Ok, this chapter literally fried my brain. Not just with the content, but it was 40 odd degrees around here. 'What's the content?' you ask? Well, just read on.
Also, I do not own any rights to 'All I Ask Of You' from Andrew Webber's Phantom Of The Opera. *whispers* And I'm really sorry for changing the lyrics to suit this chapter! And I'm also sorry for any spelling mistakes: trying to fix that up, so bear with me, please.
Anyway, enjoy!
Interlude II
I know that at some point I would have to open my eyes, and face the first day of my new, hellish life. There would be questions that needed to be answered, and people once again stomping around in my private business, but mostly there would be that uncomfortable wall between me and the people that once cared about sweet innocent Rose.
Not so innocent anymore, right? I doubt I'd ever be able to wash Justin's blood off my hands.
Try as I might, I could not get the horrible image of Justin's body out of my mind; lying on the ground with blood pouring out from his body. A small part of myself tried to tell me that what I did was for the best, and it was in self-defense, but the guilt was too strong to deal with.
Well, almost. There was one thing that kept me from completely losing myself in my guilt over my ex: Voltaire. The last I saw of him, he had that terrible wound on his side. If anything, hurting Justin in vengeance for my poor dog gave me a small sense of satisfaction.
Poor Voltaire: just another obstacle in Justin's mad quest to get to me. He did all he could to save me, and it cost him his precious life.
A lump began to form in my throat as the pain of remembering my heroic friend threatened to overwhelm me. I was never going to hear him barking happily as he ran in the garden, or laugh as he greeted me with so much enthusiasm, or feel his comforting warmth and love as he curled up beside me on the bed.
:Voltaire, I'm so sorry.: I thought, letting a small sob of despair escape from my throat.
Before my sadness could sink its claws into my heart, a gentle hand on my shoulder started to carefully shake me awake.
"Little one, wake up." An unknown woman's voice kindly commanded. Something about that voice convinced me that waking up would be a good idea, if only because I didn't want to be left alone to deal with my emotional problems yet. Give me a few minutes, however, and I can guarantee another story.
And I was very curious as to who was waking me up.
Slowly I opened my eyes and saw black silk swimming before me. Since when did I have black sheets, let alone made of silk? Ignoring the sudden dull ache in my shoulders, I pushed myself into sitting up, the sheets falling away to reveal the body to the voice, and a room I've never seen before.
The woman was sitting on the edge of the bed, her dark skin having a soft glow from the lam behind her, her wavy brown hair pulled behind her head as green eyes looked down at me in a stern but comforting gaze, the look making me forget my troubles and sadness.
"There you go." She spoke softly, letting her hand fall from my shoulder to pick up a glass of water from the bedside table and offer it to me. "Here, drink: you have been asleep for almost three days." She explained.
"Three days?" I repeated as I accepted the drink with both hands, yet did not take a sip, "What hap-where-I"
"In a moment, little one." The woman interrupted, raising her hand to silence anymore words, "Drink." Since I probably wouldn't get an answer till I did as told (and I was pretty thirsty), I downed the cool liquid in three gulps, satisfying the woman watching me.
"Very good." She nodded once the glass was empty before taking it out of my hands, "Now, there is a bath drawn and fresh clothes ready for you. There is also a basket with other necessities on the bench if you need them. You may leave your dirty clothes on the floor. Once you have finished, simply go through the pair of doors beside the bathroom: your answers lie beyond."
"Couldn't I get them now?" I asked, but I wouldn't lie about wanting a bath right now.
"I would not, just yet." She replied as her hand touched my shoulder with a gentle but firm squeeze, "Give yourself a moment to yourself." With that said, she stood up and left the room, taking the glass with her.
:You know, I don't think I got her name.: I belatedly realized, but there was nothing to be done about that now. Though a bath was waiting for me, I took the moment to look at my new surroundings. And I just had one word: wow.
The bed I was sitting in was large, bigger than a king size, with some sort of white see through material draped around the bed head as a canopy, taking the glare from the sunlight off the person sleeping. The bed sheets and pillowcases were made of black silk, the thick black comforter having golden threads designed in the strangest patterns.
Two bedside tables stood on both sides, both having a simply lamp with a white shade. On my left, there was a large window overlooking an ocean of lights in a pool of midnight blue, a long seat wrapped below the sill, inviting someone to sit on the white cushions. On my right there was a wardrobe sitting snugly in the corner, both of its ends stretching to offer more room within.
Directly opposite the bed, and in the far left corner of the room, was a heavy-looking desk of wood, a comfortable looking padded chair pulled out and ready for someone to use. There were also two doors: one was left open, a light turned on within.
:Guess that's the bathroom.: I remarked and finally got out of the giant bed. On shaky feet, I staggered to the open door, almost falling down the step that surrounded the bed. Thinking about the odd design, I then put it out of my mind in favour of walking through the lit doorway. The room beyond was a specious bathroom, easily dwarfing mine at the mansion.
On the left wall, close to the door, was a large bench, its top made of some white stone, a silver basin and tap resting on top. Beside the sink was a white fluffy towel and bathrobe, and a small basket filled with a toothbrush, toothpaste a hairbrush and other things.
Beyond the sink—in the far left corner—was a smaller room; the toilet, my guess. Opening the door proved me right, and once I had used the facilities, I looked at the rest of the bathroom as I washed my hands. In the now far right corner of the room opposite the sink was a specious shower cubicle, its frosted window giving the user some privacy. And in the far left corner was a huge triangular bath tub.
:How much money does this person have?: I questioned, eyeing the water inside. The wisps of steam rising from the surface filled the air with a light perfume of some scent that I couldn't name. Well, better do as that lady told me. Slithering out of my clothes and leaving them in a pile on the floor, I draped the bathrobe around my shoulders and picked up the towel and bottles of shampoo and conditioner from the basket and walked over to the tub. Placing my items within arms-reach, I took off the robe and slipped into the warm water
"Oh." I couldn't help but gush as the warmth eased my sore muscles, coaxing them to relax and savour the water. Leaning against the side, careful to keep my hair out of the water for now, I closed my eyes and let out a sigh. In the quiet of the room, with only the soft ripples of the water to keep me company, my mind turned over the possible owner of the two rooms. It clearly had to be someone with money. Or, even likely, Alenka had dropped her rule about taking people into other worlds and placed me in a new world.
:Great.: I grumped, a frown forming slightly as I opened my eyes again, :They didn't even ask for my opinion.: Then again, I had been asleep for three days; maybe they felt it was best. At least I didn't have my friends looking at me in ways that made me uncomfortable, like they were trying to be friendly and nice even as they remembered that I had killed someone.
With that thought threatening to send my numb brain into an emotional roller-coaster overdrive, I wet my hair and washed it, the citrus smell mingling with the scent in the water. Once the conditioner was washed out and my body scrubbed red, I pulled the plug and got out of the bath, rubbing my body and hair dry as much as I could before re-donning the bathrobe and walking to the sink.
I glanced at the mirror, and I winced at my appearance. As much as I tried getting rid of the grime on my body, I couldn't do anything for the dark circles underneath my eyes, or the nasty bruises on my arms. But on the bright side, the cut on my neck was very tiny, having already scabbed over.
Counting my blessings that I wasn't dead, I grabbed the tooth brush and toothpaste and started brushing my teeth, finally brushing out my hair into a ponytail with a hair tie provided. The clothes that had been provided weren't anything I owned: a pair of black silk boxers in my size, and a men's large t-shirt. Under normal circumstances, I'd debate putting them on, but right now I couldn't care less. I had the already slipped the boxers on and had the shirt pulled over my head when a soft singing voice drifted into my ears.
"No more talk of darkness, forget these wide-eyed fears. I'm here, nothing can harm you. My words will warm and calm you." Pulling the rest of the shirt down, I slowly crept out of the bathroom, towards the source of the song. The singer was familiar, but I couldn't place it.
"Let me be your freedom, let daylight dry your tears. I'm here, with you beside you, to guard you and to guide you." Following my ears, they led me to the doors leading out of the bedroom. The lady earlier said my answers were out here; did they rest with the man singing? Part of me was afraid to find out, but regardless of my fear, I quietly pushed the door open and tiptoed out.
The room beyond was just as spacious as the bedroom. But what immediately caught my attention was the large window to my left, and the person sitting at the large table with their back to me.
"Let me be your shelter, let me be your light. You're safe, no one will find you. Your fears are far behind you." T'Challa was too busy reading over various slips of paper, a pen in his hand as he occasionally made notes. Before I had only ever heard him sing soft lullabies as I slept, but to hear him sing a Phantom of the Opera song—and so beautifully—made me weak at the knees from the passion he put in each note.
"Then say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Let me lead you from your solitude. Say you'll need me with you here, beside you. Anywhere you go, let me go too. My love, that's all I ask of you."
"You sing quite beautifully." I softly commented, catching him by surprise.
"Rose!" He spun out of his chair to face me, a look of relieved surprise on his face. He was dressed in a pair of black pyjama pants, and a white buttoned short, only he hadn't done any of them up, so the shirt was left hanging open to reveal his broad muscles chest and finely crafted abdomen. Before my brain melted at the sight, I gave myself a vigorous mental shake and focused on his face. That was when I noticed the slight darkness underneath his eyes.
Before I could say another word, T'Challa had swept me into his arms and pressed against his warm body. At one point I would have gladly welcomed the gesture, but now I felt so different and confused. Likely sensing this, T'Challa carefully put me down, his hands resting on my shoulders.
"Are you all right?" He asked, his happiness turning into worry. "Perhaps you need food?" A soft whine from my stomach said that food sounded wonderful after being asleep for so long. Giving me an understanding smile, T'Challa wrapped his arm around my shoulders and escorted me from the table and to the other side of the room, where he helped me to sit on the white carpet, the soft fluffy texture feeling lovely on my bare legs.
Out of nowhere, a soft blanket was wrapped my shoulders as a number of platters with smile dishes of food appeared, laid out before me like a picnic as T'Challa took a seat to my left and started offering me samples of the dishes.
"Basic comfort food, with a side of nutrition, of course." He explained with a friendly wink. I couldn't really match his smile, though I did my best to look grateful, and began nibbling on what he held out for me. Between the dishes and drinks of sweet drink T'Challa was pressing into my hands, I finally felt full to bursting, letting my eyes flutter themselves shut as T'Challa moved around, putting the trays on the table before retaking his spot beside me.
"Feeling better, my Rose?" He asked quietly. I nodded in reply, my brain full of food, drink, lingering guilt and confusion. Instead of asking me anything else (which I was expecting), T'Challa gave a soft exhale in relief before inching a little closer to me. It wasn't until he started trailing his fingers up my arm that I became alert and stiff, something he grew concerned about.
"Sorry." I murmured quietly, pulling the blanket a bit closer around me. "It's just...I'm not—"
"He is not dead, Rose." My eyes shot to his face, my body tensing in shock. The unreadable look in his eyes unnerved me, but the underlying comfort stopped the worst of it from intimidating me. But the 'he' was referring to had me stumped.
"Wh-who isn't—" I began to ask when a door burst open and a huge mass of fur jumped clear over the couch and almost bawled me over in an attempt to lick my face. My squeal of surprise and protest stopped the creature long enough for me to get a good look, and my heart felt like it was dropped into a bucket of ice when the mass of fur turned out to be Voltaire.
"Voltaire?" I choked out, feeling my eyes prickle as tears began to fall down my cheeks. "You're alive? B-but how?! I s-saw...I saw" I finally cut myself off by dissolving into a waterfall as I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him for everything I had. Voltaire was also crying, one of his paws curling around my back as he hugged me back, so absolutely happy to see me up and about.
"How are you still alive?!" I finally demanded softly, pulling back to look at him, "I saw all that blood on your side, and you—" A hand on my shoulder stopped my babbling and dragged my focus to T'Challa.
"Voltaire was hurt, that is true." He began, "But as we tended to his wound, we discovered something quite remarkable." He then reached forwards to brush enough of Voltaire's fur aside to show the skin beneath. My eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets when I saw that lack of scarring. In fact...
"It's...gone?" I breathed out incredulously.
"Ant Man did a full examination: Voltaire not only has an accelerated healing gene, but also a trace a gamma radiation." T'Challa explained as he ran a hand through the white fur, "The radiation was, according to Ant Man, already in his body prior to the events of the gamma dome: most likely, he was born like this. It does explain why he was not affected by the energy." Voltaire, having his fill of attention, lay down in front of us, his head resting on my laps with a large huff of relief. He wasn't the only one: knowing that my furry hero was alive—and with a superpower of his own—felt like a weight had left my shoulders.
"It appears that there is more to Voltaire than anyone thought." T'Challa commented offhandedly, but I knew that there was an hidden message in regards to my own secrets. At some point, I knew that it would come up. I also knew that I owed T'Challa an explanation—big time—but did I really want to talk about someone that I had killed?
A large warm hand rested on mine, causing me to look up at T'Challa. He looked back at me with the same unreadable expression as before, but now inside of comfort there was another emotion that I couldn't place. The silence that was surrounding us had become quite warm, my mouth becoming dry as I tried to say something, anything. When T'Challa said nothing, my mind began spinning and reeling, the coldness in my stomach spreading when it became clear that nothing was the same as before.
He may have forgiven me for that mistake I made 5 years ago, but I knew that there was no chance of being forgiven for killing a man, even if it could be called justified.
Suddenly, my breathing became a little faster as the harshness of my actions began to sink in; the knowledge not helping my rattled nerves or reeling mind, or my ever pounding heart. That poor shattered part of me was at war with itself: one side becoming cold, saying that no one would ever look at me the same way ever again, and that there was no chance of T'Challa ever caring about me like he used to, and definitely no chance of us ever becoming something more than acquaintances.
The other side was struggling vainly to hold onto the belief that T'Challa would in fact understand that I had no choice but to do what I did, and that he would still care about me as he did before.
With all the different thoughts and emotions running rampant in my head, I almost missed T'Challa lifting his hand from mine to cup my face. All thoughts became silent as his fingers tenderly caressed my cheek, my breathing becoming a little heavier. A strange feeling began to take root in the pit of my stomach; a sort of tingling, twisting sensation, almost like a thousand butterflies. The feeling started in my stomach then began to spread throughout the rest of my body, from the tips of my toes to the very top of my scalp.
The feeling intensified as T'Challa lowered his head, resting his brow against mine, his half closed eyes looking into mine. My eyes fluttered themselves shut as his fingers moved down from my cheek, ghosting across my lips and jaw line to my neck. His calloused fingertips softly trailed down my throat: an act that made m swallow a sigh of pleasure. I could feel his warm breath fanning my face, as if he was feeling the same sensations of pleasure as me.
:If he keeps this up, I'm going to explode.: I silently moaned, my mind becoming clustered with heat and lust.
"I wanted to kill him, Rose." That single sentence had my eyes snapping open. T'Challa was now frowning as he thought out loud. I wanted to ask who the 'him' meant, but my mind was too overheated to function correctly.
"When you were being held hostage by Hammer; when he had that knife pressed against your neck." T'Challa continued, pausing long enough to lower his nose to my neck and nuzzle the area, sending a rush of hotness through my gut. "And those things he said about you." His voice went from soft to gravel-coated honey as he spoke.
"I could not contain my anger. I so badly wanted to protect you from him." He growled dangerously against my skin, his hand cradling the back of my head; the fingers of the same hand twining themselves into my hair to keep me where I was. On a will of their own, my hands slid up his arms to curl around his shoulders.
"And when I finally found you again, I barely held myself from killing him." He rasped darkly, his other arm sliding around my waist to hold me closer to his body. My mind whirled in its lust and the sheer aggressively protectiveness in his darkened voice, painting an image of my mind of T'Challa standing over Justin's body, the blood from his enemy dripping from the claws of the Panther King.
That sudden image snapped my mind back into reality. He wanted to kill Justin, and have his blood on his hands? No...no! I can't let him think like that! Justin is dead, and his blood is staining my hands!
"Don't." I breathlessly panted, digging my nails into his shoulders to make him listen. "Please, don't." As more of my lust-filled mind began to clear, the more I realized that I had to put a stop to whatever was happening between us right now. T'Challa leaned his head back to look at me, the darkness in his eyes turning into concern: the way he should be, not someone ready and willing to spill blood on his hands.
"Rose? What is—"
"Don't talk like that." I begged quietly, feeling a hot tear roll down my cheek. T'Challa leaned back a little further as his eyes widened in surprise. "I don't want blood to be on your hands, because of me." I pleaded tearfully, "I can hardly keep my sanity together, now that I've got someone else's blood on my hands: I don't think I could last if you—"
"What are you talking about?" T'Challa finally interrupted. He looked at me like I just said something completely insane. I could see him going back in his mind about what I had said, and something must have clicked as he gave me the most gentle yet exasperated smile I had seen.
"My Rose." He chuckled quietly, moving his arms around me so that I was now pressed against him with my head resting in the crook of his shoulder as he lay on the soft plush carpet. "My dear, sweet Rose." He breathed against my forehead, "There is no blood on your hands."
I lifted my head to look at him, not quite understanding what he meant. Well, of course there was! It was my attack that knocked Justin down the flight of stairs, and I saw the blood from his head leaking onto the floor! I opened my mouth to protest when T'Challa leaned up and paced a soft chaste kiss to the corner of my mouth.
My entire body froze as he nuzzled the same spot with the tip of his nose before laying back down, taking me with him.
"Hammer is still alive, Rose." He explained, curling his arm around my shoulder to pull me closer. "All your attack did—aside from bruising his pride—was paralyse him from the chest down. The blood you saw was his, but we were able to stop the blood loss in time." Maybe it was my mind playing tricks on me, or maybe it was my guilt being really mean, but I could've sworn that T'Challa just said Justin was still alive.
I titled my head to get a better view of his face before shifting so that I was lying on top of his body. "So, I...I really didn't kill him?" I asked slowly. He hummed in agreement before he cuddled me closer to his body.
...Ok. This is not what I was expecting. I mean, I did...did I...Oh, screw it! My mind is to goopified to think straight!
I nearly leapt out of my skin as T'Challa began laughing so hard, his body felt like a small earthquake, and I realized that I had said that out loud. Groaning loudly, I tried to bury my face into his chest, but settled for using his shirt to cover my tomato red face.
"Ah, my dear Rose." T'Challa breathed out as he finally stopped laughing, "I truly do not know what I'd do without you."
"Be very bored?" I weakly offered, to which he lightly chuckled. As the air began to settle around us, I let myself relax. Not hard to do really: I hadn't killed someone, and my furry canine hero was alive and kicking.
:Not to mention you're cuddled up against an almost-half naked stud muffin who nearly went dark side with the protective 'You are mine, not his' thing.: Ah, I was starting to wonder where you were.
:Yeah, you were totally missing me as you lay on top of Panther's bare chest.: It snorted. Well, now that I think about it.
Softly sighing, I pressed my cheek against his chest, my ear right above his beating heart, as one of my hands curled under his shoulder, the other resting against his stomach. T'Challa tightened his grip, one hand reaching up to gently rub against the back of my neck. I couldn't help but moan softly as those talented fingers of his massaged the tension out of my body: I could hear him chuckling over my head, and a wicked idea popped into my head.
Trying not to smile too much, I started trailing my fingers up and down his stomach, making sure to follow the grooves between his muscles. My efforts were rewarded when I could hear his heart rate increase and he hissed softly before moaning. I finally gave in and giggled out loud.
"Oh, do I amuse you?" He asked in mock seriousness. My only response was to quickly scamper to my feet and start running, T'Challa chasing after me. We ran into the bedroom where he caught me and swung me up into his arms, prompting a playful squeal on my part. T'Challa laughed with me as he carried me over to the giant bed and carefully tossed me onto the middle of the mattress. I was laughing too hard to really care that he leapt on top of my body, pinning me to the bed as he began tickling my sides, making me laugh harder.
After tickling me into submission, T'Challa lay beside me, the both of us trying to catch our breath. I just happen to turn my head to say something as T'Challa did the same, and we both ended up breaking into giggle fits again.
Finally our laughter dissolved into quietness, the both of us on our sides facing each other. My eyes had shut themselves by now, my body sinking into the comforter and mattress.
"Feel better?" T'Challa questioned quietly. I hummed positively, hearing him do the same. "You do have a wonderful laugh." He complimented sleepily.
"Thank you." I responded softly, feeling sleepy myself, "And thanks for looking after me." The room became quiet as sleep began to enfold us both. I was pretty much asleep when I felt T'Challa slowly slip his arms around my waist and pull me closer against the warm smooth skin of his chest. Once I was settled where he wanted me, T'Challa began running his hand through my hair.
"Anything for you, my love." Part of my brain perked up at his sleepy whisper, though I couldn't bring myself to wake up either of us. Was he being serious, calling me his love? He couldn't be...right?
:But that would explain how he's been acting towards you.: A small part of me reasoned, making me think back over the past week. If I thought about it like that, then...yeah. I could say that T'Challa was interested in me that way.
But did I feel the same way?
...Well, I do like that way he makes me feel, and how he always hangs onto my words, remembering every conversation we've had—including the one about never being in a limo before. Plus the way he acts around me, being the perfect gentleman. We also had something is common, and the both of us were willing to try something the other liked.
The fact that he was gorgeous didn't hurt, especially when his golden eyes turning to me with a deep emotion that tugged at my heart strings. And the way he always cuddles me against his body, so that I could hear his heartbeat clearly: sometimes I could hear it flutter—usually whenever I rested my hands on his chest or returned the hug—and it made my own heart skip a beat.
In short, T'Challa was everything I've always wanted into a perfect man.
...So, yeah. I was in love with him. Madly and deeply in love with him
Now, I just have to find the courage to tell him...
*The author is sitting in a large tube, filled with ice and water, flushed and steam rising from her body* I can't take much more of this. The heat outside is one thing (especially in a house with no Air Con), but these two are driving me bat crap crazy! Argh; I want them to be together, but I have to wait for the right moment! Damn!.
Speaking of which, I do ask that for the next few chapters, everyone to be patient. Also, if T'Challa and Rose do finally get together, would you prefer A: a masquerade ball of sorts, or B: a normal formal function with no masks whatsoever? Your choice, though I do ask you tell me soon so I can get started.
Ok, that's pretty much-Oh, yeah. Last chapter, I mentioned an Eric x OC story? Yeah, still working on that. *whispers* Eric can be really annoying at times, and there may have been an incident involving the Punjab Lasso and a really hyper horse...don't ask.
Till next time, this is Den saying 'Bye-de-bye!'