A/N: Meh, I am extremely unhappy with this chapter, but it will have to do for now, as I'm anxious to get on to "Masquerade/Why So Silent" and the like. Sorry about this… I hate asking you to settle for mediocrity, but then this entire story is just kinda bleh, so I suppose you won't mind. laughs while dodging objects hurled by Noelle
Oh! I went back and cut the original ending of this chapter off to make way for chapter 27. It just worked better. Sorry if it's confusing…
Disclaimer: See the past 23 disclaimers, as I'm low on time… hurry, Nade, hurry!
When the extravagant, soulful crescendo finally ebbed beneath my throbbing fingers, I crumpled to the floor in exhaustion. My eyes were filled with a thick glaze of searing tears from lack of sleep; the bones of my hands and wrists seemed ready to crumble; every last fiber of my aching body screamed for a rest. The clenching and churning muscles of my empty stomach had long since fallen numb to pain, but somehow during that strenuous session the gash in my arm had managed to break open again, the hot blood trickling slowly down my back.
Despite my body's pleas for mercy, I refused to give in to the sweet temptation of sleep, for fear of the dreams that would undoubtedly plague my unguarded mind. I simply lay there for a moment, concentrating on my strained, ragged breathing.
As a rule I was not normally a drinking man, but at that moment, nothing sounded better than a few shots of strong brandy. With a loud, echoing groan, I climbed unsteadily to my feet, my legs threatening to give out beneath me. Grasping at multiple pieces of furniture, I managed to make my way to the study, giving little grunts with each excruciating step. As I entered the small, dark room, I tried very hard not to notice the polished mahogany shelves, alphabetically organized encyclopedias, or the faint scent of rosebuds that lingered in the close air— each a precious gift from my dutiful, devoted little nurse. Suddenly I found it remarkably difficult to catch my breath; my throat swelled painfully, and I swallowed several times against the unbidden surge of emotion.
My trembling fingers fumbled with the latch to the small icebox that I had fashioned in the cave wall, and with much effort, I finally managed to yank it open. Inside the little hole was a small meat pie, two heads of wilted cabbage, a glass pitcher of cream, and one large bottle of good, aged brandy—each smuggled from the kitchens at one point or another. I grabbed the brandy, tucking it securely under my good arm, and bumped the door closed with my hip. The kitchen area, where the shot glasses were kept, was a few rooms down from the study, and my searing muscles finally gave out beneath me at the thought of traveling so far. I collapsed into a plush armchair with a grunt and a hiss of pain, clenching my teeth on the cork and yanking it out with a jerk of my neck. Merely the smell of the stuff burned my nostrils, and I raised it slowly from my face, staring at the yellowed label.
"To you, Mother, wherever you are," I hissed. "Can't thank you enough for this blessed face. I hope you found happiness with that goddamn doctor. Lord knows I couldn't give it to you." With a grimace, I brought the yellowed bottle to my quivering, parched lips.
The cool brown liquid immediately gratified, burning its way down my scorched throat like liquid fire. I shuddered at first, but drank deeply, clutching the bottle to my mouth and guzzling until my throat and lungs seemed ready to split open with pain. Gasping for air, I laughed absentmindedly at the odd sensation of oxygen against my burning tongue. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I felt better already. My stomach did somersaults as it stretched and swelled around the potent liquid, unadjusted to having anything within it. For a moment, I fought off the urge to retch, but steadied myself with another swig. And then another.
With each sip, I felt the hold on my senses weaken, as if the brandy could somehow detach my mind from the rest of my body. It was at once a frightening and comforting sensation— I loathed feeling helpless, but found solace in the bottle's strange ability to numb my pain, both emotional and physical.
My churning stomach, however, did not seem to share my optimistic appraisal of the situation. With a heavy sigh, ending in a hiccup, I decided that perhaps I should eat something, much as I hated to do so. When I was a child, my mother had used meals as a weapon— a punishment for bad behavior. I had never much liked them since, and was constantly aggravated by the necessity of food, often trying to push myself as long as humanly possible before grudgingly swallowing a few bites to assuage my smarting innards. Unfortunately, the demands of my flesh always won over my stubbornness, and it irritated me to no end.
Swaying slightly, I stumbled to my feet and made my way over to the icebox. Still clutching the brandy with one hand, I pulled out the meat pie with the other, and staggered back to my chair with a scowl. I picked at the crust fussily for awhile until a particularly insistent rumble from my stomach encouraged me to take a bite.
Either the brandy had heightened the sensitivity of my taste buds or it was the most delicious morsel of food I'd ever consumed. Suddenly ravenous, I devoured the entire pie rapidly, hardly stopping to catch my breath. When the empty tin lay before me, devoid of every last crumb, I followed the hearty meal up with a deep swallow of brandy. With the entire bottle gone, I cast it aside carelessly and merely sat for a moment, watching a nearby candle in amused fascination through my distorted, blurred vision. Time seemed to crawl as I sat in the stupor, numb and emotionless, while in reality hours passed. Soon I no longer dreaded the temptress that was sleep, and willingly gave myself over to her, forgetting Christine entirely in the muddled chaos of my drunken mind. I slept soundly and, thankfully, was too intoxicated to form coherent dreams.
When I woke again, the pain had returned, more deep-rooted and excruciating than before. It was as if a thick clamp had been fitted to my brain and tightened. The space behind my eyes burned like fire. I groaned, and started as the noise echoed ten times louder to my sensitive ears than I had intended to utter it. The lair spun before my eyes, but whenever I tried to focus on a particular object, my piercing headache would only worsen; eventually I closed them in disgust, fighting the urge to vomit.
But this time, A nasty little voice sneered, Christine is not here to nurse you back to health. You've brought this upon yourself.
I irritably told the voice to shut up, leaning my skull against the headrest and pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose. Even with my eyes closed, I could see dizzying patches of color and light, as if looking through an elaborate kaleidoscope.
After a few moments of excruciating silence, my heightened sensitivity to sound finally presented itself full-force as I picked out Reyer's anxious, stuttering voice through five levels of stone. He appeared to be quite beside himself, rapping his conductor's baton on his music stand and screaming instructions at the percussionists. Suddenly there was an entire crescendo of voices, all shouting at once— I identified Reyer, Carlotta, Piangi and Firmin before Andre's sharp tone cut them all off. He spoke harshly for a moment before Firmin added his two cents, and then suddenly everyone was screaming again. I pressed my palms to either side of my head and squeezed as if I could force out the searing pain, but I could neither ignore nor purge it. With a growl, I climbed to my feet, strode hastily to where my boat was tied, and flung my cloak over my shoulders. I was not in the mood to tolerate this today. One way or another, I would find a way to silence them before they split my throbbing head in two.
I poled quickly across the lake, trying to ignore the dizzying iridescent light reflected on the water. Perhaps I could find a quiet, dark, secluded passage where I could wait out this headache… if not, I could always drop another set on Carlotta's head, though that course of action would probably only result in more screeching…and then I'd wind up killing her, and then there would be more screeching, and I'd be forced to kill every last one of the damned morons, and then there would be no one to run or perform my opera.
No, I decided with a sigh. I would simply have to search out Madame Giry.
My mind made up, I wound my way through the murky labyrinth and through the chain of tunnels and trap doors which led to Giry's quarters. The room was empty, and for a moment my conscience and suffering body battled for dominance; eventually, my primal need for an abrupt, easy end to pain drowned out my understanding of the sanctity of privacy. I pulled a long, thin strand of twisted wire from my cloak pocket and proceeded to pick the lock. After a few tries, the door swung open with a click, and I slipped into the gloriously dark, silent room, shutting it quietly behind me. With a sigh of relief, I collapsed into the olive armchair, pulling my knees to my chest and resting my head heavily atop them. Within moments, I drifted off to sleep again.
A sharp prodding at my ribs woke me with a start. I yelped, jerked, and looked frantically around before focusing on a cross Madame Giry. She lowered her cane from my chest with a raised eyebrow and a sigh.
"I'm sure you have an explanation of some sort," she said as I opened my mouth to explain. "But it is of little importance. I don't mind you coming in here, but I do wish you would inform me before doing so."
"I apologize," I said, rubbing my hand over my eyes. "I needed somewhere quiet to rest."
Her brow furrowed. "Are you ill?"
"No," I answered quickly. Then with a groan, I collapsed back in the chair. "I… had a bit too much to drink," I admitted between clenched teeth.
Giry's eyes glinted in amusement before going cold again. "I didn't think you were the drinking type," she commented delicately.
"I'm not," I grumbled. "Under the circumstances, I made an exception." I rocked forward with a grunt and rose to my feet. "But I'll leave you to your privacy, Madame—"
"Not so fast." Her cane snapped up to block the exit, and I turned to her warily. Her eyes locked with mine, and I could sense for the first time a deep concern behind the steely blue. "I do not presume to know what went on between you and Mademoiselle Daaé."
"Céline," I growled, closing my eyes to avoid that condescending, maternal gaze.
"No," she interrupted sharply, drawing my reluctant gaze back to her. "You will hear me out this one time, Erik, and then I will be silent and never mention it again." She did not give me a chance to object before continuing. "I do not know what went on between the two of you down there. I do know that Christine was gone for several days, nearly a week, and returned a sobbing wreck. She locked herself in her room and refused to eat or speak with anyone for three days. Even Meg. Even me. She has not been the same girl since." She came closer, staring me dead in the eyes. "So do not presume, Monsieur, that you are the only one who suffers. As a teacher, you have given her a great gift. Do not make the mistake of poisoning the relationship and her potential with your own misgivings. She is a child, Erik… a vulnerable child."
"I'm well aware—" I began.
"Are you?" Giry demanded. She sighed, backing off a bit. "I'm not so sure you are. Just be cautious. You walk on thin ice; tread carefully. If I know one thing, it is this: if you push her too far, you will lose her forever. Neither of you want that. Heed my warning, Erik, for both of your sakes."
I glared at her, my expression unreadable. She had hit a chord deep within me, but I bluntly refused to let it show. "You presume that I do not know the limits of my own student, Madame. I am offended by your lack of faith."
She narrowed her eyes at me. "You are preaching to me about knowing boundaries, Erik? I might not know exactly what went on in that lair of yours, but I have a fairly good idea—"
I slammed her cane down and brushed past her without another word. How dare she preach at me about how to handle my own student, my best friend, the love of my life? No one knew Christine better than I, no one! Least of all her! I was outraged, but a part of me, buried deep down, knew that she spoke the truth.
A/N: Reviewer response time! Sorry for the brevity of these as well, but like I said, I gotta hurry and get off.
Inkiepinkie: Meh, I hate fillers, but thanks for understanding. Glad I could shed a new light on the character.
Hriviel: Yes, "Caged," lol, yet again you were the inspiration. And today you got Kessie going with "No One Would Listen" sobs So beautiful. It was awesome talking with you today; we need to do it more often!
Venus725: sticks tongue out at you You're a meanie! LOL. Well thanks for the attempt at a flame, anyways. I do deserve at least ONE, people, come on! sigh of defeat Thank you, my dear, as always, though I highly disagree with you.
Shadow Fox Forever: Oh I'm so glad you understood it. I was worried there for a while. I know, I know, sorry, the updates are taking forever, but my muse was vacationing in Paris and she did NOT want to come back. lol
Joanieponytail: Aww, Kessie loves kisses! (She doesn't deserve them, though, that naughty muse!) That Kay sequence with Erik's mother made me cry, so I just had to include it in my story. I'm in love with Kay's "Phantom," so expect more references to pop up now and then. I'm trying to inch him towards DJT mentally and emotionally, so I'm glad you noticed! The Bal Masque will be a great deal of fun, I hope. Thanks for the e-mail, by the way!
RainsPhantom: panting Hurrying, hurrying! This was the hardest to write of any chapter so far… no idea why. Sorry!
Opal Gimstone: Ooh, was it intense? I'd hoped so. Most of Erik's inner thoughts are, so I must be doing something right:) I wish I worked at a library! Or a Barnes and Noble, even… I'm a bookworm. I do love random bursts of inspiration, but muses can be so inconstant it's annoying! Lol
LePetiteChristine: And the award for most irrelevant review goes to… drumroll HILARY! LOL. God forbid you actually review the story, child… sigh You promised!
Just a phan: Well thanks! I'm thrilled to have so many people who enjoy the story, as I kinda think it sucks. LOL. I fear being sued by the estate of Susan Kay, so here's my email address: If you still want the link, ask for it there. Mmk?
The Singing Fox Demon: I know, and I was SO tempted to just make this into an E/C and have Christine return to Erik and continue what they started in Chapter 23… lol. Alas, I promised to stick to the storyline. Another time, though! Thanks for the compliments, ma cherie!
Sakume: Okay, so I'm just pessimistic! LOL. Whew, then in that case I'm glad you liked it. You know, if you ever don't like something, please don't hesitate to tell me! I won't be offended!
Lady G: Ah, I'll ignore some of those comments on Erik's lovely singing voice and just remember your reconciliation the other night. (He's still gaping) I'm sure you loved this chapter, haha, lots of Erik torment, but REALLY, I hate writing it! pouts
Marianne Brandon: gasps and falls to knees bowing The Almighty Phanphic Writer is reading my puny little phic? squeaks I'm honored, but totally unworthy… gapes I-I- thank you! blushes I don't know what to say, just… thank you! LOL.