the energy to open his eyes when he heard the door open.
'Erik,'
'Antoinette,' he said softly and glanced at her standing in the doorway. She walked in and stood next to the large oak table he had sculpted in his now perpetually free time.
'Are you okay?' she asked and was greeted by a hollow laugh.
'Oui,' he said and lay his head against the back of the chair. 'Bored.'
'The books?' she asked as she walked around to pour herself a cup of water from the jug.
'Are about love.' He said simply and she nodded, she understood.
'Then go out,' she suggested but he scoffed. 'Eat then'
'Eat,' he said, repeating her word. 'Eat then… eat what? Nothing will make me feel satisfied, Antoinette.'
She looked at him, dishevelled and thin, he looked tired and she knew that he had not eaten in days. His dark hair was long and flopping over his face, which did not make him unattractive but it certainly made him darker. It hung over his mask, the white shining through the gaps and his hair covered his eyes. It made him mysterious, as if he were not mysterious enough already.
'Erik,'
'Antoinette, you worry too much.' He said with a faint shadow of a smile. 'I am getting better.'
Antoinette stared at him, seeing how poor he looked, how drained and she shook her head gently but he didn't move, the small smile remained on his lips. His clothes, at least, were clean which was better than she could say of the month previous. She supposed that getting better was true, but better was quite a way off. Her ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back and away from his mask, showing his eyes which gleamed blue in the glimmering light from the window.
'I think I need a hair cut,' he said and his smile widened. Antoinette returned his smile with a genuine grin of her own and sifted through his cabinet for scissors.
Erik stood and wandered towards her, grabbing a stool on his way. He placed a soft kiss on her cheek and walked away to the fire, over which a tin of water stood. She watched as he dipped his finger into it and then took it from the heat. His hands curled around a cup and he scooped up the water, hanging his head back over the pail of water and pouring it over his head, wetting his hair. He repeated this a few times, letting the water drip from his hair onto his shirt. Antoinette watched as it rolled from his nose and fell back to the bucket. She handed him one of his self made oils which lathered when it was rubbed into his hair, making a sweet smelling foam over his hair and falling towards his eyes.
When he had finished washing the foam from his hair he walked back and sat on the stool, dipping his head slightly, letting his friend trim its edges and cut it back short. She took off, what seemed to him as he looked at the discarded hair at his feet, like all of it. When she tapped both of his shoulders with her hands he leapt to his feet and ran his hands over his head to check that he still had some hair left. Satisfied he turned and smiled.
'How do I look?' he asked, brushing the short hairs from his shoulders.
'Getting better,' she said and returned his smile.