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. Who's the one in trouble here?

Warning(s): Physical abuse and blood.

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note: This one is full of action, less thoughts (well, less than usual). And, and chapter 10 will be different. :o)

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Again, sorry that last chapter was late. Sorry this one is lagging.

I do tend to ramble in the beginning of chapters… especially Erik's because you already know what happens from Raoul's chapter and it's surprisingly easy to just write whatever comes to my mind about Erik. It always feels like it isn't enough when I first get it down (I was actually surprised that I reached 8000 words, I guess I rambled a bit too much in that one).

I did not even think about the whole modern wording-ish… thanks for bringing it to my attention (Kytten), and I'll work on it more.

As for Erik being easily amused with Raoul… It sorta just worked out that way. I was trying to show that even though Erik is still keeping most of his pretenses up even to himself, he can't stop Raoul from penetrating some of those shields. Amusement seemed like a good thing because it's not the amusement of psycho-Erik, but just the amusement without so much cynicism involved.

o.o.o.o

Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 09

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Raoul's POV

o.o.o

Last time:

"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

The ride home in the carriage seemed interminable.

A million different scenarios ran through my mind.

What if my mother had fallen deathly ill? What if she got injured somehow inside the house? What if she fell down the stairs? What if someone tried to rob the house and she had been unfortunate enough to be in the way?

It had to be horrible if Philippe had sent a messenger to get me. It had to be something big, and the worry that crept into my heart made me wonder why I had been so stubborn in acquiescing to her wishes when it had been something I wanted as well. Why had I been so horrible to my mother? Why had I tried to rebel against something I wanted too? I did not really want to marry Christine. I knew that completely now. Who cares if what I wanted agreed with what my mother wanted? It should not matter.

She only wanted what was best for me. She had always tried. She tried to be a good mother. She supported me as well as she could after father died. And though she had left me under Philippe's care, she knew nothing about what Philippe had been doing to me. I could forgive her. I had forgiven her. I just should have treated her better.

Now… now she could be dying. She could already be dead.

The thought made everything else fade away.

It made the fact that I would have to face Christine and tell her that the engagement was off – the worry, doubt, and uncertainty connected with it – fade. It made the last hour that had been an emotional rollercoaster ride with the phantom of the opera –filled with concessions, losses, victories, and truth – fade.

There was only this uncertainty. This fear that someone who had once been my only reprieve as a child but who was now so far from me was in danger of dying. What petty differences that had separated us seemed to disappear. Death seemed to do that to a person. It made priorities clearer.

Did it matter that this morning we had been fighting? Did it matter I had been so angry with her, so disappointed with her that I had momentarily wanted her to be gone?

Did it matter that she stopped being the mother I had loved the moment my father had died? Where there had once been stories, there were only orders. Where there had once been encouragement, there was only criticism. Where there had once been unconditional love, there was only anxiety.

Did it matter that my mother often voiced her disappointment of me? Everyday after my father's death had been a comparison to my brother. How I had failed everywhere that Philippe had succeeded. How even though I had succeeded in some areas, it was never enough. How I would never be good enough.

Did it matter that she only saw the person she wanted me to be and the ways I failed to be that person? Did it matter she never saw who I had actually become? Did it matter she did not care if that person who I was even existed? Did I even matter?

No.

None of it mattered right now.

The only thing that mattered was that my mother might be dead. I cared enough for her well being. I cared enough because she was my mother. She was my mother and that was all that mattered.

The carriage finally pulled up to the front door. I jumped out before the driver had a chance to fully stop. Throwing back some money, I ran into the house.

"Philippe!"

My first impression was that it looked empty.

"Mother!" I yelled louder hoping that anyone would answer.

I moved through the foyer and peaked into the kitchen.

That was odd. There was absolutely no one around. Not even servants.

"Philippe!"

Maybe they had taken her to the hospital. Maybe it was that serious.

I quickly moved into the living room.

But why would he send me a message to come home? Shouldn't he have told me to go to the hospital or something?

"Mother!" My screams were becoming more desperate, but I was afraid. What could have happened?

I was certain that he had sent me the message to come home.

The house seemed completely empty though. Even my voice echoed in this vacant home.

I turned around to head upstairs but never fully made it around. My head whipped back as a fist connected with my jaw. My hair flew into my eyes and covered my face so I could not see my assailant. I stumbled backward trying to get my balance and crashed into the edge of one of our side tables. The corner had been sharp enough to stab me in the side. I dropped onto the floor accidentally pulling the doily down along with the porcelain lamp on top of me. It shattered spraying my whole body with the shards. It had cut me on my arms and face.

They stung, but I was more torn between holding my jaw and holding my side in pain because I was certain both were bleeding. Getting on my knees, I struggled to stand. I ignored the fact that I had placed my hands on the sharp porcelain shards. I needed to get up and away from whoever had attacked me. Spitting out the blood that had gathered in my mouth, I tried to stand up. I tentatively touched my side and felt the wetness forming.

What was that? Who had just hit me?

I could not do it. I could not push myself up. My hands slipped on the marble floor because of the blood. I knew I was cowering, but I did not know when the next blow would land. He had only hit me once and my limbs already felt weak. Before I could turn around and see who my assailant was, a familiar voice spoke.

"Hello, dear brother," Philippe said sweetly.

I knew I should not have been shocked, but I was. My mind stopped working. Philippe had hit me. He had not hit me in many years. Of course, he had not been around me in a while.

The part that scared me the most was that he had hit me that hard in the face. Philippe had always avoided hitting me in the face because he did not want to make it obvious he was beating me. He had not wanted there to be any evidence of his actions. The fear I had felt for my mother turned into a panic that coiled low in my belly for myself. This did not bode well for me at all.

I gave up trying to stand and instead turned over to sit on the floor.

I held my side and backed away from Philippe in what I hoped was an inconspicuous manner. I was conscious of the shards that littered the floor so that I would not hurt my hands any further. I could already feel the pieces that had embedded themselves in my palms, but I did not want Philippe to realize it as well. He could only use that information to harm me further.

"I see you got my message," Philippe stated conversationally.

The fear increased. Philippe seemed to be enjoying this.

He stepped closer. This time I did not bother hiding the fact that I was moving away from him. In my hurry though, I forgot about the shards and more dug into my hands. I tried to hide the hiss that escaped my lips.

I tried to divert his attention, "Is mother okay?"

I cursed the unsteadiness of my voice. My side hurt and I was at a disadvantage. I could not show my weakness though.

"Of course she is well." Philippe walked closer and with his foot, pushed me rather roughly onto my back. I almost screamed as I landed on some of the shards. The scars on my back began to flare up in pain again. He shook his head silent in disapproval. "She went to visit a friend's house for the week. She was in good health and spirits when I told her I would set you straight."

I looked around hoping that someone would come.

"I gave the servants the week off as well."

It was getting harder for me to breathe. I had to get up and run away. It all had been a trap. Mother was fine. Everyone had been ordered to leave the estate so that Philippe could do whatever he wanted with me.

I regretted ever saying those words to him. I had not even said the words. I had only indirectly insulted him, but it had seemed to be enough to incur the totality of his wrath.

"I know!" I raised my voice once again, fully yelling now. Philippe stopped talking and he looked a bit shocked. "I know I'm a Vicomte, Philippe. You are the Comte and I, the Vicomte de Chagny. I am also more than that."

Philippe looked as though to reply, but I cut him off before he could even begin.

"You will not be the one to tell me who I am or am not, and more importantly, you will not tell me who I will marry. I am my own person and I have upheld my position as well as you have." I emphasized the last part, and even though I felt low to bring up his indiscretions, I had not been thinking reasonably when I had spoken.

I knew he had been mad, infuriated really. It had been the first time that I had ever spoken back to him, and naturally he would not take it very well.

Now I actually feared for my own life. Now there was something to fear.

Philippe stepped harder increasing the pressure on my chest. I grabbed his foot and tried to push it off, but it would not budge. Trying only made the shards dig deeper into my hands and Philippe put more weight onto my chest. I struggled harder; the familiar panic was there again. The pressure on my back was horrible but the shards I was laying on added another layer to that panic. They were starting to break skin.

"You have not learned yet have you," Philippe crouched so that we were almost face to face.

"Philippe," I begged, "please. I didn't mean it."

He knew what I was talking about and still looked unconvinced. The amusement was gone from his face and he was staring at me with eyes filled with hatred.

I had not realized.

It was suddenly all too clear that it would not have mattered if he did believe I had not meant it. The words did not matter. The insolence did not matter. The blood he had spilt did not matter. The blood that we shared did not even matter.

I had not realized until just now that Philippe had actually hated me. I had thought… I had thought that he only had too much pressure placed upon him. I had thought that he would not have treated me as such if he had not been the Comte. I had thought that he had loved me.

He grabbed my hair forcefully and slammed it down against the marble floor. The pain was immense, and then there was nothingness.

o.o.o

I woke up slowly and painfully. In fact, I was not certain that I had woken at all. Everything was black. A pitch black darkness that was so much of how I was feeling, it felt as though I was trapped within my own mind.

I tried to yell for help, but nothing came out.

I reached down and touched my throat. It was so cold here that I was not sure if I was touching anything at all. I held my hands up to what I thought was in front of my eyes, but saw nothing. I squinted, but still nothing was clearer. In fact, I could not even feel my body. I did not think I had a body.

Even without it though, I could tell that it was cold. So cold.

What happened? Where was I?

It was so empty here. So dark.

I knew this place. It was hauntingly familiar.

I had been here many times. Times when I could not stand to be beaten, yet still had to remain conscious. Times when Philippe would not stop hurting me until I could look at him in the eye emotionlessly. I could separate myself then. I could separate my mind from my body and manage to look at him. Manage to face him. Those had been desperate times and I had had much practice in doing it.

I knew this darkness intimately. I had come here many times. I had no body in this place. I had no control here. I could come here, but I could never find a way out. There had always been some other event that had jerked me awake. There had been some light to pull me apart from this darkness that was a part of who I was. I was this darkness. Not completely though.

This was what I feared the most. This part of myself. This isolation. Being trapped here. To have been abandoned and forgotten. There was only a shell left in the real world. It did not matter that I was not there to move or think. My body would move and think like it had been trained to do. It would be the perfect Vicomte that I could never really be.

Being trapped here had been worse than the beatings Philippe had given me. It was an odd balance. I would come here to escape the beatings, but I could not find a way out. I could not escape from it, and that was when I would start to panic. It was a double edged sword.

I had once associated the two as one, the beatings and this darkness. They were not though. I had discovered that once he had left. I had been trapped in this darkness for a week after I had moved here to Paris.

I was only supposed to be in charge of the Opera Populaire for the sake of the Chagny name. It was to be the first real task that I was going to have without Philippe watching over me. I had been excited. I knew I could be the patron well. I liked music well enough. I knew more than the basics. More importantly it was a chance to prove myself.

After Philippe had gone, my mother had been pressing me. She had been making appointments and meetings with everyone in the city. For our family's sake, I could not cancel any of them. I did not see the estate in the daytime the first three days. I was out in the early morning before daybreak and then came back in the evening. I was exhausted. By the third day, I was close to my breaking point. It was then that my mother decided to express her disappointment in the performance of my duties. It was then that I broke.

I found myself in this darkness. At first I felt relieved to be away from it all. I could finally relax. I could just let my body do what it was trained to do. Then I had wanted to leave. I wanted to come back and face what there was to face. I couldn't though. For a week, I was trapped in this darkness. Trapped inside my own mind. My body was doing everything better than I could have done myself. I should have been happy that I was finally able to meet my mother's standards, but I could not be. It was not me. I struggled against the darkness. I struggled with everything I had because although I could finally appease her, I wanted it to be myself who could do it. Just me. I could not be trapped here and let my life pass me by. It was my life. My only chance at ever becoming who I wanted. I had to find a way out.

I could not though. I had been losing hope thinking I would forever be stuck in this darkness. It was only when my body finally shut down from the intense schedule was I able to escape.

Now, here I was stuck again.

What had happened this time? What could be bad enough to make me come here again?

I concentrated on trying to remember. I had to remember what had happened. Something horrible must have happened to me; usually I just blacked out after a long day. It was different from this darkness. I had not been here in a while. I thought I had been handling everything well.

I looked around me. Nothing. A body would be useless in this vacuum anyway. I concentrated harder. There had to be some clue.

This darkness was confusing me. I could never see what was happening in the real world while I was in here. I only found out after I was released. It was as if the knowledge was waiting for me. I usually could remember what caused me to come here though.

I had gone to the opera house earlier than normal. Running. I was hiding. Christine and I had talked. Talked about foolish dreams and empty promises. I had run from that as well. Hid again, but this time, I did not hide very well. I ran into the phantom.

Did he harm me? Did something happen with him?

He was a monster. Of course he had done something.

But that was not right. It did not make any sense to me. A part of me knew that he was a killer. It was the part that made me believe he should have been the one to push me far enough to come to this point. We had talked though. Civilly. I had enjoyed myself. He was no monster. He simply had a deformity. A porcelain mask… porcelain?

I raised my 'hands' again. There had been blood. My blood. Not at the opera house though. I had been home. Home.

Philippe had come home.

It had been Philippe who had done this.

He hated me.

Now, I was trapped here again. I wondered if Philippe would notice that I was not myself. I wondered if he knew what I did to get away from him. I wondered what he was doing to me. I wondered how long…

"AHH!" The scream was ripped from my throat and I was blinded by the light that suddenly assaulted my eyes. Pain flooded my senses. I could still feel the shards in my hands and the gash on my side. My head throbbed. In fact, my whole body ached, and it felt as though I had been beaten while unconscious. I had been unconscious though. I did not know what had happened between the confrontations in the living room and now, so it must mean that I had been unconscious. I was relieved because if Philippe could pull me out of the darkness intentionally, I did not know if I would be able to survive.

I shut my eyes and tried to cover my face with my arms, but I could not move them. I was tied arms spread out and immobile. I tried to move my legs, but they too were tied. Tied against a cold concrete wall. I was only wearing my trousers and undershirt. It was cold once more, but this time the darkness was gone. There was light. It was bright, almost unbearably so.

Once my eyes adjusted, I realized that the light was actually nice. It was coming from a small window on the far wall. The sun was shining through it. It looked to be around afternoon.

What had taken me out of my darkness?

"I see you're awake," Philippe's voice seemed to echo in my head.

I turned my head to the side. It took so much effort. There he was though. My brother stood to the side with a knife in hand. It saw blood dripping from my wrist. It must have been the thing to wake me.

"It would cause such a scandal to discover a Vicomte had committed suicide."

The fear returned to me. My wrist had been slit. Nothing too deep. Just enough to hurt and to bleed. There was still a possibility that I would loose too much blood, but I knew Philippe would not want that to happen just yet.

"However, it would be less of a scandal than him marrying some chorus girl."

He moved closer to me, knife brushing lightly against my arm. It sent shivers through my body. My breath hitched.

"I could instead make it more believable," Philippe smiled manically. I had never seen him like this. I had never seen him look at me with such indifference. It was almost as though he was looking right through me. He seemed like a completely different person. I wondered if I had ever really seen him. "I could make this seem like a kidnapping. Someone trying to make money off of the poor defenseless Vicomte."

He dragged the knife just hard enough to draw blood, but not any deeper.

"Philippe," I managed to choke out. Fear was clouding my senses, "I'm your brother. Please."

I had to try. I knew he hated me, but I hoped he would somehow control himself. I feared for my life. Where was everyone? Where was anyone? Anyone who could save me.

"You are worthless," he said as though he was stating a fact.

I closed my eyes. He switched to the other arm.

"AHH!" The cut was deeper this time, much like my other arm. Like the cut that had drawn me from my darkness. It was higher this time though, on my bicep.

"You are nothing without this family." He stated squeezing my arm. His fingers were already slick with blood. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter.

I tried to force myself back to the darkness. It had to be better. I could not stand the pain.

"You are nothing without this name."

I had to get away, but every time I tried to concentrate, Philippe pressed a little harder on the knife. I was out of practice. It was like he could tell what I was trying to do. I hoped to God he did not realize. I did not want him to take away the only reprieve I had.

"You are nothing without your title."

Philippe ripped my shirt off.

"Remember that."

I shivered violently. I had closed my eyes to concentrate. Opening them, I wished I hadn't. There was blood all over Philippe's hands. My blood.

I felt lightheaded, but I was not sure if it was because of the sight of my own blood on Philippe's hands or because I had lost too much blood already. My head dropped of its own accord.

"Look at me." Philippe ordered, placing the knife under my chin.

I listened right away. I forced myself against the dizziness. He looked pleased when I did, and I suddenly wished I had not followed his order. He pushed my hair aside with the knife and cut my cheek in the process.

"Don't fall asleep again."

I nodded. He thought I had been falling asleep. I almost sighed in relief. At least he did not know what I had been trying to do.

He held the knife dangerously close to my stomach. "I'm leaving to go to the opera house. When I come back, if you're asleep you will regret it."

I nodded.

I believed him. He would harm me. I already regretted many things that had occurred this day. I should have realized that this was a trap. Philippe would never let anything happen to my mother. He was very protective of her. Me on the other hand, I was fair game. Much of my life had been that of the helpless prey. Unfortunately for me, Philippe was a predator that liked to play with his prey before killing them.

He looked appeased, but before he turned he dragged the blade slowly across my abdomen. I forced myself to not scream. I forced myself to look him in the eye. I remembered the lessons from my childhood. It was weakness to look away. I could not look away.

He smiled and walked away.

I watched him leave with relief.

He walked up a flight of stairs that I had failed to notice and left through a door. I heard it click shut and the lock slide in place.

I strained to hear if he would really leave. Sure enough a carriage drove away.

I held my breath and listened. Nothing. No one was here.

I strained against the ropes that Philippe had tied me with, but they did not even budge. It only served to chafe my wrists more. I pulled harder against them and tried to throw my body with it for some leverage, but nothing would give.

I had to get out of here. I had to escape before he came back.

I suddenly stopped my struggle as I realized that there was nowhere for me to go. Where would I go? Where would I escape to? There was no one I knew that my family did not know. There was no one alive actually who I knew who my family did not know about. I would have to run away. Run to where? How would I survive?

Philippe had been right. I was worthless. I was nothing without the family.

I let my head loll. It took too much energy to keep it up.

I was nothing.

I stared at the floor for a long time. The light that had filtered in through window was dimming and I wondered how long I had been stuck in self loathing. I still did not know where I was. I looked around: there was that window, the stairway out and a couple of shelves against the far wall. This wall was completely bare and nothing was close by that I could use to even try to escape. Where was I? I looked at the shelves and it all fell into place. I was in the wine cellar. Philippe had not taken me very far. He had only dragged me into our wine cellar. At least I was still at home. Maybe someone would come.

But Philippe had said that he had sent them all away. No one would be around.

Why was this happening? Everything had been looking up after my talk with the phantom. I had actually been optimistic. How naïve of me. How stupid of me.

The fear and anticipation of Philippe's return kept me awake, but even that faded as the cellar became darker. I felt my eyelids begin to droop. It's becoming harder to stay awake. I could only hope and pray that someone might find me.

I felt my exhaustion increase and told myself that I would just close my eyes for a little bit. I would not sleep. I would just rest my eyes.

o.o.o

I woke with a start. It had to be nighttime. It was dark but at least there was still some moonlight. Luckily Philippe had yet to show up. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I scolded myself for falling asleep, and even though I did, I still felt tired.

I wondered where Philippe was though it did not really matter as long as he came when I was awake. It was very late, and I was starting to get hungry. I had not eaten since this morning. And when I had been awake earlier, I had been too afraid and worried to even feel my hunger. But now my stomach growled loudly.

I waited expectantly. Philippe had to come down soon. He said he was coming. I had to stay awake.

Still a yawn broke its way through. I was tired. I was sore. I did not have much energy left.

I struggled to stay awake. I tried to concentrate on things I would do if Philippe came. I would tell him that I'd do anything for him to let me go. It probably was not only about insulting him. He also wanted me to break my engagement off with Christine. I would tell him I'd do it. I would ask him to let me go.

I shivered as the cold in the concrete walls seeped into my body.

Why wasn't there anyone to save me?

My head dropped onto my shoulder.

Why didn't anyone notice I was gone?

I could not stay awake. It was a losing battle. I finally succumbed to the darkness.

o.o.o

I woke again. Alone. I breathed out a sigh of relief. There was sun again and I could feel my body warming up even if just only a little. Philippe had yet to come. I had fallen asleep again. I had not meant to. In the night I had woken a few times and had tried to stay awake. I had been expecting Philippe. He had not come then. And still, nothing. I passed the whole day wondering where he was.

I listened to my stomach growl in hunger. I kept making mental inventories of what body parts were injured. At least the bleeding had stopped. I tried to keep time with the movement of the shadow from the window, but I kept falling asleep and losing track. I could never tell how long I had been asleep, whether it had been minutes or hours. Whenever I was awake though, I kept a constant watch on the door.

Still no one came.

I had absolutely no energy in me. I felt fatigued and all my wounds were starting to hurt more.

I was alone and trapped against the wall. I had defecated and urinated on myself. The cellar was beginning to stink, and still I could not move. I could not do anything to better my situation. I was thirsty. So very thirsty. The hunger had become a constant gnawing in my belly. I was weak. And though I slept, I felt more exhausted now than I had ever felt in my life.

Yet still I was expectant. Philippe had to come. He had to. I could not die like this.

It must have been the third or fourth day that the door to the cellar finally opened. It was nighttime, but I had woken immediately. My eyes strained to see who silhouetted figure in the doorway was.

"Ah," It was Philippe, "I had forgotten you were here."

I wanted to cry. It was so close to the surface, but I could not even force one tear out. I felt so desperate at the moment that I just wanted to let something out.

He strolled down the stairway, "I was just going to get a bottle of wine."

He walked to the far wall. He lifted his nose to the air and sniffed. "My my brother. Could you not control yourself?"

I wanted to yell at him 'No, not for three days.' But I would not. I wanted my freedom. I wanted to get out of this cellar. I wanted to breathe fresh air and take a warm shower. I wanted to get warm.

He laughed at his own joke. He walked up to me and looked me over.

"I have been rather negligent, haven't I?"

I held my tongue and looked as pitiful as I could manage, as defenseless as he wanted me to be, and it scared me how easy it was to do so.

I did not see the fist coming. He punched me in my stomach and I would have doubled over had I not been tied to the wall.

"All your wounds have closed up. I have indeed been negligent."

I took another swing to my stomach. I coughed blood on him, and he looked at me in disgust. He grabbed me by the hair again and slammed my head against the wall. The room was spinning, but he had made certain this time that I would still be conscious.

"I may just let you go."

He punched my stomach. I did not know how much more of this I could take. I opened my mouth to beg with him, to tell him that I was going to break the engagement off with Christine when he punched me again.

"I may not."

The next one he landed on the face and he finally let go of my head. I did not have the energy to lift it. The wound on my side, the one that had only stopped bleeding yesterday opened again.

The only reason I was still standing was because of the ropes that held me up. I felt something cold on my wrist and I tried to pull away thinking that Philippe was going to cut me again. But no, the cold metal hung heavily on my wrist.

Philippe undid the ropes on my arms and watched as I fell to the floor. I had no energy to break my fall. I laid boneless on the floor at an awkward angle. It was a shackle on my right wrist. He laughed then kicked me. He undid the ropes on my legs and added a similar shackle to my right ankle. Both shackles had been connected to the wall.

I laid on the floor wondering what was next, and why there had been places for these shackles to attach to. It would just be my luck that my own cellar had these.

Philippe kicked me again to get my attention.

"Clean yourself up, you worthless excuse for a brother." He threw a rag and some clothes, and brought over a small bucket of water.

Water!

I was so thirsty that I did not think. I started to drink as much of the water as I could. I leaned forward and cupped water in my hands.

Without warning, my head was dunked into the bucket. I inadvertently took a deep breath of water in my surprise and started to gag. Philippe was holding me down and though I struggled to get up, the lack of food and sleep had made me weak. Finally, he pulled me out of the water. I coughed water up for what seemed like hours. Philippe simply watched.

Once I was quiet he said, "I don't want to repeat myself. I said clean yourself up."

He looked at me daring me to try to drink the water again. "Do you understand?" He asked.

I nodded, and he smacked me in the face.

"When I ask you a question, you respond." He held his hand up threateningly, "Do you understand?"

"Y-yes," I managed to croak out. Although I had managed to drink water, I had not spoken a word in over three days. It hurt to speak now.

"The response is 'yes, brother," he said. He was mocking me, but I could do nothing about it. At least I was off of the wall. He continued, "I have brought some water and food. Use this to clean yourself up and the mess you have made." He indicated my dirtied state.

"Yes, brother." I said. I had to make it out of this cellar alive. I had to.

He sat on the stairs and indicated that I should begin. He opened a bottle of wine and began to drink.

I looked at him uncertainly, but not wanting to anger him further, I began to clean myself up. He was not watching me particularly. I wondered what he was doing. I wanted to ask him, but was afraid that I would have my food taken away.

"You are worthless," he stated conversationally.

I tried to concentrate on the task at hand.

"You are nothing without this family."

I tried to ignore his words.

"You are nothing without this name."

Just ignore him.

I had been torn between cleaning the floor in my dirty clothes so that I could wash it away after and cleaning myself first so that the water was still clean.

"You are nothing without your title."

Ignore him even though his words hurt.

I opted to clean myself first. I undressed and cleaned every wound. At least he was letting me attend to it before it got infected. It stung but I hid the pain so that Philippe would not have a reason to hurt me further. I pulled out as many of the porcelain pieces on my hand and back that I could, but there were still some left over. When I was fully cleaned, I looked at the clean clothes Philippe had brought and the floor and wall I still had to clean. I had a feeling that Philippe would not be giving me any other clothing so I cleaned the floor naked.

I heard Philippe scoff, but he made no comment. I was finally clean – as clean as a bucket of water could get me, and I hated being in that filth. When I finally finished cleaning everything, including myself again though the water had been dirty, I looked to Philippe.

I realized that he had been sitting there only to mock and make sure I was going to use the water only to clean up the place. When he saw I was finished, he took the bucket away. I dressed up in the new clothes and watched as he climbed up the stairs and left me alone in the cellar again.

I watched the door expectantly. He would dump the water and return with the food he promised. Where was it? I had been obedient. I had done as he asked.

I watched the door for much longer than I would like to admit. He had left me alone again. How naïve. How stupid could I be?

I leaned against the wall and wondered if he really wanted me to die here.

It was a horrible way to die. The hunger pangs were back. I pressed against my side to slow the bleeding. My hands were cold, and I was shivering nonstop nowadays. This cellar never seemed to warm up enough. However, I was grateful for these clothes and the shackles. I looked around the room to see if there was anything I could reach. Maybe there would be a bottle of wine so I could drink or something metal so I could maybe break free, but there was nothing.

It seemed I still clung to the idea of being free. I still clung to the hope of setting myself free even though there was nowhere for me to go. I wondered how my mother was doing. She would be so appalled if she learned of this. I hoped she never found out because Philippe might turn on her. But she would be returning soon. What would Philippe do then? He would have to let me go. I only had a few more days to bear this. Only a few more days. I could do that.

I looked at my shackles. I tried to pull them off, but they were too tight. Trapped still.

I was chained like an animal.

My thoughts drifted to the phantom. I had heard rumors that he had been caged because of his deformity. They were simply stories, but I was desperate enough to hope he had been caged as well just so that I would not be experiencing this alone.

Just so that I would not be alone. It was a horrible thing to wish, but it offered some sort of comfort. We were similar, and he was the only person I could think of that might understand how I was feeling right now. I could hope that even my imagined opera ghost would be some consolation. I should not wish harm against someone else. There had been something there though. There had been some connection between us. Something that had given me hope.

I was really mad at myself that some part of me was wishing he would come and save me. It was a stupid idea. I really knew that it was. But there was no one else. There was no one else who could possibly save me. The only person out of Philippe's grasp was the phantom of the opera. He had been the last person to see me.

Maybe, just maybe he would save me.

I slumped to the floor laughing at my stupidity. I let myself finally relax. Philippe had said nothing about staying awake, so I would try and sleep the next few days away.

Only a few more days. That was all.

I was really hungry though. Cold, too.

Maybe it would have been better if I had died. I looked around the cellar. Maybe I had died already. Maybe this was hell. Everything I had, everything I thought I could become was fading. Philippe was effectively killing me, not only physically but mentally as well.

I curled up into a ball and tried to conserve what body heat I had and fell into a fitful sleep.

o.o.o

The next time I awoke, the room felt hot yet still I was shivering. I was certain Philippe was around, but I was not sure. I could not think straight.

My body felt restless. It was uncomfortable. It felt as though I was burning up. Still my body felt so cold. This room was so cold. The shackles on my wrist and leg felt unbearably heavy.

I fell in and out of consciousness. Torn between dreams and reality, I did not know what was occurring around me. I was not sure whether my mind was playing tricks on me or not.

In defense, I shut down completely.

It was hard though. One moment I would think Philippe was talking to me, but his voice was so gentle. He was being so kind to me. I thought I felt him nursing me back to health. I would be lulled into a sense of safety.

The next time I awoke Philippe would be kicking me awake. The mantra he had been saying was ringing in my head…

"You are worthless."

He would be cutting me with that knife again.

"You are nothing without this family."

He would kick and scratch. He would pay special attention to my back.

"You are nothing without this name."

He avoided the face these times though. Just the body and the legs.

"You are nothing without your title."

I could feel the blood dripping out of my body. It was probably why I was not getting better.

It would alternate between the nice Philippe and the Philippe that I knew. I would see the normal Philippe more often. I would remember more of those meetings. It was only when I could barely stay conscious did the other one, the dream-Philippe would appear. How many days had it been though? How many days had I been stuck in this fevered haze?

The days and nights started to blend together and every time I woke, I was afraid of what Philippe would do next. When I was conscious, my whole body was in pain. I tried to remember what had happened last, but it was all a blur.

One event stuck out in my mind though. The nice Philippe had been feeding me soup.

"How are things with you and Christine?"

It had to have been a dream. Philippe would never call her Christine. It had been the 'chorus girl.' I mumbled something like 'perfect.' I was half delirious and the lies still came out of me.

"Why haven't you married yet?"

"There's this opera ghost," I replied. The soup was so good. It was warming up my body, and I hoped this fever would go away. Mother had to be back now. Wasn't anyone wondering where I was?

"Opera ghost?" Philippe prompted. I thought I heard the familiar impatience creep into his voice. But it was probably just my imagination, like the whole scenario was.

I continued, "The opera ghost terrorizes the opera house and he's been competing with me to get her." Though that conflict is over, I continued in my mind. Why was dream-Philippe asking all these questions? Why wasn't anyone saving me?

Was I back in bed? Was this all just a fevered dream? I fell asleep hoping dearly it was.

o.o.o

When I woke up, I was still in the cellar, but I was feeling better. I wondered how many days I had been sick. My head felt a little groggy, but I was better. My whole body still ached. I took mental inventory again. I had more wounds on my arms, legs, and torso. My face had not been touched since the first day though, so I was certain it had healed already.

I was glad I had gotten sick. In my fevered state, I could not remember how painful the beatings had been. I only remembered bits and pieces of those painful times.

I lay on the floor motionless though. I still felt weak.

The door opened, and Philippe walked in.

"I see you are well."

I struggled to sit up. I nodded, but seeing him frown, I immediately replied, "Yes, brother."

"Good."

With the knife in his hand he indicated he wanted me to stand. I forced my body to listen to me as I watched the knife come closer. I hated that knife.

"I have a proposition for you," he stood before me, "the masquerade is two days from now."

Two days from now! I had been stuck here for almost a month. Why hadn't anyone come?

"You are going to break your engagement with Christine. I want the ring you gave her as proof that you have done so or else I won't believe you." Philippe stated this all in a business-like manner.

"Yes, brother," I replied automatically.

He smiled. The charming smile he used whenever I saw him in public.

"I'm letting you go back to your room. Don't talk to anyone and not a word about this past month," Philippe threatened.

"Yes, brother," I intoned. My voice was dead. I wanted out. I wanted my bed, my clothes. I wanted warmth.

"Good," He leaned forward. I thought he was going to undo the shackle on my wrist instead he thrust the knife into my side. It took a moment to realize what had happened. For all the pain I was experiencing, it took a moment for my mind to register that Philippe had just stabbed me.

"What," I began, but Philippe pulled back and I doubled over in pain. He had stabbed me where the first wound on my side had been.

"Remember what I've been telling you, what you learned here."

Throwing the keys at me, he turned and walked away from me again.

I struggled to free myself and as quickly as I could make it to my room. The house was empty again. Philippe had probably planned it again. He had known he was freeing me and did not want anyone to see it.

I entered my room and locked the door behind me. It was a futile gesture, but I felt a little safer with it locked.

I had to clean the wound to make sure I didn't get sick again. I knew I had to get up and do it.

Instead, I leaned against the door as my legs gave out under me. I closed my eyes and wished it had all been a bad dream.

o.o.o.o

End ch09

word count: 7,986

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

I am so mean to Raoul. I swear he's my favorite character.