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. The blood that stains our hands. Chapter 14 is major cookie for you guys since it's so long.

Warning(s): violence

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note(s):

Erik's thoughts are a bit jumbled. Not too badly, but I wanted to warn you just in case.
Madame Giry is portrayed differently than from Pass Time (though I tend to lean towards that characterization).

o.o.o.o

Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 14

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Erik's POV

o.o.o

Last time:

I quickly intercepted him and hurt him in the place where I assumed hurt the most. I kneed him in the abdomen. His mouth opened in a silent scream. It would seem that my assumption was correct. I only felt a slight pang of guilt for doing so, but I was still frustrated. He doubled over in pain and I used my elbow to hit him on the back of the head. He dropped to the floor grabbing his head.

He tried to curl up into a ball but not having any energy, he simply laid on the floor unmoving. He squeezed his eyes shut and mumbled something that sounded like 'Not again' before losing consciousness.

I had been planning to leave him, but upon hearing those words, I picked him up. I managed to leave right at the moment that Madame Giry opened the door.

It was empty by the time she stepped in. She would know I had taken him and would inform the managers.

I had other things to worry about, the first of which was the blood that was now staining both Raoul's and my clothing.

o.o.o

I had grabbed him on an impulse. Curiosity. Obsession. Was there a difference with me? Raoul was a mystery and I could not help but wonder. What had those words meant?

Not again.

Did it have something to do with his disappearance? Had someone beaten him? It would explain the awkwardness with which he walked. Mostly, it would explain the blood that was quickly saturating both our clothing.

I had picked him up and carried him in my arms. I had almost thrown him over my shoulder but knew that it would only hurt him further. For some reason, I could not bring myself to hurt him again. The frustration that I had felt seemed to have vanished the moment I heard those words. He had looked so pitiable in that state. Weak and scared. I thought I had been looking at myself when I had been but a child.

I could let myself think that was the only reason I was worried, couldn't I? He reminded me of a time that I actually wanted so dearly to forget, but could not.

I knew that I was once that weak. I had once been the victim of everyone's physical manifestation of their hatred. I had spent many nights on the cold floor thankful for the reprieve of unconsciousness. I had wanted someone to save me. I had wanted someone to rescue me. But… but who would rescue a monster? The answer I discovered was no one. No one would rescue a monster. No one had.

Should he not have a saviour? Didn't anyone think to save him from whatever was harming him? Moreover, who was I to think that I could play the saviour? I only knew destruction. I could only create chaos. Yet, here he was in my arms. I knew no compassion. How was I to bestow it upon another? A monster could not be rescued. Raoul was no monster though. He had no disfigurement. He had no mask… he did though. But, could no one tell his pain? Was he all alone in this?

I wished I had realized sooner that I was all alone in my struggle. To think that I had been naïve once in my lifetime. Naïve! Me? It was enough to make the self-loathing easier. I had been ignorant then. Life was a harsh teacher though. I wished I had taken action sooner and killed the slave driver at the carnival before all those torturous 'shows'. Being displayed as a freak of nature had felt like a nightmare. My whole childhood had been a nightmare. It had been one disappointment after the other. But then again, I had been nothing but an animal. Animals should not feel disappointment. They should be lucky to still be alive. It had been suffocating to live in that cage. I had been dying slowly with each cruel laugh, glare, sneer, and insult. I had been dubbed the living dead and I had felt as one. In reality, it had been his death, my first murder that had been my freedom. A life for a life.

This life in my arms… for whom would he be sacrificed? Had I left him there, he might have died. That was a lie though. Madame Giry had been coming. She could have helped him. She would have immediately seen the blood and assumed that I had done it to him. He would have been saved. However, some part of me doubted that gravely. Raoul was injured because he had been let free. At least in captivity, I would be the only one that could possibly injure him.

Maybe I should turn around. I could only harm him. Although feelings for another person that I had never felt before had arisen, I was more of a danger to him than anyone else was. I was sure what I felt right now was worry and compassion. They were foreign emotions, and I could not quite fully grasp why I was feeling them. I was also actually feeling remorse; remorse for having hit him. I had never felt these before. Why should I? The world showed no compassion to me. I had no compassion for anyone else. So, why now? Why?

Captivity or freedom. Raoul would be hurt either way, but it was too late to turn back now. Could a cage really offer a life? Maybe freedom was worse for him. Maybe fate would be kind enough to stave my more belligerent tendencies.

Fate had been kind to me only once before. There had been some grace on my side when Madame Giry offered me a haven. I had already learned though to not trust anyone. I had learned to only take care of myself, to only look out for my own needs. Madame Giry understood that and kept her distance. She understood that I was not capable of being compassionate or polite.

But, this act was being compassionate. I should be capable of anything. It was only my role as the monster that had held me back. It was only my mask that kept me from fully being human, humane. I had hoped that I was more. I had hoped that I could eventually drop all the pretenses. Still with all those hopes, I was confused that I was helping Raoul.

I had always been held apart from society. I had always been alone. Only take care of oneself. It was the only way to fully be safe. Stay away from others unless you absolutely need to be nearer. I rarely spoke to anyone. The only people I spoke to were Christine and Madame Giry. I had only tutored Christine. I only spoke to Madame Giry about business at the opera house. She cared for me for some reason. She cared so she tried to hide the fear that I knew she had of me. She was not immune to fear. She was just as afraid of death as anyone else was. My name was synonymous with death. She was not immune to my anger or horrible disfigurement. She however, knew how to tread. I had also been uncommonly lenient on her. She was a danger to keep alive since she knew too much, but she had yet to betray me. She and I both knew the moment I thought she had been disloyal, I would kill her. That was the monster I was. So, she tread lightly. She did not seek me out. She did not speak to me unnecessarily.

Only one man had. Not a man though. A boy. I often forgot how young Raoul really was. He was but a boy really; a boy trying to act like a man. He had spoken to me, willingly even. He had been open and honest. I did not think that he had meant to be, but he had. I could read him. I could read his emotions and almost see his thoughts. It had felt like a connection. It had felt as though I was no longer the spectator of life that I had been for as long as I had been breathing. I had felt like a participant.

It was stupid to want more though. I would always be a spectator. I had no place in society. The only bridge was Raoul. Maybe I was simply using him. I was helping him so that I could use him to bridge that chasm. Raoul seemed innocent enough to believe me if I acted correctly. If I played on his compassion, maybe I could be more than a spectator. Maybe I could be more than the voice behind the mirror.

I could not though. Part of me doubted that I could be anything but a spectator.

I had learned how to act by watching. I had learned how to react to the Vicomte from observing his actions and reactions. Initially, I had been uncertain of how to react with Raoul, but then, talking to him, it had felt as though my own pretenses were falling as his had. I had been wary of Raoul, but in the end, I could only think of him as Raoul.

I could only think of him as he was alone in that room and alone with me. Were they the same? Then I realized that maybe being alone and being with me was not synonymous. Rather, I had been present at times when he was at his weakest. Alone, he had let all his masks drop, and I had simply caught him off guard after he had that argument with Christine. His masks had all fallen because of those events. It had all just been happenstance that I had seen Raoul and not just the mask of the Vicomte.

On that mezzanine, I had confronted him, pushed him to his limits, and then had threatened to kill him. Yet, his reaction to me did not change. He had not been afraid; at least, not the all-encompassing fear that I was accustomed to. He almost seemed calm the moments I had not been cruel to him; moments when we had shared silence. He had even laughed in my presence. It was a laugh of joy, shared with me. The only laughs of joy that I had heard were with those who knew not of my presence. It was different with Raoul though. He had been at ease, but I could blame it all on youthful exuberance. He was a boy and could not fully understand the situation.

However, although he was a boy, there was something more. There had been that darkness that I could not place. Not just any darkness, but a familiar one that called out to me. There was something that Raoul was hiding, and it was that darkness that made me doubt he had lived such a carefree life.

Not again.

Those words were also helping the creeping suspicion. It was hard to ignore.

When I had felt the unnatural warmth spreading to my abdomen, I had been surprised. It felt damp and when I had looked down, even in the dim lighting and my red death costume, I immediately knew it was blood.

Blood was soaking my shirt. My feet sped up before my mind could really fathom what was occurring. It seemed out of place, this blood. In the back of my mind, some doubts had remained. I had thought that maybe Raoul was simply suffering from a stomach pains or from bruising obtained in some accident. The way his blood spread was alarming. It meant that something serious had occurred and with those words still in mind, I could not convince myself that Raoul had simply fallen off a horse.

Not again.

What had happened?

I could not stop just yet. The cold from these tunnels may have a worse effect on him than waiting a few more minutes while I raced home. However, it felt as though this trip to my home was the longest it had ever been.

I did not want to think about how worried I was beginning to feel. The frustration I had felt earlier was returning. It was no longer directed at Raoul though, that feeling had long since died... I winced at the choice of words. I glanced down at the Vicomte. No, at Raoul. He was still unconscious, and his breathing was labored. His skin looked rather pale in the dim lighting.

Died.

People had died by these hands. By my hands. Yet this was the first time that this blood was not originally the result of my hands. It would be the first time that I accidentally killed someone.

Certainly, I had hit him, but I had not imagined he would begin to bleed. I had not cut him open. I had simply incapacitated him for my own safety. He had been wielding a sword. It was a stupid excuse considering the fact that I knew that Raoul would not attempt to harm me. I had known that Raoul had been in no position to hurt anyone. In fact, I had been surprised he had stayed on his feet for such a lengthy duration.

He had been obsessed with the ring though, and I could admit that I had been obsessed with him. He had been chasing the ring that I had safely stashed in the tunnel behind the trap into which Raoul had fallen. I had to discover why. That was the least important question on my mind though right now. The first and obviously foremost was the blood.

This blood that should not haunt me. However, I feared that it would. I feared that if Raoul died, his death would haunt me more than the deaths of the others I had killed.

A life for a life.

Living by those words might have simply been an easy escape for me. I believed them. I had killed that carnie for the sake of my own life. I had killed Bouquet once again for my own life. He was a fool who did not know how to hold his tongue. I had never tried to justify the murders. A life for a life was all the justification I needed. I was a murderer. That was who this monster was.

I felt my mind rebel at the thought.

I had to remind myself that I was this monster for the sake of no longer having to be him. The monster's destruction was my ultimate goal. It would not be self-destruction because I knew that I was more than just the monster. I had to be more than just a hideous disfigurement. This current situation had reinforced that belief.

Yet, I still did not understand what was driving me forward. Emotions had reasons, but I did not know my own. I did not understand why I… why I cared. He did remind me greatly of my past self. That was probably it. Maybe by saving him, I could erase my past. Maybe I could let those demons rest.

I had never felt the urge to help someone else though.

No one had ever deserved my pity.

Did Raoul really deserve it though?

I let out a sigh of relief upon reaching my home.

I quickly laid him down on my bed. Raoul showed no signs of waking any time soon. I panicked when I realized I could no longer hear Raoul's laboured breaths. I leaned forward to check if he was still breathing and tried not to think about how relieved I was when I was certain Raoul was alive. His breathing was shallow.

I pulled off my own shirt disturbed with the way the blood clung to my stomach. I wiped my hands on the only clean portion of the shirt to remove some of the blood that stained my hands and threw it to the side. I pulled off the red death mask and quickly put on the porcelain one that was bedside. It was disturbing to be dressed as death when I did not want him to die.

I gently lifted him up. Undressing Raoul was a little difficult. He was dead weight and holding him up while trying to remove his shirt seemed almost impossible. His costume had been ruined. A prince, huh? The prince was being saved by the beast.

I finally got his shirt off and laid him back down. Standing up to grab a clean shirt, I tossed Raoul's soiled one to the side. Looking back at him, I floundered. My body froze in shock. There was indeed a stab wound. The edges looked staggered, almost as if he had been stabbed twice. It did not look life threatening, but it still looked relatively new. It was without a doubt the source of all the blood.

It had not been the stab wound that made me pause though. The blood had been my main focus, but now looking past the blood, I saw much more. It was the other wounds that littered his body, a body that looked too thin, too worn, and too delicate. He looked as though he had not had a good meal in a very long time. His ribs jutted out unnaturally. Wounds covered almost every part of his torso and arms. Wounds that looked fairly new and just healed. Angry red scars glared from beneath them, and then there were the bruises. Raoul's skin was plagued with patches of sickly colours of yellows and purples.

I stepped forward uncertainly. I could not seem to bring myself closer, but I could not seem to look away.

I managed to tear my eyes away from his body down to the shirt in my hands. I wondered why my hands were clenched so tightly. My knuckles had turned white and I was shaking. Why did my chest hurt? Maybe it was just because of the past, my past. It was rearing its ugly presence back into my life.

What had happened to him?

These wounds were obviously the reason Raoul had been missing for a month, but what exactly had happened to him? These did not look like wounds from a battle. No sword battle would produce wounds like this. So, if it had not been a sword fight, Raoul would have had to fight not a noble, but some street urchin. Yet the wounds still did not fit. There was one situation I knew to fit. It was a situation I knew all too well, and I could not ignore its possibility. These wounds looked like they were the result of torture.

The word rang uneasily in my head. In this society, torture was still practiced?

I suddenly realized the wound would not heal itself. I could think of the implications of that train of thought later. Right now, I had to stop the bleeding. I looked at the shirt in my hands and realized this would do no good. I would have to find some bandages. I turned around scanning my home. I had none. I was getting flustered and I hated the feeling. I had to do something.

I grabbed a bottle of alcohol and walked closer to him. Tearing the shirt into strips, I poured some alcohol onto it and began cleaning his wounds. Focusing on the stab wound, I tried to ignore the other scratches and scrapes that were present. I tried to focus on the stab wound but my eyes could not help but notice all the discoloration. There was not enough material. I added pressure against the wound and was pleased to see that the blood was slowing to a stop. However, Raoul had yet to even stir. He was still breathing, but I had thought that the cleaning process and the pressure upon his wound would wake him. It was better that he was unconscious but what if it meant something was amiss? What if it meant that something worse was wrong with him?

I stared at the blood on my hands. Again, I thought that this was not entirely new. I was no innocent that had never seen blood on his hands. The thought would never leave me. I was a murderer.

A life for a life.

This was the only time though that I began to doubt that belief. Whose life would the death of Raoul preserve? I knew torture. I never tortured my victims. I mentally taunted those that crossed my paths, but that was simply to keep them away. It was to keep them complacent. It was so that I never had to touch anyone unnecessarily.

Touching others had always felt unnatural. It made me uneasy. I flinched. I recoiled. They were remnants of the beatings I used to receive. However, one month ago I remembered actively touching Raoul. I remembered trying to fight the urge to do so and failing. I had blamed it on the obsession with his reactions. They had intrigued me. With Christine, it had been different. I had touched her. I had seduced her with my song, but I had not thought she would remember any of it. I had not worried about her reaction since she had been lost in my song. No, Raoul had been lucid. I had not cared about touching him. In fact, I had not been worried about his reaction because that was precisely what I wanted to discover. I had only done so probably because he was still such a boy. I did not think any of his responses would have hurt me.

A boy… I could not believe my own stupidity. The way some of these scars looked made me think that Raoul had not been a boy for a very long time. Old scars faded to white lines were visible on the few portions of skin that had not received any new injuries. This was not the life I had ever thought a nobleman would lead. This almost made me sick. I had been tortured and beaten myself. And, here I was angered for some unknown reason with the fact that I was certain that Raoul had more scars on his body than I did. More scars than I had. I had never thought it possible. I did not know where this anger was directed, but I knew one thing.

This blood that stained my hands was not supposed to be there. I had not even planned on killing him. I was actually trying to save someone. It was a first in my life. There had been many firsts in my life with Raoul: my first polite conversation, my first kind laugh, my first compassionate feeling, and now this, my first act of desperation for a life that was not my own.

Holding the material against his wound was only a temporary solution though. I would have to obtain some bandages from above. Until then, I would have to wrap him to stop the blood while I left. Taking some of the strips of material, I began to wrap Raoul's abdomen. I started to turn him onto his side so that I could move the material around him when I stopped abruptly once more.

His back.

I had forgotten all about his back. The curiosity had been great at that time, but I had managed to contain myself. It seemed so long ago. I had not known what to expect from his strong reaction back then, but I knew this had not been it. I could now understand why he would not want to lean on his back. Hadn't I thought that he would never understand what I had gone through? Didn't I believe that he had been pampered as a child?

The welts that littered Raoul's back made me wince. There were new cuts and bruises that were still healing, but it was the older ones that were beneath them that made me unconsciously tighten my grip on his arm. It was obvious that they had not healed properly due to not receiving the proper attention. I grazed my fingers over the welts, tentatively. They were raised and firm. These were old scars. Scars that would probably never fade. I realized that these looked like disciplinary wounds. No wonder he had listened to me immediately when I gave him that order to breathe.

I touched them again, this time with a little more pressure. I was confused for a moment when my fingers felt something sharp. Not enough to cut me, but it made me pause. I carefully turned Raoul so that he was on his stomach and took a closer look.

There were porcelain pieces imbedded in his back. The skin had healed over them.

I felt the anger building again. I felt so frustrated. I wanted to do something, but what? I wanted to scream and hurt something. I wanted to hurt someone badly. Not just anyone though. I felt murderous intent towards whoever had done this to Raoul.

Not because it was Raoul, I reasoned, but because I hated people who tortured others so badly. It was not for justice that I was fighting. It was not to save the weak and innocent. It was to get revenge for the many times I had been hurt and was not able to obtain my retribution. I felt this way only because I wanted to retaliate for every unpleasant memory I had experienced. There was no other reason.

My vengeance would have to wait though. I finished wrapping Raoul's abdomen and let him sleep on his side. I pulled extra blankets out and placed them on him before leaving to find Madame Giry. Grabbing a shirt, I pulled it on.

Madame Giry would be my only recourse. She would have supplies and I knew she would let me have them.

I found her alone walking through the hallway from the girls' dormitory. Making my presence known, she nodded almost imperceptibly and walked quickly to her room. At least she was discrete.

Entering her room, I bowed quickly, "I need some bandages. Many bandages."

She looked at me strangely, but she moved around the room gathering what medical supplies she had. She looked me once over.

"I'm not injured."

She raised an eyebrow at me, "I had deduced that. How is the Vicomte doing?"

I glared at her. I was not in the mood to have small talk. I did not have time to waste, "He has seen better days."

"Indeed," she said vaguely.

I felt defensive. Not every injury was my fault. A vast majority was but in this case, it was not. The assumption just did not sit well with me. I would not defend myself though.

Seeing my annoyance, Madame Giry quickly bundled up the large quantity of gauze and cloth and handed it to me.

I turned to leave, but before I left Madame Giry said, "The Comte is in the building. I would check on Christine."

I glanced over my shoulder quickly before leaving.

I paused. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him what I had to," she responded grimly.

Those words meant that the she had told him my origins. She had told him what had made me become a monster. It was a betrayal, yet I felt no urge to kill her. Too much blood had been spilt this night. So much that even I had somehow reached my limit. My lust for blood had been gorged. She looked resigned to death though. I would have once found it amusing, but could find no such emotion.

"He wants to kill you Monsieur."

I nodded and left. Who did not want to kill me? That list had been short to begin with, while it seemed the list of potential adversaries increased daily. If I was not careful, the list of those who did not want to kill me may be less one person.

However, Madame Giry's words made me walk away from my home and towards Christine's room. I was torn, but old worries were difficult to ignore.

I should check on Christine? What did Madame Giry know?

I arrived behind the mirror of Christine's room and was pleased to see that she was alone. She was very agitated, which was another thing I was pleased to see. She should not be happy. She should be worried. Raoul was missing and in fact, he was almost dying. He had lost a lot of blood and had yet to wake up. She should be in pain as well.

This was all wrong though. This was not going as I had initially planned. I should not have stolen the ring from her. She was not supposed to be afraid of my opera. Don Juan Triumphant was our play. It was meant to bring us together, not tear us apart.

Still, my concern for her was nothing.

I realized that I was glaring at her. In truth, I did not care. She had mistreated Raoul. She had dragged him all around the place and probably had made him stretch his wound. Not only that, she had purposefully hid from him which had further aggravated his wounds. I gave her a parting glare and was about to leave when someone entered the room.

The Comte. It had to be.

He looked much older than Raoul though. I could see Raoul growing up to look something like him. However, he had none of the softness of Raoul. His blonde hair was short and his face was stern. There was none of the innocence that Raoul seemed to radiate no matter how he tried otherwise.

I immediately disliked him.

He had an expression of concern. Instinct told me otherwise though. I could not say that his mask was flawed because I could almost believe that he was truly concerned. However, what I knew told me otherwise. It had been the Comte's name that had been spoken so often when Raoul had been missing. It had been the Comte that had sent the message that had taken Raoul away from the opera house that day. It had been the Comte who had taken care of the business of the opera house while the "Vicomte had been on vacation." It had been the Comte that had kept visiting Christine.

No, this man was not concerned. He had to know what had been occurring with Raoul. He simply could not have been left unaware.

He cleared his throat and Christine finally saw him.

I frowned when she ran into his arms, sobbing loudly. What had happened between them when I had been writing my opera? Was she so fickle that she found another suitor already? And Raoul's brother no less. She was indeed searching to marry well. She was searching to marry for money, for title, for prestige. I found myself questioning whether she would ever love me; if she even could.

The Comte smiled. He smiled. The man was already angering me. He must have wanted this to happen. The Comte had his own motives.

"It's horrible. Just horrible." She wailed.

He shushed her. I wondered if that sound had really come from her. She had always sounded like an angel to me. She had always been an angel. Had something changed?

Now, I was not sure for what reason she was exactly upset. She was crying too loudly and too much. She could not be that worried that I had made demands of them for my opera to be performed. It was a common occurrence for my wishes to be fulfilled. She had never reacted so adversely before. It had to be that she was upset for another reason. She had not seemed upset to me at all when Raoul had broken off the engagement. In fact, if I had been correct, she had already found another dance partner. She had only seemed infuriated. What was she so distressed about now?

The Comte led her to her bed and sat down beside her.

His voice was soft when he said, "Tell me what happened."

Though his voice was gentle, it was in the way he spoke that spoke volumes. He was arrogant. He expected her to follow his command. He had not asked her what had happened. He had demanded to know. No tone of voice could hide that fact.

"You were right," Christine began, "All this time you were right. Raoul is nothing but a little boy. A fickle little boy."

Her face had been leaning on his shoulder, so she missed the smirk that was on his face.

Reading the Comte was a little difficult, but I was particularly looking for these facial expressions. I could not feel at ease around him and I needed to know what exactly he was planning. I needed to know if I was simply being paranoid.

"I didn't believe you at first," at this she looked up, and his look changed to sympathetic. He was acting. I was certain now. Whatever emotion he was showing was contrary to what he was feeling. Christine continued, seemingly satisfied with the look, "I didn't think that he would be so petty, but just like you were telling me before, he's nothing but a philanderer."

I almost laughed aloud. Raoul, a philanderer? He was loyal almost to a fault. He had threatened me of all people because he had cared for her. He had promised her everything she ever desired. He was the philanderer?

Now, I knew what the Comte had been doing visiting Christine so often. He had been trying to separate them. He had been trying to poison her mind into believing that Raoul was not the one for her. I doubted that even if all the Comte had said was true, Christine would still marry him. She had not chosen him because of love. She had not chosen him because of his devotion. She had chosen him for his money and title.

I could change her though. I could make her see that her search for wealth was nothing to what true love was. I kept telling myself that at least. I knew she was opportunistic. I knew it, but I could hope for no one else. I had chosen her over solitude, and I would remain with that choice.

She began to weep once more, and I felt the stirrings of frustration. She was overdoing it. I was certain that even the Comte knew she was faking.

I could not fight the feeling of disgust. She was indeed a little lying Delilah, the viper that I had called her before. She had been perversely fascinated with my looks. She had shied away but had realized her mistake. She had realized that she still needed me. Therein laid the problem. She no longer needed me. She no longer needed my tutelage. She believed she was already good. She believed that she could sing perfectly. That was not entirely true. She had always been able to sing well, but it was passion that she lacked. She could reach notes and her tones were clear enough to astound almost every opera visitor. However, to those not blinded by her good looks would realize that though she had the correct expressions, gestures, and tone, she lacked the depth. She lacked the true passion. Even as she cried, it seemed a parody of the real emotion.

"So, what exactly did happen?" he prompted.

Christine leaned back and composed herself. She turned off sorrow so easily. "During the masquerade, I approached him and was trying to get him to dance. He refused and suddenly, he says that we should break the engagement off."

Observing the Comte, I was sickened to realize that they were the same. The Comte just like Christine held nothing within him. He had forced himself to look surprised. A parody of emotions. I had never felt so revolted with masks in my life.

She nodded fervently and added in pure disbelief, "And then the gall of him to ask when I was running away to try to contain my sadness if he could have the ring back."

It had been a shock that he had asked for the ring. I expected the Comte to look shocked, but instead, he looked more smug than shocked. Could he have been the reason Raoul so badly had wanted the ring? I could understand the fact that the Comte did not want Raoul to marry Christine because she did not have the proper stature. Their marriage would have been the gossip of the entire town. The Chagny name would have been blemished, but what power did the Comte have over Raoul? Could he have actually harmed his own brother?

I ignored Christine. She was going to give me a headache. She was going to make me despise her more – if that were even possible.

I focused on the Comte. I focused on the thought that maybe I had indeed found Raoul's torturer. I could not be certain though.

"Then I remembered about what you said about him," She looked at him with doe eyes. She had always liked to look at herself in the mirrors. It had been to my benefit before because I had also liked to look at her, but now, I could not help but feel she was too conceited. She continued, "I remember how you said that he had done this before: asking for a girl's hand in marriage and changing his mind the last moment. I remember that you said the others were able to keep their rings and that I should too. So I refused."

The Comte had the daring to grin.

I shut my eyes and punched the concrete wall. Letting out a shaky breath, I opened my eyes slowly. Focusing on the floor, I felt like punching the wall again. The Comte was indeed cruel enough to have been the one to hurt Raoul. He was playing both Raoul and Christine. I had a suspicion that Christine knew it and was playing along for her own reasons, but I wondered if she knew to what extent, Raoul was being broken.

These two were so full of deceit that I wondered if they understood that the games they were playing would all come to an end. Their masks would be found out and their lives broken. I hoped I would watch their descent. I hoped they would join me in hell.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and squeezed just a bit. She turned into his arms and hugged him.

I could not bring myself to care. I could not bring myself to be angered that she was being so loose with the Comte. How could I ever hope that she would look past my masks if she would never look past her own? How could I have ever thought that she was the one? It had stopped being the belief that she was the one though. It had all become the fact that there was no one else.

"I tried to warn you," he said mournfully, "I was only looking out for you. He's still such a boy. He doesn't know anything about sadness and pain. What he does to people is so horrible."

I felt myself scoff at his words. Unfortunately, they were words I knew all too well. It was a sentiment of which I had been convinced not too long ago. Christine nodded.

She continued her version of the evening, "Then later on, the Opera Ghost ruins the masquerade. He comes and threatens us all and gives us an opera that he had written."

She sighed and I wondered why she had done so. It was a sound of which I was familiar. She sighed whenever she thought I was listening. She sighed in hopes that I would speak to her and find a way to make her smile. I had done so many times in the past. She would sigh and I would run to her beck and call. It was a sigh that had began her singing lessons. It was a sigh that had made me believe that I was the only she needed. It was a sigh that made me believe she would want me. I had done so many things for her. I had tried to give her everything she desired. I was fool. I was still a fool. Why she would sigh right now was confusing. Did she still want me to believe I was anything but a pawn for her?

She continued her story and the Comte continued to look concerned and nod in the right places, "He grabbed the ring from my neck and exited through a trap door in the floor. Raoul ran after him, and that was the last I have heard of him since. Madame Giry says to be wary because he has been taken."

"Yes," he replied somberly, "we must all be careful. Especially you. We wouldn't want to let poor little Raoul's sacrifice go to waste."

He was clearly mocking Raoul. Still, Christine said nothing.

She nodded and put on a brave face. She looked at him pleadingly. I knew that she would reveal her ulterior motives, "You will help the opera house now that Raoul's gone missing, won't you?"

The Comte smirked. He understood what she was trying to do. He did not seem to mind though. I presumed it was either because the Comte was not as devious as he seemed or her motives were a part of his plan. I figured that it was the latter. I, on the other hand, was angry that she did not even pretend to worry about Raoul, had they not been childhood friends?

"Of course, I must find my baby brother. Nothing is more important than family and loyalty."

The words as he spoke them seemed so empty.

Christine further clung to him. I grit my teeth. I reminded myself that I loved her. "My heart hurts terribly so. I do not know what to do."

She swooned precariously away from his shoulder, and I wished she would fall. Instead, he steadied her and turned her to face him.

"They say the only way to cure heartache is to find a new love to soothe the pain," I strained to hear him say as he leaned closer to her.

She did not look confused. She did not even pretend to be confused. She had wanted this to happen. She probably wanted the same thing from him as she had wanted from Raoul. She wanted security, stability, and a title. However, it seemed that he also wanted something from her, and he would use her.

He leaned forward. I pressed closer to the glass holding myself back from just tearing it down. I did not want to disturb them. It was fascinating in an unsettling manner the way they acted. There was no kind emotion shared between them, no affection. They stared at each other as predators.

He kissed her brutally. He kissed her in a way that seemed more intent to hurt than to cause pleasure. Though it saddened me, I was not surprised to see that she returned in suit with fervor. She was no blushing virgin. I had known that. After her first leading role, she had many suitors. I could not watch her all the time and though she hid them well, I knew that they had existed. She was smart enough never to invite them into her room.

That kiss was no promise of love. It was a challenge. They were fighting for dominance.

She smirked when the kiss was through and he leered back.

Something in me shattered. They were the same people with the same personalities. They were made for each other. Maybe they were too similar, but I could see how their confrontation had aroused them. I could not love her. It was one thing to lie to myself. I could ignore her behaviour when it had been subtle. I could ignore it when I let myself believe that I was assuming too much.

But, when the kiss ended, there were no more lies. Both individuals in that room dropped all their masks. I could see the deceit and cunning clearly in them. Christine had dropped her mask for that man. I hated him all the more for it. In truth though, it only solidified the fear that had been within me all this time. I could never love that woman and she would never love me. There was no love in her for anyone but herself. I could not ignore it when she showed it so plainly.

Both of them were… I was at a loss of words.

Then the moment was gone. She smiled softly and turned coyly away, "You should go now. The others will probably check in soon. They would worry that I had been stolen by the Opera Ghost."

He stood up and smiled in a gentlemanly manner. Bowing to her, he replied, "Of course, and be safe while I try to figure this out."

I left immediately.

I had left Raoul alone for far too long. I had let myself become distracted. I had let myself see too much.

I suddenly knew the words that had been in my mind.

Both of them, they were monsters that hid beneath civil masks.

Another first happened that night, I suddenly feared for my life. Christine joining the Comte would only spell disaster for me. She knew where I lived and she had means to get to me. I could set up defenses, and I knew that I would put up a valiant fight. However, even as I did not play fair, it was odd to think that even as I had limitations to what I would do, I did not think that those two did. I was certain that they would stop at nothing to obtain what they desired. I was at a disadvantage since I did not know what that was.

However, they did not know what I desired. In fact, I did not know what I desired. There was only one thing clear to me at this moment. I did not want Christine.

I finally reached my home and saw that Raoul had not moved since I left him.

Moving to his side, I let all the worries slip away. I focused on the one question that may clear my mind. I wondered what I was doing. Why was I doing this? Curiousity. Obsession. Sympathy. I did not have sympathy though. I had asked thought to myself earlier, was there anyone who deserved my pity?

I unwrapped the bandages and laid Raoul on his stomach again. Taking out my knife, I began to take the porcelain pieces out one by one. There's many and I had to cut open the wounds just to remove them. It was tedious work and would have caused him much pain if he had been conscious.

When everything was done, I cleaned his wounds and rebandaged them. I removed the rest of his clothing only to see that he had wounds and scars on his legs as well. I left him to get a cloth and to fill up a bucket from the lake. It would be cold but he needed something other than alcohol with which to be cleaned. While I was cleaning his body, my mind was blissfully empty. I did not want to think of the why's anymore. I did not want to think of what was to happen now. I only knew that I had to clean him. However, my mind was making a mental diagram of every wound and every scar I saw. There were many to note.

I picked up his hands only to pause again. Like his back, there were pieces of porcelain embedded in his palm. I sighed and pulled out my knife once more. I was glad that Madame Giry had given me a large amount of bandaging material. I had thought it had been excessive at first, but now I saw that it was barely enough. I pulled out the porcelain pieces and noticed the dark bruising around his right wrist. He had been shackled. I had noticed some light bruising around his right ankle, but they blended with the other bruises that he had so I thought nothing of it. However, this bruise had not healed very well. There was a scar on his wrist, which had slowed the healing so that it was obvious he had been restrained. I forced myself to slowly breathe out. My anger would only harm him more.

I bandaged his hands and finished cleaning him.

I pulled his hair out of the tie and looked at him. I just looked at him for a moment suddenly unsure of everything I had hoped to be. Some part of me had always compared the Vicomte with myself. It was inevitable since in the beginning, it had seemed as though Christine had chosen him because he had something that I lacked. It was easy to believe. The Vicomte had been charming, handsome, and kind. He was everything I was not. I had hoped that some part of me contained the same virtues.

Now though, I could see what society did to those with such virtues. Such people slowly died. I would not die. I had more vices than virtues and it would seem that they had kept me alive. However, there was still that part of me that did not want the Vicomte, did not want Raoul to lose this battle.

Pulling up the blanket, I checked his temperature. He was a little warm, but nothing too dangerous.

I pulled up a seat at bedside and sat down. I watched him. There were so many unanswered questions. Unfortunately, there were some that had been answered as well.

How could I have been so wrong about a person? How could I have watched this boy for so long now and still know nothing about him?

I wondered why the hell Raoul had been up and moving at all. It was probably because of my ultimatum. However, I figured that the Comte played a larger role in Raoul's newly obsessive nature.

I reached forward. I had spent this night touching someone so freely. The familiar need to recoil had not once bothered me. It could not. My hands had helped someone. I had helped someone. What was it about Raoul that made my masks fall? I had been a monster. I had never been anything but one to others. Now, I was not. I had dropped my mask.

I brushed aside the hair that I had admitted myself to liking. I did not know what this feeling was. It reminded me of the rooftop. It reminded me of clarity and of calmness. I should not be calm though. I had given up on Christine. I had finally let myself choose to be alone. There was no one else. Or was there?

The moment he had walked in through the door, my attention had been caught. Had it been simply because of the unanswered questions? So many things that I felt I had a right to know. He had almost broken his word to me. I knew that should have meant nothing to me, but I had believed him. I had believed him when he said that he would break his engagement with Christine. I had thought myself to be a fool and this boy almost made it so.

But…

But he had kept his word. He had broken the engagement.

He had been nothing but forthright and honest.

I had wondered if there was anyone who deserved my pity. This boy did.

Raoul, somehow in this one day, had become mine to protect.

o.o.o.o

End ch14

word count: 8,490

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

Chapter review: Erik has made a complete U-turn.

But will Raoul be brave enough to return the affection? (He's such damaged goods. We don't know.)