A/N: Hello, dear readers! This is indeed chapter seven of Constant Angel! I'm working my behind off to get a lot written for this story so I can get a Christmas chapter up by Christmas. If I don't, it'll be near Christmas, anyway. As we get nearer to the holidays, my teachers are simply DOUSING me in homework. Such is life. :P
Juliet didn't sleep much that night. Her fitful sleep was plagued with worry about Erik, dread about Gaston and their looming date, and the memory of something that she thought she'd forced herself to forget.
—Dream—
"Make it stop, oh God, just let me die," Juliet held the fevered, quaking girl in her arms.
"Shh, it'll be okay, Lola. You're going to be okay," she whispered in her friend's ear. It broke her heart to see the girl that had been her steadfast friend for most of their lives in such pain. Lola's body was practically vibrating with the need for the drug that it had been so heartily addicted to. Morphine.
"I need it so badly, please get me some," Lola whimpered, pleading as tears ran down her porcelain face.
"It'll be over soon, Lola," Juliet said, laying her friend on the couch and nearly breaking down into helpless sobs at the sight of Lola's glassy, disoriented, unfocused eyes. "But I can't do that. I'm going to make you some broth, it'll make you feel a little better, I promise." Lola said nothing, but merely stared past Juliet, her sandy blonde hair lank and her dark blue eyes devoid of their usual cheerful sparkle.
Juliet wandered into the kitchen and assembled the necessary ingredients for a mild broth. While she stirred it, she hummed softly to herself. It was a song that her father had said was her mother's favorite.
When it was done, she poured it into a bowl. "Lola, do you want a glass of water?" she called. No response. She was sure she wouldn't be sleeping, the withdrawal sucked the life out of her, but it wouldn't let her rest. Her heartbeat kicked up a few notches as she went into the bedroom, but she was mostly calm.
No need to worry, she's probably just— Juliet's thoughts skidded to a screeching halt in her head, reverberating off the sides of her skull like a gong being struck and her vision tunneled until all she could see was the small, crumpled form of a young woman and a broken syringe on the floor next to her.
"Lola," Juliet choked, shock making her body numb. She tried to walk over to her friend's body, but her knees buckled beneath her and she fell to the floor next to Lola. Please don't be... please, just be alive, she thought, praying in vain, pressing her fingertips to the rapidly cooling skin of Lola's neck. No pulse.
"Please, Lola. Wake up, please. You have to wake up." Juliet picked up Lola's unfeeling hand and pressed it to her chest, feeling hot tears cascade down her face in crystalline waves of grief. How had there been morphine in the house? She'd thrown it all away. She must've had a secret stash. Juliet could see her delirious, weak friend getting up off the couch, falling to all fours in desperation, and locating what she thought would ease her misery. In her haste, it would have been far too easy to put the wrong, lethal dose into the needle.
For what seemed like hours, Juliet sat there and rocked the broken body of her friend back and forth until one of their mutual friends arrived with a bundle of blankets and a book as a get well present for Lola. When she came in, she immediately collapsed next to Juliet in a heap of wailing grief and disbelief.
The next time she looked down at Lola's face, to her shock it was the lifeless face of Erik she saw. "What—" she gasped, fear clutching her heart.
A low, sinister chuckling filled the air. She looked up in slow realization, but noticed that Bridgitte hadn't heard anything. It sounded again and a pair of malicious blue eyes materialized in front of her along with a long, curved knife. It flashed toward her with a deadly shimmer.
—End dream—
Juliet shot straight up in bed, feeling the stickiness of dried tears on her cheeks. She waited until her heart was no longer bent on beating itself out of her chest to make mildly rational thought.
Lola LaFayette had been one of her dearest friends. They'd gone to school together for a time, before Juliet was shunted off to another boarding school, but they'd always kept in touch by letter. Whenever Juliet was in Normandy on holiday, they'd visit for hours on end.
Unfortunately, Lola's home life had been less than what one could call ideal. Her mother had been killed in a fire and that had driven her father to near say that he drank in excess would be a massive he wasn't drunk or passed out, he was looking for a way to become inebriated. He wasn't really a violent drunk, anyone could tell you that. However, he was waspish and inclined to inflict bodily harm if someone got in the way of his drinking or if he thought they had.
Lola only did that once. She tried to pull the the nearly empty bottle of spirits out of his hands and he seized her by the wrists, smacked her in the face, and threw her across the room with the strength only an enraged drunk possessed. Juliet remembered with all too much clarity that Lola had limped all the way to her house with a rapidly swelling eye, a sprained ankle, and cracked ribs. Juliet's father, who looked at Lola as a second daughter when he wasn't away on business trips, had called the doctor immediately. Lola still loved her father and wouldn't tell the doctor it was he who had hurt her. She told him that she had been mugged but hadn't seen the faces of her attackers.
Seeing that the girl was in immense pain, the doctor gave her morphine. Juliet knew she should have seen the look in her friend's eyes when the drug took hold, but she had passed it off as relief at the time.
Over time, Juliet began to notice a change in Lola. The girl became increasingly distracted and her temper would be short sometimes. It was hard for Juliet to pinpoint exactly when she discovered her friend about to inject herself with a large quantity of the potent drug into her veins. From there, a long power struggle over taking it versus quitting ensued.
When Lola finally agreed to try and quit, Juliet had been entirely unprepared for the backlash of withdrawal. She hadn't known that Lola would be in so much pain or feel so sick, and she certainly hadn't been ready for how desperate the girl would get. For three years now, Juliet had been blaming herself for the death of one of her only friends. "What ifs" were her biggest enemy. What if you'd been there? What if you told the doctor that it was her father that had hurt her when she confessed it to you? Maybe she would've been okay.
Juliet clutched her head in her hands, hot tears leaking from under her eyelids. "I'm sorry, Lola," she whispered into the silence of the night. "I'm so sorry."
Why on Earth had Gaston been in her dreams? Or Erik for that matter, Juliet pondered. She supposed it was probably because she was frightened about the date with Gaston and terrified that Erik might die from her negligence as well. At that moment, she made a vow to herself that Erik would get well. And he would be well before full cast rehearsals began for the opera. That gave her two weeks. It would happen, she promised silently.
She managed to get back to sleep, but her slumber was still troubled.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Slowly, Erik woke the next morning. He immediately noticed three things. The first, most prominent one was that his mouth tasted awful. Blurry details of his extreme bout of sickness trickled into his head. The second was that a pot of tea, peppermint by the smell, was warming by the fire, which had been stoked. And the third, most puzzling one was that he was somehow wearing his long, flannel nightshirt. Erik was thankful for this last thing, as he was back to shivering with cold. But how... right, Juliet was here. He felt a little rush of gratitude for the girl.
The taste in his mouth had to be eradicated, that was first and foremost in his mind. Erik reluctantly slid out of bed, sticking his feet into his house slippers immediately. His fingers were stiff and clumsy with cold and he nearly dropped the delicate cup as he poured the tea into it. It was just the right warmth and soothed his rough, sore throat and tumultuous stomach exponentially.
Vaguely, he recalled that Juliet had practically carried him into his room. Erik felt uncomfortable about how much she had helped him. He'd been nothing but rude and snappish, but she just kept coming back. He supposed he owed her something, quite a lot, probably, but what? Tea finished, a wave of sleepiness washed over him and he just managed to get back in bed before the tides of sleep carried him away.
He awoke to the sound of his door opening. Juliet entered his room quietly. "Sorry to wake you," she whispered. "Just checking in. Are you hungry at all?" she asked. "Because you really should eat something." Something had changed in her demeanor. Erik couldn't exactly place what it was, but she seemed... kinder? Softer? Either way, she seemed a little more amiable toward him and Erik couldn't help but wonder why.
"Nothing substantial," he said. "I don't think I can stomach much more than broth," he grimaced, thinking of the pain of the night before.
"Right," she nodded. "I'll be right back." Erik reclined against the soft pillows of his bed, staring mindlessly at the ceiling until Juliet returned.
She sat on the edge of his bed and helped him prop himself up. "Can you hold it yourself?" she asked.
"Yes, I think so," Erik replied, taking the bowl and spoon from her and beginning to slowly drink the broth.
The expression on her face prompted him to say, "You're different." Instantly, he realized that it had come out far more bluntly than he had intended and flushed a little.
Juliet merely chuckled. "Was that a compliment, an insult, or merely an observation?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.
Erik ate some more soup to buy himself a few extra seconds to think. "An observation, I suppose," he said. "You're acting differently than you have been."
Juliet hesitated a fraction of a second before adopting a politely confused look. "Am I?" her voice was slightly off, like she wasn't sure how he could possible know something like that. "How?"
"It's just something in your demeanor," Erik responded, handing the empty bowl back to her.
"Would you like me to go back to shouting at you?" she asked good-naturedly. "Because I can gladly do so."
A small, weak chuckle came up from Erik's chest. "That's quite tempting, really, but I think I'll pass," he chuckled, wincing as a pain arched through his chest.
"Sorry," she apologized. Setting the bowl on the bedside table, she said, "We're running a long rehearsal today, all of the acts in chronological order even though it's not full cast. I'm in most of them and I won't be able to come down at all until tomorrow because I'm otherwise occupied tonight as well. Monsieur Nadir will check in occasionally, is that alright?"
"It's tolerable," Erik said emotionlessly. He had no feelings one way or another toward Nadir at that particular moment. "Who asked you to dinner tonight?" he asked, feeling just the littlest bit moody for reasons unknown.
"How did you—" she asked. "Never mind. Gaston Rosseau, he's the new leading man since you disposed of our last one." Here she gave him a reproachful look that made him feel a tad guilty. "I'd rather sing with Piangi; Gaston's a living terror to work with. I thought Carlotta threw monumental tantrums. He talked me into going to dinner tonight, believe you me, I'd really rather I didn't go." Erik saw that she truly did not want to. Something about her seemed frightened of the unknown man.
"Does he scare you?" he asked.
"Am I really that transparent?" Juliet theatrically rolled her eyes. "Yes, quite a bit, actually. And the worst part about it is I don't even know why." She sighed. "I've got to go now, get some rest okay?" She helped him lie back and tucked the duvet around him once more.
This blasted withdrawal sucks away all of my energy, Erik thought in irritation, feeling the familiar waves of sleep claim him for their own once again.
A few hours later, Erik woke up and felt a little more like himself. This of course, meant that he was a bit put-out with simply lying in bed and doing nothing. He was still cold, so his journey over to his writing desk and back was a brief one. The building plans he had started were calling to him to be finished, which is what he did, using a book as a hard surface on which to write.
Soon, Nadir materialized in the doorway. "Hello, Erik," he said, coming in.
"Daroga," he nodded, setting aside the drawings and motioning for Nadir to come in.
The Persian looked a bit hesitant at this gesture of welcome. "You look to be feeling a bit better," he said as he sat down in an armchair next to the bed.
"I believe this is just a temporary reprieve, it seems to come and go in swells," Erik replied, stroking Ayesha's back. The feline had leapt onto the bed as soon as Erik had begun working and had decided that she was far more important than any work he could possibly be doing. Therefore, she had started walking all over his drawings and ended up sitting down in the middle of one before Erik had picked her up and set her on his other side so that one of his arms could comfortably rest around her and continue working. This seemed to appease her somewhat.
"Juliet is a nice girl for coming down here to look after you," Nadir commented, crossing his ankles together. "She's one of a very select few that would."
Erik nodded distractedly, his attention focused once again on his work. Then, a question for his companion popped into his head. "Nadir, you've been around the Opera House lately, what is the new leading man like? Juliet mentioned that he was somewhat of a terror."
The other man's brow crinkled in confusion. "Well, I don't know where she got that idea. I talked to him for a few minutes and he seemed pleasant enough. He's got all the ballet girls charmed right out of their shoes."
"Well, that's the ballet girls," Erik replied drily. "Something about him bothers Juliet, but she doesn't know what exactly it is."
"Are you worried about her?" Nadir asked.
"No!"
"Then, why are you asking?"
"Because I want to know he's trustworthy. A leading man in my theatre ought to be respectable and trustworthy, not instilling fear into the prima donna," said Erik irritably.
"Right, that's your job," Nadir retorted. Erik rolled his eyes in a complete circle.
"Nadir, I feel rather tired, could I trouble you to leave now?" he asked tightly.
The Persian sighed. "All right, Erik. I'll see you later."
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Juliet was just closing the mirror when the sound of her door opening nearly sent her through the roof. She whirled to see Gaston entering her dressing room.
"It's nearly time for rehearsal, I'm just making sure you won't be late," he said, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What on Earth were you doing?"
"Oh, I was just putting some of my things behind the mirror," Juliet lied airily, hoping he couldn't see through her as well as Erik could. "I discovered a storage compartment back there and I thought it might be a good idea to keep some of my valuables there."
"Ah, I see," Gaston nodded, looking somewhat unconvinced. "Come, we should go." This time, Juliet brushed past her unwelcome companion to walk in front of him so she wouldn't have to contaminate herself with his aura any further than she already had.
Rehearsal was fine as long as she wasn't onstage with Gaston, which was, admittedly, not a lot of time. Madame Giry insisted that the kisses, which there weren't many of, were not done yet. When she announced this particular fact, she gave Juliet a significant look and she had wanted to hug the stuffing out of the ballet mistress there and then.
"I assume you'll want to go change before we head out?" Gaston came up behind her and stood far too close to the prima donna for comfort.
"Yes, thank you," Juliet said, trying her hardest not to run back to her dressing room. On her way back, she smacked into Meg.
"Julie, I heard about your date," she said. "I don't really know what to say, other than good luck."
"Thanks, Meg," Juliet said, hugging her friend. Back in her dressing room, she rummaged through her dresses to find something appropriate for a night out, but something that wouldn't suggest anything more than a friendship. In the end, she chose the emerald green dress that she'd borrowed from the closet down in Erik's domain. This was in part because her cloak, which was black with forest green trim, would go the best with it and it was extremely cold outside.
"Ah, mademoiselle Juliet, you look ravishing as usual," Gaston said grandly when Juliet reappeared. "Shall we go?"
No, Juliet said silently, but what came out of her mouth was, "Yes."
They went to a fancy restaurant that Juliet would have never even dreamed of eating at, so high were the prices. The food was most likely wonderful, but Juliet couldn't tell because it all tasted like sawdust in her mouth. Pointless conversation was exchanged, and she was not ashamed to admit that on more than one occasion, she had made a comment that would end certain conversations and either keep another one from starting, or start a new one.
"Well, that was delicious," Gaston said, setting his napkin on his plate so that it was immediately whisked away by one of the many waiters. Juliet did the same and her plate was taken as well. Chopin's Waltz in A flat Major began to be played by the orchestra.
"Yes, it was," Juliet agreed.
"You're a bit quiet this evening, mademoiselle, are you feeling alright?" he inquired, his countenance morphing to one of concern.
"Oh, I'm fine, I'm just feeling a bit nervous is all," Juliet replied, twisting her fingers together beneath the table.
"This is such a beautiful song," Gaston said, nodding his head in time to the music. He looked toward the dancing couples. "Would you like to dance?" he asked, getting to his feet.
"I'm not much for waltzing, but thank you for the offer, monsieur," she said, hoping this would deter him. She was wrong.
"Oh, it's so easy to learn, though!" he exclaimed. "Come, I'll show you." He took her by both hands and led her onto the dance floor gently. "Now, you just put this hand here, and this hand here... and the steps just go like this!" Soon, the pair was gliding across the dance floor. Gaston appeared to be enjoying himself, but Juliet couldn't say the same. For just an instant, she found herself wishing that she was dancing with Erik instead. Where on Earth did that come from? She wondered, shaking her head slightly.
When the song ended, they parted to clap for the orchestra. A much slower song began to play and Gaston's arms snaked around Juliet's waist, a foreign and rather unwelcome sensation. Still, she felt it would be rude to pull away and run out of the restaurant screaming at the top of her lungs, so she allowed herself to dance with him. He was a good dancer, it was a shame he didn't have a personality to match. Near the end of the dance, he pulled away from her slightly and gazed down at her, deep blue eyes locking with brown.
Suddenly, his lips were crashing down on hers in a painful, forced kiss. When he pulled away, he whispered, "Keep all the secrets you like from me, mademoiselle. I'll find out what you're hiding sooner or later." And with that, he pulled his arms from around her and disappeared into the shadows.
Juliet's blood ran cold. Somehow, he knew. And she didn't know why, but she realized that this was extremely dangerous knowledge for him to have.
A/N: Aaaaannnnnddddd, fin! The finish of the chapter, that is. The next one should be up fairly soon! If I really work on it, it might even be up by the beginning of next week, but that would be pushing it a bit.
Review? :)