Author's Note:
Dear Readers
Yes, you read correctly. I have posted twice in two days. I hope you like it! It surprisingly only took me a morning and an afternoon for me to write it. I suppose I was inspired. Don't forget to review! I love every one of them.
Oh, and I've decided to start including a disclaimer. Just for formalities.
sarahandmarquis
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Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. I do not. I do own Dalir Gul and this story plot. (Should I be proud of that?)
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Reviews:
Child of Dreams: Haha! I love it to! One of the best movies ever made. And, I will very much consider your suggestion! I had temporarily forgotten about that movie and it sounds like a fun one for them. Thank you! I'm sure this chapter though will make you happy! Especially the end. :)
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Word Count: 2020
"Was" Count: 1
"Were" Count: 0
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CHAPTER 6:
She fell asleep.
Beauty fell asleep.
Halfway through the middle of the fourth episode, she drifted off, finding his shoulder a comfortable pillow despite the sharp angles and boney makeup. The episode played, unnoticed, in the background while he stared at her sleeping form, chest rising and falling slowly. A bit of hair fell against her ruby mouth and thin hairs blew with every exhale.
Her eyelids fluttered and she nosed his shoulder, trying to burrow in and meeting only the harsh lines of bone, covered in thin layers of muscle and sinew.
Fearfully, he slipped away from her, carefully catching her limp form and laying it against the airy cushions. She stirred for a moment before drifting deeper into sleep, her legs tucked uncomfortably under her body.
"What am I to do with you?" He whispered, kneeling beside her and clinching his fingers in his lap. Noticeable goosebumps covered her upper arms. The great temptation to brush aside her hair assaulted him but he resisted, rising and fleeing the room under the excuse of getting her a blanket.
The fleece quilt rarely left the closet, too thick for his tastes. Thin sheets and a light blanket when the winter turned cruel and he forgot to light the fireplace had always suited him well enough. Running his fingers over the thick sheepskin, he searched the fibers for anything sharp and found none.
Tucking the blanket under his arm, he returned to the living room and spread it over her, prodding the edges of it around her body, careful to keep from touching any skin. He turned away from her, retreating to a small fireplace, struck a match and lit some scraps of newspaper. The paper turned black and curled behind the thin line of coals spreading up it, soon flaring and catching the thick logs on fire. Something popped within one of them and scattered coals on the hearth.
A poker provided the necessary encouragement for the fire to spread through the logs and sticks, a neat blaze building and beginning to warm the room.
She will be much warmer.
The TV drew his attention, the entire episode complete and the menu music loud and distracting. Terrified of waking her, he clicked off the TV and spun to examine her, lightly poking her covered shoulder, relieved to see she slept on.
Her feet appeared from beneath the blanket as she stretched, revealing boots that had to be uncomfortable to sleep. Glancing between her and her feet, his fingers hesitantly reached for the zipper, locking her calves inside stockings and white leather, before he yanked his hands back and sprang away, retreating from the room to leave her to sleep in peace.
The boots wouldn't be too much of a problem. If anything, they would keep her feet warm.
I shouldn't touch her.
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-You have reached the Gul household. Please leave a message after the beep-
"Keeya? You there?" The aging officer attempted to stretch out on the short hotel bed and failed, deciding to bend them at the knee for greatest comfort while he tucked the cellphone under his ear. "Rookheeya? Just wanted to let you know that I got here safely. Call me when you get this message." The cellphone clicked off and he tossed it onto the nightstand, groaning as he sat up.
"All right. Let's see if this internet will connect." His computer started, the fans whirling underneath it. After entering his password, the icons and task bar blinked into visibility. He clicked on the internet connection and went through the steps before pulling up his email, the message at the top holding the link he desired.
"There we are." He muttered, opening it and clicking through, The Friend Shop webpage pulling up immediately. Flowers and stock photos hovered around the white background, the login page asking his full name and email.
Several minutes went into creating his account, completed with a different identity. Profile ready, he found the list of employees and quickly skimmed the name, taking several minutes to find the name he searched for.
"You are beautiful…" He noted, once he located her and skimmed through the profile. "It is a shame that you, one so innocent, should be caught up with so dangerous a fellow." A few quick clicks, a short and to the point message, and a request shot its way to her inbox.
"It is a shame. You appear to be a nice girl, Ms. Day."
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The chimes of the clock woke her.
Half-asleep, her brain attempted to record the number of chimes but failed, leaving her with a conclusion it had be after 2 o'clock. She shifted inside the cocoon of blankets, surprised to find it so warm and soft; her bed had never felt so comfy.
And, since when did she own a clock that chimed on the hour?
One blue eyes pried itself open and as soon she cleared the sleep from the eyelids, both snapped open and the girl bolted upright in her make-shift bed, the fleece blanket tumbling off of her and falling to the floor.
A fire, recently stoked, burned merrily in the hearth, logs popping occasionally, and cast shadows against the walls. The redwood floors nearly glowed in the orange light. Despite the heat of the fire, she shivered and tugged the blanket back over herself, surprised to find a cushion under her head.
"I can't believe I fell asleep…" Gasping and covering her mouth, she blushed, embarrassed about her drowsiness. "Where did he go? I really must apologize." Unwilling to abandon the blanket when exploring the house would cause her to leave the fire. Standing up, she swayed once on her feet, wide-awake in mind but hardly awake in body. The blanket secured about her shoulders, wrapping around her several times, she left the living room, entering the hallway and glancing both ways before turning opposite of the front door.
The clock on the wall read 4 o'clock in the morning.
After wondering for a moment if she should just disappear without a word and hope he wouldn't bring it up next meeting, she shook away the thoughts and stepped down the hall, her hands trailing the woodwork and fancy wallpapering before touching the edges of a door. No light shown under it so she continued.
"Perhaps he is in his bedroom, sleeping? I really shouldn't wake him up." Curiosity drove her onward though, up a flight of stairs and down another corridor.
A faint strip of light appeared at the end of a corridor, along with the fading strains of a violin.
"Oh, Erik." She whispered and darted down the hall, booted feet making almost no noise on the carpet strip.
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She will sleep longer.
He determined, setting aside his violin once the piece had been completed. His fingers shook, the tell-tale sign of his addition resurfacing. Taking a long breath, he settled into his swivel chair, the springs squeaking with his light weight.
The wheels rolled along the hardwood, arm rests striking the morphine desk with a thud. The needle, waiting since an hour before, gleamed up at him, clear fluid offering him peace and calm with the mere pricking and plunging.
Thinking nothing of it, he bared his arm and slipped the needle into the vein, eyes drifting closed as the syringe carried the morphine into his blood stream. As the last of the clear liquid drained away, a knock on the door startled him from his moment of relaxation, causing his hand to jump and rip the needle unceremoniously from his arm.
The wound began to bleed.
Ignoring the injury, he ripped the sleeve down to hide the scars. Heart racing from the shock, he spun to face the intruder but only heard a shy voice inquiring,
"Erik, are you in there?" Despite the drug flooding his body, his hands started to shake again and the syringe clinked against the table, a shameful secret, abandoned in his haste to reach the door. As his hand reached for the handle, he paused, terror taking him over. Frantically, he cast about the room.
It is dim enough. She won't be able to see.
Breathing easy, he opened the door slightly, enough to allow him to see her, standing bundled in the white fleece, gold curls tossed from sleep, and blue eyes shining brightly in the little light his office afforded.
"Christine, did you… sleep well?" He asked, only then noticing the drip of blood escaping his cuff.
"Yes, I did. Thank you for the loan of your couch and this blanket. They were both very comfortable. I'm so sorry to have fallen asleep. I didn't mean to, really. I guess work too more out of me that I though." Christine hung her head and a faint blush stained her cheek, visible through the veil of golden locks. "I just wanted to thank you for your graciousness. I really must be going." She gave him an embarrassed smile before beginning to turn away.
She should leave.
"Wait. Don't go." He searched his mind for a reason. "It's four in the morning. You shouldn't be out on the roads… at this time of night. Uh… there is a lot of woods between this place and your home. It could be dangerous. At least stay… until sunrise?"
"I wouldn't want to be an inconvenience. I mean, I've already imposed on your sleep schedule." He shook his head.
"I don't sleep much… at all. Usually, I don't sleep… at night so it was… nothing." He wouldn't deny though that sleep tugged at his eyelids even as he addressed her.
"But, I've interrupted your composing. I'm so sorry."
"No, I was just… playing. I wasn't working on anything… in particular. Would you like a cup of hot chocolate? Or, maybe… some tea? Something warm… perhaps? We could return… to the living room and watch another… episode… or the movie you like?" He offered, hoping to tempt her to remain with him until dawn.
"As long as I am not imposing on you…" She answered, turning her gaze up at him.
"Not at all. One moment and I will meet… you down stairs." He nodded slightly to her and closed the door, waiting a moment until he heard the soft tread of boots against carpet and rushed to hide the morphine and bandage his arm.
Thank all deities above she didn't enter the door after knocking.
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Feet once more tucked beneath her, Christine cradled the cup of hot chocolate in her hands. Only a few minutes had elapsed between her arrival down stairs and his meeting her in the living room, mask straightened and suit organized. After asking her what exactly she desired, he had immediately disappeared into the kitchen, pots and mild muttering in a foreign language followed, and moments later, he joined her again, baring a tray filled with cookies and a cup of hot chocolate.
"You won't join me?" She asked, taking a quick sip and enjoying immensely the milk and chocolate tasted combined with nearly boiling temperatures washing down her throat.
"No… I… do not partake of sweets."
Even if I did, one can't when wearing the plastic mask.
"Oh, I didn't mean to put you at any trouble just for my sake." Quickly, he shook his head and reached hands towards her pleadingly.
"No! No! I… enjoy seeing you… smile." He blushed, turning his eyes away from her and retreating towards the TV. "Would you… like me to… turn something interesting on?" Her mind danced between the options and she peered up from the fleece blanket pilled around her svelte form.
"How about Labyrinth? I think you might like it. It's an odd film to watch at an odd hour." As interested as he was in continuing with the episodes, he acquiesced to her choice and turned on the film, settling on the same couch as she sat but on the opposite corner to watch the credits play out.
She smiled at him from behind the mug and it made up for any disappointment.