Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash (finally). Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Finally, a conversation.

Warning(s): Some bad language, nothing too bad. Allusions to child abuse.

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note:
Okay, I'm going to be way cliché on this part… I just really like the idea that Erik smells of roses. I correlate the two in my mind and it seems to be inseparable. --;

And, is it confusing where exactly he is?… I don't think I explained it well enough even though it is straightforward. Raoul is sitting down and Erik is in front of him. :oP Just clear that up. I don't know why I just did that, but I did.

A/N: Haha… they finally get to talk to each other. What madness will ensue? I'm sorry for the typos. I swear I think I catch them before I post, but when I go back to reread them just to refresh my memory (I have the memory of a goldfish) I see them. I've been remiss and I don't have an excuse. so sad.

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Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 07

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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Raoul's POV

o.o.o

Last time:

A sudden thought made me frown. Even in my imaginings things go awry. If I told him I was breaking it off with Christine, was there even a likelihood he would talk to me again? Maybe he would even kill me just to make sure I did not get in the way again.

Damn it. I would not let my mind worry about things it does not need to. The whole scenario was implausible, why should I worry about logical details? I shook my head and turned to see what the object of my musings was doing, when I saw empty space. I quickly stood up and screamed when I saw him in front of me. He quickly clamped his hand over my mouth to muffle any sound and pushed me back onto the chair.

I stared up at him with fear. He looked at me pointedly, and I nodded. He slowly removed his hand from my mouth and leaned against the back of a seat and just watched me.

I did not know what to say. It did not seem like he was going to say anything either, so I said the first thing that came to mind.

"So, you're alive."

o.o.o

It was one of those moments when I wish I had just kept my mouth shut. I just could not stand that we had just been staring at each other. Really though, of all the things to say. How idiotic was that statement? Obviously he was still alive. He was standing right in front of me.

Just staring. Staring at me, and currently not seeming to want to kill me. That's always a good sign. A better sign was that I was not dead. There was no reason the opera ghost would wait for me to acknowledge his presence before trying to kill me. I could have been dead before I even realized it. My heart skipped a beat. He did not look murderous. Unless… unless this was all a game and he was waiting to kill me.

I could feel my heartbeat race faster and my breaths come shorter.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes when the room started to tilt. My vision blurred and darkness was creeping in.

Suddenly, a warm hand clamped my shoulder and slightly shook me. A stern voice commanded, "Breathe slower. Deeply."

Without even thinking, I did as was told. I forced myself to breathe in deeply and slowly. My heart beat slowed down considerably after a few more breaths.

The warm hand had yet to leave from my shoulder, and I looked up to see the opera ghost. He was close and still leaning forward. His eyes seemed to question me again. His eyes were searching. I could not actually figure what he was thinking, but I could feel my face burn up. I turned my head in hopes that he would not see the blush. It was suddenly hot.

I had managed to have a panic attack in front of the opera ghost. Panic attacks were actually quite normal for me. The pressures of being a Vicomte sometimes overwhelmed me. Life overwhelmed me, but I usually reserved panic attacks for times in my room when I could drag my blanket to a dark corner and just cower from the entire world. Sometimes I could work myself to a point where I blacked out. Those were the better panic attacks. I was used to them, but to have one in front of someone else was embarrassing. To have one in front of a rival was mortifying.

I had a sneaking suspicion that the blush was not only due to the embarrassment though. The proximity of him was distracting in a way I did not fully understand.

Turning to meet his eyes again, I opened my mouth to thank him when he moved closer. My throat closed up immediately and I just stared at him in shock. I leaned a little further back so that I was barely leaning against the seat. His hand was still holding me in place though. I could feel the muscles in my shoulder that were under his hand start to twitch. His grip was not too tight, but it was odd being touched by him. It made me really nervous, like butterflies were in my stomach. It was probably just the fear of being killed.

His eyes were unnerving in their intensity. If it was one thing that the phantom of the opera did not lack was passion and intensity. It seemed like he lived, and I was a little jealous of that fact. I did not have that passion for life. I was living from one role to another. I was hiding myself every moment of life and there really was no time for intensity in such a state.

I could not make my brain start working again. All the things that I had probably could have said to him was erased from my memory. So, all I did was stare at him while he scrutinized me. I was losing myself in his eyes.

I tried not to concentrate on his proximity. Not on how I could feel his body's heat warm me, as though the natural chill from the opera house was nonexistent. Not on how his face was incredibly close to mine. Not on how I could see every facet of the porcelain mask. Not on how the mask seemed nonexistent when I was caught in his gaze. Not on how I could see that the colour of his eyes was a clear blue that seemed to shine in the dim lighting.

I could feel the blush deepen. I did not need to have another panic attack so soon. I tried to concentrate on breathing slowly, but he was so close that our breaths were mingling. Every breath I took was a breath of him, warm air that brushed against my lips and the smell of roses completely enveloping me. It further confused me. It made my heart race and caused the uneasiness in my stomach to increase. Maybe I was getting sick.

I tried not to think about how this was our first meeting face to face and all we were currently doing was staring at each other. Of course this provided me an opportunity to really see what the man looked like, and there was nothing monstrous about him. Though technically I had yet to actually see him without his mask, but I doubted that I would care.

Under his gaze I felt naked. I felt as though everything I had ever hidden from my family, society, and myself was clear as day to him. It was all too disconcerting. I was loathe to but I had to turn my gaze. I had to keep some sort of dignity if I was really going to give Christine up to him and admit that he had won.

I looked away and suddenly the warmth was gone and the phantom had suddenly gone back to leaning against the chair.

He was no longer looking at me. In fact, it seemed as though he was downright ignoring me for a moment, which was preposterous since we were less than a meter away from each other.

I took this opportunity to really look at him. From what I could see in the dim light he was a very handsome man. I did not know what was under the mask, but if the rumours were correct, it was some sort of deformity. He was taller than me and much more well built. I knew he was strong because although he had not harmed me, I could feel the strength in his grip. From my initial reactions, I surmised that he was taller, bigger, and stronger than I was, but maybe I could beat him in speed and skill.

But those were thoughts of a fighter. Those were thoughts of a rival scrutinizing his enemy. I forced myself to look again.

His posture was one that looked relax, but he was still tense. He was waiting. He was probably waiting to see whether I would attack him or not. I thought it was obvious that I would not, but thinking about it, he was probably never relaxed. He had lived a life where he always had to be on guard. He always had someone that would attack him given the opportunity. I looked down at my hands. I would not be Philippe. I would not use these hands to hurt others if I could help it.

I looked back up and he's still not looking at me. He looked lost in thought actually. The mask seemed to stand out in the dim lighting. My eyes were drawn to it. A mask. He was hiding things as well. A mask seemed so natural in my mind. I wore a mask, didn't I? His seemed a little easier to maintain. It was a mask that frightened people away. A mask that hid his true nature. A mask that was both a curse and a blessing.

I wondered briefly why I had thought those things. He probably only thought of the mask as a curse. In fact, he had probably been ridiculed and beaten whether or not he had been wearing the mask. I understood that people's cruelties knew no bounds. It was clear as day to me that this man had been backed into a corner and was living a life he would not have chosen. Who would have chosen it though?

Yet, I still could not help but feel a little envious. I hated my family. I hated my supposed friends. I had even gone so far as to hate my fiancé. But, being alone and being lonely were two different things. I was not alone but I was lonely. It was that special loneliness reserved for when you're surrounded by so many people that did not even care about you. I would rather have the loneliness of being alone.

I looked at him and it was not pity nor jealousy I felt. I just wished him some reprieve from it all. I felt a sort of connection with him. We were similar. It felt like I knew him. I could wish that someone like me could find their happiness, and that was him. It made me feel better because I did not think I would ever gain my freedom. Just maybe someone else would be able to. Maybe he would be able to.

"You're staring, Monsieur," he stated caustically. "I usually charge a fee for that."

I looked away immediately. I wondered how long he had noticed that I was watching him. He had seemed so engrossed in his thoughts that I lost myself in my own.

I was feeling a weird mix of embarrassment and amusement. I could swear that he had just made a joke, but I did not want to laugh at something that could have simply been a statement. It was of course, a touchy subject.

I could not hide the grin on my face though. So I covered it was a polite cough.

I saw the phantom raise his eyebrow at me. I schooled my features into an appearance I would usually show in society.

"I apologize greatly, Monsieur OG," I bow my head slightly, "How are you doing this morning?"

When he turned away again and did not respond, I looked at him nervously. He ignored me completely.

"I'm doing well," I continued the conversation as though he had replied. It was the proper greeting. No conversation started without some preamble.

"Liar," the phantom finally responded.

I was taken aback. It was a lie of course, but to be called on it was shocking. So he had been in the room. I could feel myself bristle at the comment, but it faded almost immediately. What was there to be angry about? I knew that Christine's room was not private. I had seen her talking to the mirror. I should have been able to guess he had been there. I wondered briefly if Christine knew he was there. She had said that she would not be convinced until she saw a body, but maybe she had just said that to make it seem she did not know he was alive.

"Why have you come here?" the phantom stated directly.

At least he was very straightforward. It was a little refreshing after having to spend most of my life skirting around all the important issues. He was staring at me though, and I fought hard to keep his gaze. I was beginning to fidget though. I could not help but feel that he could see right through the role I was currently playing.

I looked away. I could feel the pretenses beginning to slip. I was used to lying. I was very good at it. Everything in my life had been a lie. It was all still a lie right now, but I could not muster up the courage to lie to this man. I could not bring myself to even create lies to be told. I looked at him almost in desperation hoping to see something that would make it easier for me to lie.

Lies. They had ruled my life. Every word out of my mouth was a lie or a half truth. It was bending facts into fiction and letting others make assumptions. I did not know what truth was really like. I could only be truthful to myself when I was tired, when I was too emotionally exhausted to hide from myself anymore. And, yet. Yet at this moment, it felt as though I could not lie.

It felt as though lying to this man would be once again lying to myself. I did not want to do that any longer. I was past the point of exhaustion. I was drained and suddenly everything came crashing down all over again. It was like being on an emotional pendulum. There were the high points and the low points. It felt as though my pendulum had stopped completely. I suddenly felt frustrated and restless all at once.

I had to clasp my hands to force them to stop moving. I looked up and resigned myself to say whatever truth came out.

He was staring at me with almost hidden curiosity, but mostly expectantly.

"I hadn't known you were here," I stated. I could not meet his eyes. I was uneasy being this transparent in front of him. I could feel my leg begin to shake. I wanted to stop the motion but it was comforting in a way.

"Why didn't you leave?" he asked the obvious question.

I shifted forward in my seat. I didn't know why I stayed. Besides the fact that I had at first been physically unable to, I could have left when I was daydreaming. I had calmed down considerably. Running a hand through my hair, I replied, "I don't know. I just didn't."

I looked up just in time to see him surprised. That was one accomplishment. He did not seem like the type to surprise easily. I was a little worried that he might think I was being impertinent. It was a truthful answer though. At least, he did not seem to be angry at me.

I started to tap my fingers against the arm rest. He stared at me for a long moment. The silence was making me more uncomfortable. I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. This was me without the roles. This was the person I was without the masks. I was open to him and I hoped he could tell me what he saw. I opened my mouth to ask him when suddenly I was being pushed against the chair.

"Stop moving," he whispered irritably at me.

I nodded my head feeling the pressure of my back against the seat. The first time he had pushed me, it was a slight pressure. It could be ignored. This time the pressure was intense. I could feel every scar, every welt. I was starting to panic. I could feel them all too clearly. I struggled against him, nodding more vigorously. He needed to let go. Let go.

"Let go," I finally managed to say. I could not breathe. I grabbed at his arms hoping to pry them off but they would not budge. The pain on my back was increasing. Those scars that made it impossible for me to sleep on my back were burning. It felt as though they were making their way through my chest.

He did not loosen his grip. I struggled harder. "Please," I begged. I could remember the pain I felt when I first received them. I could distinctly remember the feel of the blood trailing down my back. It had been a constant flow but at least it had cooled the burning somewhat.

He released me and I threw my body off of the seat. Sitting on the floor, I shakily breathed as the burning sensation had dulled. I could still feel them, but then again, I could always feel them. I could feel my throat closing up and the want to cry building. I swallowed forcefully and let the cold from the floor seep into my body.

A movement caught my eye and I remembered I was not alone. The phantom sat down on the seat I had just vacated. He looked at me with open curiosity this time.

I turned my head away and forced myself to speak in even tones.

"I'm breaking up my engagement with Christine, all ties with her. I wanted you to know."

I thought of getting up at that moment and possibly salvaging some dignity, but I did not have it in me to move. I didn't have the energy to feel embarrassed or angry at what had just happened. I did not even have the energy to move up from the floor. At least I found out that I had been right, the phantom was stronger than I was. I hoped he would just leave so that I could just be alone for a moment. I was tired. More tired than I had felt in a while.

Once again, I felt his hands on me and I tried to shy away this time. There had been no butterflies last time, only the cold fear of panic. He was insistent and grabbed me a little roughly underneath my arms. He lifted me up easily into the chair beside him, and once I was seated, he immediately let go.

I looked at him questioningly. That was rather uncharacteristic. I had expected some derisive comment or maybe him gloating or something. I had not expected him to help me into a chair. This civility was throwing me off. One moment he was holding me down and the next moment he was helping me. I was thoroughly confused.

He leaned back and stared in the direction of the stage. I did not know whether or not he was actually looking there, but I turned to face the stage as well. It was only then that I realized there were people there. Namely, Christine and the ballet corps were onstage practicing. I briefly wondered where Carlotta and Piangi were, but ignored the thought.

"What are your intentions?" He stated.

Once again, a direct question. I briefly glanced at him. He was still staring at the stage. He had made no comment on the last episode. I gingerly leaned back, making sure to not put too much pressure on my scars. I turned my gaze onto the stage and stared at Christine. She was laughing and joking around with Meg and the others. I knew that laugh and those smiles. It felt incredibly fake. There had been a time when I wanted more than anything for her to smile at me and to share her laughs with me. Now, I felt nothing of the sort. I felt repulsed actually.

"I already told you. I'm giving up on Christine."

I could imagine the Christine I thought I knew. The Christine I thought I saw when she had made her first performance. That night had been the night I had felt hope surge back into my very being. It had been the night when my dreams had come back alive.

"When you stare at her like that," he commented coldly, "I hardly believe you."

I could hear the suspicion in his voice, but I could not stop the snort from escaping, "It is not her I love. I do not know her. You need not steal her away from me. I do not own her."

"Stealing what, in truth, is mine," he replied angrily. He turned to face me and I returned the gaze. I had nothing to hide.

"Indeed," I replied. He was angry and that was always dangerous, but I was at a point where I could not bring myself to care. I could not lie to him and I no longer wanted to. Our rivalry was pointless. "Conquest is assured. You needn't worry."

He calmed down noticeably. "You do not love her." He stated.

I did not know whether or not he needed a response to that, but I replied nonetheless. Looking at the stage, I spoke jokingly, "No dreams within my heart but dreams of love."

It was the truth though. I had dreams of love, but they had been shattered. I had thought that love was where my freedom lay. I wanted to drop the pretenses. I wanted to drop the roles. I wanted the freedom to be whoever I wanted to be. For that, all I needed was one person. Just a single person in the entire world to understand me. A single person to love me. A single person that turned out to not be Christine.

"And haven't you come here," the anger was back in his voice. I almost turned to look at his expression. He continued, "in pursuit of your deepest urge. Have you not found it in her?"

This time I do look at him. I could feel his gaze on my face, and I wanted to make it absolutely clear that there was no catch to what I was telling him. There was only truth. I looked at him calmly in the eyes, "I do not love her. No second thoughts, I have decided."

He looked at me, searching again for the truth in my statements. It seemed as though there was nothing I could hide from him. He was the first to turn away. He looked at the stage lost in thought.

I continued to explain, "I think she loves you anyway. However, she was once my closest friend and I wish her no harm. So treat her well."

I knew the warning tone in my voice would get his attention. I was not one to make threats, but it could not be helped. Truthfully, a part of me did not care if she got her heart broken, but that was just the vindictive side. He looked at me with disdain before turning to face the stage once more.

"So the games we've played till now are at an end," he stated detachedly.

I realized he was right. He probably said it with relief, but the realization made me inexplicably sad. Now that everything was through, there was no reason to be here. Even though I was the patron, the reason I came here everyday was not because of opera house business, I could actually do those things well enough if not better from the comfort of my own home. I had come to the opera house at first because of Christine, but that was through before it really ever started. Then I had come here to maybe catch a glimpse of the opera ghost, but now that was ending right now too. This man was the opera ghost, and now that I was no longer a threat to him, I would not see him again. It was a little disappointing. I briefly considered suspending his pay, but that would be ludicrous and someone would probably die. So this was it. This was where my adventure ended.

"Yes. It's over. She's not who I wanted," I rethought that statement, "She's not who I thought she was."

I mumbled quietly to myself, "I'm not who she thinks I am either."

This was defeat. I had given up all claim and I was defeated. However, I should not feel so relieved. I was relieved that there would no longer be enmity between the phantom and me. At least I would not have to worry about my life. However, it meant that I would not gain my freedom. I would not find the one who would see me for who I was. The one thing that gave me the greatest consolation though was that the phantom would be getting his freedom. I was certain that this was his dream, and I could not bear to stand in the way of someone else's dream.

"You are still engaged though," the phantom turned his attention back at me.

"I had thought to do it soon."

I saw him roll his eyes. That had been a noncommittal answer, but I did not know when I would be able to muster up the courage to do it. I did not know when the proper time was. Was there even a proper time to break up an engagement?

"Soon indeed," he replied suspiciously.

So maybe I had not actually thought that part out. The action was going to be harder than telling the phantom. I had survived this encounter, so maybe I would survive that encounter with Christine. She could not be more frightening than him, right?

The phantom turned to face me. Looking me directly in the eyes, he stated, "I will be lenient with you. You have until the masquerade to break up the engagement. That is one month. If you do not, I will kill you," he paused to see if I was following, "very slowly."

Had I not been worried, I would have found that dramatic pause amusing, but as it were, it was very effective. I feared for my life.

So that was it. This was the end of the conversation. Except… I found myself not wanting it to be.

"How did you know about the masquerade?" I asked quickly.

He looked at me as though I were stupid.

I held my hands up in defense. "I understand completely. I heard everything you said. Masquerade. Kill me." I was babbling but I could not stop myself. "Slowly."

He looked at me peculiarly.

I shrugged, "I just wanted to know."

"This is my opera house," he said challengingly, "I know everything that goes on in it."

I nodded. This was awkward. I was placed in a very bad position. I did not want him to leave yet, but I did not know how to make him stay. We had said our business, but what else was there? Why did I even want him to stay longer? I did not want to think about that.

"You aren't," I began quickly before he could think to leave, "going to kill me now, are you?"

He scoffed at me. Though he was not looking at me, he had not moved from his seat, and that was oddly comforting. "Does it look like I'm going to kill you?"

"Should I know what that's supposed to look like?"

I really did not know why I was saying these things. But the desire to make him stay longer, to talk to him just a little more was clouding my reason.

This time he looked at me. I simply stared at the stage and ignored the fact that it was incredibly distracting for him to be looking at me like that.

"You'll know," he responded.

I knew that I should not feel this relaxed around a murderer, but I just was. I could not explain it. He had confused me in the beginning, but now I felt completely at ease. I was still tired, but I was okay with that. I was okay with letting the exhaustion run its course. It was as though this were the first time I had been fully relaxed.

I was inordinately pleased to notice that the phantom was not moving from his seat either.

Conversationally, I ventured to ask, "Can I see your face?"

He immediately responded, "Can I see your back?"

I looked at him in shock. So he did want to know about it. I had thought he did not even care to know why I had reacted to him as such. He had let the issue pass without comment and I thought I was safe.

"No," I replied vehemently.

He tilted his head to gaze at me lazily, "Then no."

I stared at him for a moment before feeling myself start to smile. He reminded me of a petulant child. I suddenly started to laugh. This was possibly the weirdest conversation I had ever had in my life. It made me think that my imagination was not too farfetched. We were talking as though we were not rivals. As though we could be friends.

It was as though the fact that we had been rivals, that he had just threatened to kill me slowly faded into oblivion. It no longer mattered. I wanted to keep on talking to him. Maybe I had already died. But seeing him looking at me with those eyes, I knew it had to be real.

"I…" I began to say before I heard someone yell out 'Vicomte.'

I looked around and a messenger came running in.

"I've been looking everywhere for you, Monsieur."

I worriedly turned around to tell the phantom to leave, but he was already gone. I faced the messenger again and waited expectantly. My façade was firmly back in place. I was the haughty Vicomte once again, "You have found me. Now, tell me what you want."

The messenger quickly nodded his head, "I was sent by the Comte to tell you…"

I interrupted him, "There's no note or letter? How am I to believe you were actually sent by my brother?"

I asked him suspiciously. There was no real reason for me to question him, but it felt like something a Vicomte would do. It was obvious the man was out of breath and nervous to be inside the opera house in an area not well lit. It amused me slightly. I did not think anything could really be that important. Everything had been fine when I left this morning and with my brother home… well, I was certain that no one would even dare to come up against my brother.

"There was no time. He says that you must come home immediately. He says it's urgent and it pertains to your mother's health."

Hearing this I froze. My mother's health? This had to be something big. I nodded my thanks to him and sparing one glance around the mezzanine seating, I bolted out into the hallway.

Something was wrong, and I could feel my adrenaline pumping. What could have possibly happened to my mother? I had barely been gone a few hours. And though I might be disappointed and angry with her, I did not want her to die.

I did not want anyone to get hurt anymore. Least of all the people I knew.

I rushed out of the opera house and headed home.

o.o.o.o

End ch07

word count: 5,084

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Ha, I give Erik vertigo and Raoul panic attacks… how odd. They're similar enough.

LOL, this chapter made me laugh because of the whole lyrics thing. I tried to make it flow, but it was hard and random, so I did not put a lot of the lyrics in technically, but they're there and kinda obvious. (and if you didn't notice, tsk-tsk-tsk. I'm disappointed in you.)

That and I was practically screaming at Raoul to take his head out of his ass and realize Erik was the one! ;o) I'm evil aren't I?