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

Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Story continuation of A Mask for All Occasions. Warning: Character death.

Warning(s): violence, character death (I don't know if I should apologize for not putting this up in the beginning, but I just had to tell you this now. It's going to happen to someone and I hope this won't turn you off from reading the rest of the story (heck, you came this far). Push on, I swear it only gets better.)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

Story note:

Everything's set now. And, if you don't read the warnings or the revised summary of the story, it's been decided that someone's going to die. It's going to suck so much… well, that someone dies, but I think the story's better because of it. Like I said in the warning: I hope I don't lose any of you because of the character death. I'm telling you the story can only get better from here on out, and I'm writing a lot more (this is more like an A/N than a story note, so I'll stop now).
Oh, and there's going to be 23 chapters, not counting the epilogue because that's just fake closure.
But now you're wondering, who's going to die. There's the usual suspects. You'll just have to keep reading to find out. It's not happening in this chapter, but I thought you should know.

Chapter note:

This is the misunderstanding chapter. I know you hate these chapters because I do too, but there are some nice parts though and some parts that seem slow but are necessary to set the mood. If it makes you feel better, Chapter 17 has almost too much going on in it. XX

o.o.o.o

Unmasking the Chains

Chapter 15

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Raoul's POV

o.o.o

Last time (had been Philippe's POV; Raoul was unconscious):

Mother shook her head affectionately, "You have always been fond of games. You be careful now though."

I looked at her in mock astonishment, "I am always serious. I know of no such games."

Laughing, she responded, "You have always had a penchant for games. Raoul was just never strong enough to take it."

I smiled at her. At least, I had her approval. Now, I would have to set everything in motion.

o.o.o

Raoul's POV

I woke up slowly and reveled in the heavy feel of my body. It was the most relaxed I would feel all day and I did not want to lose that feeling already. Going back to sleep sounded like a very good idea. However, my left hand was going numb. I tried to make my body listen to me long enough so that I could turn over to my other side, but I did not have enough strength to. I settled for sleeping on that side since I generally avoided sleeping on my back. Sleep was already calling me back so I ignored the numbness and dozed off.

I half awoke a little while later when I thought I felt something shift. However, getting up did not seem to be a viable option. My body felt weak and sore. I pulled the blanket up higher and tried to hug the pillow that was beneath my head but moving only caused me pain. I slowly managed to curl myself up in a fetal position. The stinging sensation dulled long enough for me to let the warmth of my bed lull me back to sleep. I did not want to wake just yet because then I would have to think about everything. Unlike right now, when I did not think my brain was working at all. Sleep. That was all I wanted. I let my mind drift.

I felt a wave of déjà vu. I was not awake enough to really understand why, but I could almost hear a knock on my door and my mother calling to me.

I ignored it in favor of the warmth. After a while though, it was almost too hot. I whimpered. The heat was not entirely uncomfortable but the heat compounded with the fact that it felt as though I had too many blankets on me was almost suffocating. I struggled to push the blanket down but every time I thought I made progress, the blankets would be firmly covering me. I whimpered again when my movements suddenly hurt.

I calmed down when I felt a cool hand on my forehead. It felt nice. It was a perfect offset to the warmth.

I reached up and grabbed the hand with both of my own curling my body toward it. I pressed the coolness to my cheek. Yes, now everything was perfect. I hugged the arm that I had trapped and let myself relax.

I was drifting back to sleep when I felt the arm I was hugging pulling away. I held on tighter. Someone cleared their throat. I struggled then to wake up but my whole body was still asleep.

I opened my eyes just barely to stare at the hand that was still in my possession. It was a man's hand with rough and calloused but long fingers… a musician's hand. Following up the arm, I dreaded what I would see. My mind was slow to waking and the pieces of the last month were barely falling into place as I became more aware of the pain shooting through my body. I stopped my eye's journey at the shoulder and closing my eyes, I let go of the Phantom's hand.

Maybe I was still dreaming. However, I was too awake now for me to even believe I could still be asleep. My racing heart and the pain in my side were glaring indicators that I was indeed awake.

What was I doing here? All I remembered was chasing him. Then, he had attacked me. How could I have been so weak? I had passed out. Madame Giry should have found me, but he had obviously taken me.

"Are you still sleepy?"

He sounded calm. He did not sound like he wanted to injure me further, but I could not take any more chances. I would not be able to struggle against him in my condition. Would he even hurt me though? He had asked if I was sleepy. That did not sound like a dangerous question.

I took a moment to think about it. Was I still sleepy? My body still ached but my mind was completely alert by now. I would not be able to sleep fall asleep so easily. That was odd. I had been exhausted this morning. No amount of sleep had seemed to help yesterday, but now I was fine? I wondered how long I had been asleep.

I did not open my eyes, but I slowly shook my head to answer his question. I could not look at him. I did not want to face whatever was to come just yet but I could not even turn to face the other way.

I wondered what he was planning to do to me. I was certain he knew I had already broken the engagement off. I thought we had somehow understood each other at the masquerade.

I did not want to think about that evening though. Had it been a few hours ago or yesterday already? All I knew was that I wished to never have another night like it. It had started out poorly simply because of the stab wound, but then there was that near panic attack, Christine's careless treatment with my wound, her slapping me and then having to chase her around the opera house. Then, the Phantom stole the ring.

The ring.

Philippe was going to be so mad that I did not get the ring. He probably would not believe that I had broken the engagement without it. I would be chained in the cellar once again. I hated the cellar. I hated that I could be a prisoner in my own home. I hated that place. It was not home. It was nothing but a cage.

Philippe would be so angry. He could not hold it against me that I had been captured trying to do what he wanted, could he? He would. Philippe was going to kill me.

Once the realization set in, my eyes fly open in horror.

"I thought you had fallen back asleep."

I finally looked at him. I had forgotten that he had even been there. What was I doing?

He met my eyes and held them. I felt myself calming down from his steady gaze. His eyes were blue. I had forgotten how clear they looked. I had forgotten how intense his gaze could be. I tore my eyes away. I had also forgotten that I could lose myself in his eyes. It was unnerving. It was unnerving to be so entranced by that shade of blue. More so, it was unnerving how exposed I felt. It was as though he could see my very thoughts.

I forgot all about the ring and Philippe. I had other things to worry about. However, that was the strange part. I was not as worried as I knew I should have been. He was a murderer. He had killed before. How could I forget that so easily? Yet, whenever I looked at him, I did not see the Opera Ghost or the Phantom. All I seemed to see was a man. He was no shadow in the darkness or the looming figure in the background. He was real. He was here.

I was in a bed with the Opera Ghost beside me. He was not acting like the terrorizing Opera Ghost, so I could not treat him as though he were. I glanced up at him sheepishly. I could not tell if he was angry, but he did not sound it. All I knew was that his anger was often the reason things went awry in the opera house. As long as he was not angry, I considered myself safe. I stared down at the bed and shook my head again. He could not have brought me to my estate. I doubted that he had taken a room in the opera house since the rooms that were non-dormitories were mostly used for storage. So, unless he had taken me outside of the opera house, I had to be in his bed.

I flushed for some reason. He had been kind to me once again. In truth, I did not know what to expect from him. He had attacked me. However, I had chased after him and had been waving a sword at him after he had just laid claim to Christine in front of everyone. It was all for the ring though. I sighed. That was hardly a good reason.

There was not any way to really redeem myself from that night. I had not been thinking at the time I jumped into the trap. Honestly, I had not been thinking very much that entire night. I could not remember much. I only remembered that I needed to retrieve the ring. Though I should have, I had not been thinking about the Phantom very much. I was in his territory, yet I was worried more about Philippe who had not even been there. I guessed that to him it must have seemed as though I was trying to kill him. It was only natural to subdue opponents.

However, the thing you did not do was kidnap opponents, unless you were going to kill them. No, that was incorrect. Why kidnap when you can kill right away? Was he planning to torture me? I tried to subtly move away. No more. I could not stand any more pain. However, moving only hurt me further. I shifted the blankets around, pulling them tighter against me.

Something was off though. I slowly pulled my arm out from under the blankets and stared at it in puzzlement. I pulled out my other arm. They were bandaged. I peaked under the blankets and flushed a deeper red. I was naked. It looked like I had enough cloth on me to make a whole set of clothes, but I was very much naked in this bed.

I looked up at the Opera Ghost mortified and pulled the blanket tighter against me. I could swear that he was smiling, but it was difficult to tell. It did not matter. He was probably just laughing at me. He was probably amused that the arrogant Vicomte was really just worthless plain Raoul.

I fought the urge to pull the blanket above my head and instead settled for a focused glare at the edge of the bed. I wanted to run away. I wanted to hide. He knew. He knew how weak I was. He knew how ugly and dirty I was. It should not have mattered to me because we were nothing to each other, but it did. It mattered to me because no one else knew of my scars. No one else knew what memories lingered just beneath the layers of clothing I wore. No one else but Philippe, but he had been the one to give them to me. I had hoped that the one I could share these scars with would be the one. That person would be the one for whom I could drop my masks, for whom I could just be myself, for whom I could be weak around without fear of judgment.

Frustrated, angry tears clung to the corner of my eyes. Tears that I was surprised existed but tears that would never fall. This was all wrong. This was the worst thing that could have happened. It was not fair. My life was not fair. Why did it have to be him? I could not bear to look up at him.

I had admired him. I had thought we could understand each other. I had hoped that we would be on good terms eventually. I had hoped to live vicariously through him when he married Christine.

Christine. He was going to have Christine. She loved him, did she not? She talked to mirrors and spoke fondly of him at times. They would live happily. He would find his happiness and I would be glad that someone like me would be able to live. But, although I knew we had some similar characteristics, we were not the same. I was so much worse. I was worthless.

Now, he would know just how different we were. He would see how where he had been strong, I had been weak; where he had triumphed over his adversaries, I had failed; where he had simply been born deformed through no fault of his own, I had been given each flaw through one painful experience after another through my own faults. I was pathetic.

I wondered how the Phantom would use this knowledge against me. We were no longer rivals though. He would not need to do anything to me. I hoped he would not.

All thought stopped when I saw from the corner of my eye the hand he had reclaimed reaching toward me.

I recoiled, flinching. He was probably going to chastise me. My heart beat painfully against my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter. It was best to not tense up when being beaten because you had less of a chance to be injured that way, but I could not seem to relax. My wound protested against my response. However, nothing happened. Slowly, I opened my eyes. I swallowed nervously and let out a shaky breath.

I looked at the Phantom uncertainly. His hand had frozen in midair. I could not tell what he was thinking, but he apparently had not expected such a reaction from me. Was he angry or annoyed? Philippe would have punished me right away for such a reaction. He had seen the scars though. Did he not realize how I had gotten them?

I could not help but wonder what was wrong with me. I could usually suppress my flinches. I had learned to mask all the common reactions. I had learned to not flinch, to not tense, to not fight back. In short, I had learned to ignore my survival instinct. I had to. It was ironic but I simply could not have survived any other way since Philippe would only be incessant otherwise. I had not reacted this badly since I was a child. Yet here I was with the Phantom proving how weak I really was. Philippe had been right about me. I was useless.

I did not look at him for very long.

Part of me could not. I worried that maybe he was like Philippe and waited until you made eye contact before striking. Philippe had always said it was better when the person knew it was coming. You could gauge how strong a person was with how well he could receive pain. That however, did not mean Philippe would not hit a person unawares, if that afternoon so long ago were any indication.

Part of me did not want to. I did not want to look at him because I was ashamed of who I was. I was hideous. There was nothing worthwhile in me. Maybe, just maybe I deserved to be hit. I was not good enough. I was horrible as a Vicomte. I was horrible as a patron. I could barely be Raoul well enough and what good I did do was only because there was no one to compare to.

It was best to get it over with sooner than later though. I looked at him and he reached out to me again. Still, to my frustration, I could not suppress my flinch. He did not hit me though. He gently placed his hand against my forehead. This time I froze. I realized how soothing his touch really was. Somehow, his touch calmed me. Maybe it was simply the knowledge that he was not going to hit me, but I felt my muscles relaxing. My wound was glad for it. I looked away because I did not know what to think about my own reaction. I was so confused.

"Are you hot?" He pulled his hand away.

Suddenly, I was nervous once again. What if he had simply done that to make me complacent? Was the blow going to happen when I least expected it? Philippe had used that tactic before. He would not strike me only to make the actual hit a surprise.

I shook my head. I winced though. My side was hurting badly since I could not seem to relax.

He grabbed my chin firmly. I shut my eyes in fear. I could not pretend with him for some reason, and it scared me more than Philippe's wrath. I could not be the confident Vicomte. I could not be the attentive patron. I could not be the good son or the complacent brother. I could not be any of those things. And I did not understand why. I had lived role to role all my life. What was stopping me from doing so now? All I did know was that I could not be strong anymore. I could not pretend that it did not hurt when I was hit. I could not pretend to stare at my assailant with a straight face. I could not keep the screams within me. Not right now. Not with him. The wave of realization was frightening. My life depended on my ability to do all those things. I had only survived this long because of these traits. They were simply facets of the mask I wore. A mask that was indispensable.

It was the mask I wished never existed, so why was I fighting so hard to keep it now?

"Look at me."

Through sheer compulsion, I did so. I stared at him. I saw no mask though. The porcelain mask seemed to not exist when he was staring at me so intensely. He seemed angry. Angry was bad. Angry meant pain. I tried to pull my head away, but the motion only caused me to wince from pain.

"Stop moving, you'll only reopen the wound."

I shook my head. I was panicking. His touch was not calming this time. His grip was not so tight that it hurt, but it was restrictive. I knew I would not be able to get away. I knew I was trapped.

"Relax," he stared at me intently as though he were trying to make me stop moving from just his gaze, "I'm not planning on hurting you." He paused a moment to let the words sink in for me. I nodded shortly. "So, stop moving."

I relaxed. He said so himself that he was not going to hurt me. I believed him. I absolutely believed him.

He let me go and I looked down at the bed. How could I not believe him? He had yet to lie to me. He only seemed to test me. When we had last spoken, he had not harmed me. It seemed as though he was simply trying to expose everything about me. He had pushed me against the chair not to hit me, but to test my reaction. What was he thinking when he did such things? There were secrets that should be kept.

However… however, there were no more secrets. He had exposed them all. He had seen all my wounds. He had seemingly tended to all my wounds. I should thank him. I should say something, but my throat had closed. Someone else knew my shame. I took a deep breath and looked up at him.

He was just staring at me. I doubted that he had looked away at all. How long had he been staring at me?

"Thank you," I whispered. I lifted up my hands feebly and indicated the bandages. I looked away once again.

He leaned forward and I flinched again. I knew he was not going to hurt me, and yet my body would not believe it. My body was finally allowed to respond to such fears. My body was finally able to respond normally even though my mind said otherwise.

He did not hit me. Instead, he brushed some loose strands of hair behind my ear. I could feel my face heat up. What… why… why did he just do that? I had not realized that my hair had even been there.

Before I could think anymore on it, he leaned back and stated almost conversationally, "You have a lot of injuries," he paused to think for a moment, "and a lot of scars."

How was I supposed to respond to that? He probably wanted an explanation. I could not though. I could not tell him that I had let my brother, my own flesh and blood do this to me because I had always been a problem child. I could not tell him that I deserved these wounds because I was not as good as I should have been. I could not tell him that these wounds, these scars were reminders.

Scars. I knew all about scars. I knew how they stayed not physically but mentally and emotionally. They were ever-present. Some scars could fade from sight unlike others, but none of the ones I had received could ever fade from my mind. I could remember every scar that I had ever gotten and name why I had received it.

I could not tell him all of that, yet I could not bring myself to lie.

When I was still trying to think of what to say, he moved leaned forward and started to pull me up. I tried to help the process but I was confused. The Phantom took the pillow I had been laying on and stood it up. He leaned me against it.

"Will your back be okay with this?"

Still a little lost, I nodded. I noticed that his voice was strained though. He was suppressing some emotion. He was probably angry that I had not answered. Still, he had said that he would not hurt me, so I was not too worried yet.

"It's not as though I can sit any other way though," I said with a rueful smile, trying to make a joke to lighten the mood. His jaw clenched and he stood up abruptly. I winced. That had not gone very well. Perhaps it was a bad joke on my part, but it was true. Maybe he was going to leave me here. However, he only went as far as a small table.

He returned with a tray of food. I had not realized that I was hungry until I saw the food. The pain in my side had distracted me from the hunger pangs. He placed it on my lap and sat down. I stared at the food gratefully. It was a meager setting of a piece of bread, some cheese, and various fruits. I did not know how to thank him. It looked as though the Phantom had brought together everything he had for me.

When I did not touch it, he said gruffly, "You're hungry, are you not?"

I nodded and picked up the piece of bread. I realized that he must be hungry as well. I broke the bread in half and offered it to the Phantom. He stared at me as though I had grown another head.

I said uncertainly, "I'd rather not eat alone."

My arm still outstretched, he stared at the piece of bread. He grabbed it, but did not begin eating until I took a bite out of mine. We ate in silence but I could not help but feel a little giddy. This whole scenario felt a little unreal. He was being so nice. He was treating me well and though I flinched every time he reached towards the plate, I found myself to be calm. I secretly watched him eat in fascination. It seemed so precise. All his motions seemed so efficient as though he did not have time to waste. He was so controlled.

He reached forward, not to the plate, but to me and wiped the side of my lip without explanation. I stayed stuck in that position for a moment. It was probably some food particle, but I could not stop my heart from racing.

It was different, the way he touched me. Philippe only touched to hurt me. My mother only touched when she felt it was expected. Even then, it was quick, cold, and efficient, like a peck on the cheek to make it seem like she was a loving mother. She loved me, but she simply had a hard time showing it. I understood. When Christine had touched me, it had been as though it were a pantomime. Everything about her felt as a pantomime.

His touches though they were different. They were almost… reverent. More like caresses.

I coughed, choking on the piece of fruit I had been eating. What was I thinking? My face was warm and I could not seem to stop coughing. He grabbed my shoulders but seemed uncertain as to what to do.

"Are you okay?" He asked when I had finally stopped coughing.

I nodded vigorously. Now that I had thought that about his touches, I could not think of anything else. He let go slowly, for which I was relieved. Offering me a drink, I smiled softly at him in thanks.

He took the cup and the now empty plate and set them down. Sitting on the edge of bed, he sat close enough so that we were touching. My heart beat faster still. He was staring off to the side when he asked, "Where did they come from?" He looked at me, and I did not know what to do. The concern that I thought I had seen earlier was gone. He looked like he was barely restraining himself again. He seemed furious. His shoulders were tense and his hands were balled into fists. Yet I was not afraid. I did not think he would hurt me, but I could not understand why he was so angry.

What to answer though? I still could not reveal anything, but I still could not lie. Why did he have to look at me like that? He looked at me so calmly; I could almost believe he was not angry at all.

"What happened to you?"

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. I shook my head. "Please don't ask me that. Please."

We stared at each other in a deadlock.

He finally nodded, "Okay, I won't." He paused and I thought that he had dropped the topic altogether. He continued though, "I won't ask what if you tell me who."

He looked at me challengingly. I stared at him wide eyed. Why did he want to know? He would gain nothing from knowing who had hurt me. Maybe he was more worried that I would disappear again and the patronage of the opera house would be lost. Philippe had been here but maybe the Phantom knew that Philippe would not let the Opera Ghost run the Opera Populaire. That was probably it. The opera house was his home. He would be invested in who was the patron and he knew that he could obviously control me. I was nothing but a pawn. It seemed as though I could be nothing but a pawn.

The more important question then would be could I give up Philippe? Wouldn't it just make my situation worse? The Phantom would only fully understand my shame. He would only have more reason to despise me for my weakness, but looking at him, it seemed that I had no choice. He was not going to let this topic go. I sighed deeply. No one ever denied the Phantom's desires. I should have remembered that rule of the opera house. I should have remembered that I was no match for him. The Phantom was the real manager. The Phantom. Right now, he did not seem to me to be that villain. He was no spectre.

I had an idea, "I will tell you, but only if you tell me your name."

He seemed to waver but responded, "What if I have no name?"

"Then you shall receive none from me," I responded firmly.

He still looked reluctant, so I sat and just waited. At least he was not wondering about my scars anymore. I had nothing left to lose. I had lost all possibility of keeping some dignity the moment I had fallen into that trap. At least, this way I would know his name.

"A name for a name," he said aloud.

I nodded. He said nothing further and simply sat there. Suddenly, he grabbed my shoulders and with great care, pulled me until I was sitting upright.

"What?" I asked confused. He was doing it again. He could tell me what he was planning to do before moving me.

"I'm going to change your bandage," he replied.

"What?" What about his name?

"I said…"

I cut him off, "I heard you," I blushed realizing how abrupt I was being. "I thought you wanted to know about…" I let my sentence trail off.

He cocked his head to the side. I squirmed a bit at his close proximity. He had yet to release me. He had steadied me in a manner that could have been considered a loose embrace.

"I'm considering it," he replied simply.

I nodded dumbly. I had not been expecting that response, but then again, I could not think clearly when his hands kept touching me. I cursed my own brain for making me construe his touches as caresses. I was being presumptuous and I was certain it would only harm me.

He interrupted my thoughts when he asked, "Can you sit up without assistance?"

He released me just a bit and I tried to stay upright, but my wound screamed in protest. He must have realized because he was supporting me almost immediately.

"No," I replied more shakily than I would have liked, "I don't think I can."

We sat there for a moment without moving. I was still trying to calm down but with his arms around me, with his heat enveloping me, with his face so close I had to turn my face away, I simply could not. It wasn't possible. It felt as though I was drowning in him, and the scary thing was I did not mind. I did not mind it was him at all.

I had been searching for someone with whom I could share my secrets. He knew my secrets and I knew he could very well keep secrets himself. Although I had not divulged the information willingly, it had been done. I had been looking for a person with whom I didn't have to lie. I found myself unable to lie to him for what reason I could not actually determine. I had been looking for someone with whom I could drop my mask. I hadn't the strength to keep my mask on whenever I was with him.

This was it, wasn't it? The insight made me want to cry. This was for what I had been hoping, so why was it still all wrong? Maybe it was because we had been rivals. Maybe it was because I knew he wanted Christine so much. Maybe it was because I almost did not want to let myself believe it completely. But how could I fight it when I had been tiring in the struggle already?

I was certain that he was the one for whom I had been looking. He was the one. I was overjoyed and distraught at the same time. I already knew the outcome. I had known my life was not fair. I did not know why I had expected anything else. I may be able to be Raoul with him, but it did not mean he would be anything more to me. He hated me. He probably thought I was nothing but a pest. He was only helping me because I was the patron and I kept his opera house running. He was only doing this to get Christine. In fact, he was probably so in love with Christine that I was nothing but a hindrance.

I stopped ranting before I really did start to cry. I was so frustrated. The truth was that I did not know how he felt or how he would react, but I could not lose this without gaining something. It actually hurt to think about it now that I knew what was to occur. I had to at least enjoy what comfort I received from his presence right now. It could not be wrong of me to enjoy this.

He was having a hard time unraveling the bandages while having to hold me up. I saw this as an opportunity and wrapped my arms around his neck just tight enough to keep me upright. We were practically cheek-to-cheek. Though it had hurt to do so, I considered this pain well worth the effort.

He froze completely. I was glad that he could not see my face since I was blushing furiously. I was almost certain that he could feel the heat. I could not deny that it felt nice though. It may be the only time I ever hugged him and I would enjoy it. I offered rather lamely, "It's easier this way, right?"

He nodded his head and in doing so, our cheeks brushed against each other. My heart skipped a beat. He began unraveling the bandages once more without comment. He was probably repulsed but I could not help but think that happiness had to be being able to touch him. I did not know why I had not realized it when we had first spoken. All the signs had been there. I had been so comfortable in his presence. I had felt so at ease. Why couldn't I have realized this sooner? I tensed up and wished I hadn't.

I had been so distracted by his proximity and by my thoughts that it was only now that I realized exactly in how much pain I was. I let out a shaky breath.

He pulled my arm from behind his neck. "Lay down while I clean the wound."

I released my hold on him and leaned against the pillow tiredly. With half lidded eyes, I watched as he pulled out some alcohol and more bandages. The pain was overwhelming now that my focus was not elsewhere. I was starting to sweat from the pain. I focused solely on my breathing as he cleaned the wound. It did not look too bad. He lifted me up again and I immediately wrapped my arms around his neck. He began to rewrap the wound. It ached terribly; so much that I leaned my forehead against his shoulder without a second thought.

"Erik," he suddenly said.

Having only spoken orders to me so far, I was confused. I repeated slowly, "Erik?"

He replied evenly, "Yes, Erik."

I realized what he had given me. He had given me his name. I was able to forget about the pain as I thought about this development. I liked the name. It seemed to fit him. His hands were still deftly moving around my waist and I was certain that it was still painful, but he had given me his name. I wondered how many people knew it. I doubted many. It was nice to think that I was special, but then again, it may just be my imagination once more.

He finished bandaging while I was still musing. I was grinning madly as he leaned me back against the pillow. He looked at me in what I would have considered an amused expression.

"Erik," I said merrily.

He shook his head. "No," he said lightly, "that would be my name. You were going to tell me the name of who had done this to you."

"Erik," I repeated.

He raised an eyebrow but did not respond otherwise. I liked the name very much. However, I frowned when I realized that Erik was correct. I had to uphold my portion of the deal. I looked down at my hands avoiding his gaze.

"Philippe," I said considerably more somber.

When he did not say anything, I looked up. He was angry again.

"The Comte," he spat out. I nodded slowly.

He was about to stand up when I grabbed his hand. His momentum pulled me forward and I gasped in pain. In an instant, he seemed to have lost his anger.

He still spoke restrainedly, "What do you think you're doing?"

"You," I was not sure why I thought he would harm Philippe, but seeing his anger, I realized that it was not directed at me. It was directed at Philippe, "you aren't going to do anything are you?"

His eyes narrowed. He looked towards what I assumed to be an exit of his home and then back at me. He sat back down and stated firmly, "You aren't leaving."

He had to stop doing this to me. I couldn't follow his train of thought. I couldn't follow where he was going with his actions or what he was planning with the questions he asked.

"I'm not leaving?" I asked him hoping he would clarify.

He started to shift me downwards, "You need to rest."

He was going to tell me to sleep right now? What was he talking about? Still, I could not fight him when he forced me to lie down. I hated to admit it though that I was tired. I still needed to catch up on sleep, but I could not sleep right now. Erik was acting strangely. He was being to obscure for his own good.

"Sleep," he commanded. I glared at him, rather ineffectively, since he simply stayed seated on the bed watching me with an unreadable expression. I tried to keep my eyes open in rebellion but they were beginning to droop. His warmth was soothing. I had unconsciously curled my body to be as close to his heat as possible. I could feel myself falling asleep, but I did not want to.

I caught his gaze for a moment.

I wanted to tell him that I had to leave. I had to get back to my life. My life, that was a joke. I didn't want to return, but I had to. Things would only become harder the longer I stayed away. Philippe's anger would only increase. It was best if I returned soon or not at all.

I wanted to tell him that I needed to have that ring. I needed it more than he could understand. Or, maybe he would understand if I tried to explain it to him.

For some overwhelming reason, I wanted to tell him to not do anything stupid anymore. I was not sure what made me believe that he would hurt Philippe but his anger and his reaction to the revelation that Philippe had been the one to hurt me made me believe it. I was probably too conceited in my hopes that Erik would care for me, but I knew that Philippe would only see an attack as a challenge. If anyone tried to hurt him, he would not rest until that person was eliminated. Philippe was quite vindictive. Erik would get hurt. He would be caught. He would be treated as an animal. I did not want that to happen.

Yet, the only thing that came out was, "Stay." It was my own selfish desire to not be alone that took over before I fell asleep. I thought I felt him stay for which I was glad. I did not want to be so alone anymore. I may only have him for a short time, but I wanted to spend as much time as possible with him.

o.o.o

The next few days followed similarly in that state of pain, joy, and confusion. He was everything but cruel to me and I could not find fault in his actions. Everything should have been fine then. I should have been happy. I had been only myself. I had not had to be anyone else. Yet it felt as though my chains were still there. They loomed in the back of my mind waiting for the time when I would be tossed back into my life. This was not freedom. It was the illusion of freedom under the guise of some twisted relationship. I was still a prisoner.

I was slowly dying. The joy I felt was tainted with such sorrow that I found that I could not smile as much. It had been easier for me to give small smiles in thanks to Erik. He looked a little taken aback every time I did. Not many people probably smiled at him, and it was the least I could do for him. I could not do it any more though. It hurt to smile. It hurt to think of this as only temporary. There was no way this could be permanent though. It would not work. There was no possibility in this life for people like us. I had become a realist suddenly and it was horrible.

I had been bedridden for four days, if Erik could indeed tell day from night in this darkness. He kept candles lit at all times but it did little to expel the heavy shadows that weighed upon the very room. I did not mind it so much. I felt a little more at ease in this darkness. It was only in the light that I had to lie. In the darkness, I need not hide anything for it was hidden already.

I was actually allowed to heal without having to worry about receiving more. Everyday we ate together. Everyday he changed the bandages for my stab wound. Once, we went through the process of changing all the bandages, which I felt to be quite uncomfortable. He had taken out the porcelain pieces in my hands and back. I had thanked him awkwardly again. I had wondered why I needed bandages there.

It was thoughtful of him but it raised my hopes too high. It made me believe he could possibly care for me. That was wrong though. I knew why I could not be happy at this time. It had become painfully clear that Erik could never return the affection I had for him. The random touches, which I had started to anticipate, were coming less and less. It had probably just been my imagination. He in fact touched me only when absolutely necessary. In consolation, at least he still allowed me to hold him whenever he changed my bandages. He still ate with me. Maybe he pitied me. I had said that I did not like to eat alone.

I could not help but wonder who he was though. I had known him before only as a ghost who terrorized the opera house, dropping scenery, threatening the managers, kidnapping Christine, and killing Buquet. Then there was that time I had first spoken to him. He had been witty and civil though very forceful. Now he was kind and gentle with me. I could not find a way to reconcile the different personalities. I could not understand him. Why was he being so nice to me? I returned to the same two answers repeatedly: for Christine and for the Opera Populaire. That was all I was good for. I needed to be well. He was only being nice so that he could do what he wanted since I would owe him. I did not want to think such negative thoughts about him, but I couldn't think of any other reason.

He gave no indication of seeing me as anything but the patron, maybe an ex-rival. I had not thought it could hurt so much. It was not as if I really had him but to know I never could was slowly killing me. I needed to get away. Everyday I asked him for two things, the two things which my life currently relied upon. I asked him to release me. I mentally added 'or kill me', but I did not say it aloud in fear that he may actually comply; although death by his hand seemed better than by Philippe's. The second thing I asked of him was Christine's ring.

To both questions, he said nothing. He looked at me evenly with sad eyes and said nothing. He probably thought I was going to vie for Christine's attention again by taking the ring back. So, I did not push. A part of me wanted to stay. That part did not care how much it hurt to be around him. The rest of me wanted out though. I never liked pain. This was unnecessary and inevitable. It was best to leave now while I still had some shred of sanity.

Today was no different. We were eating what I considered lunch though I could never tell. I spent all my time sleeping and eating. I wondered where he slept if I was in his bed, but whenever I was awake he either sat by the bed or at the table that was not far away. He would have a sketchbook or some blank music sheets. Though his organ was in sight, he never played it. I thought it was quite a shame. Christine had always said he not only sang like an angel but played the organ like one as well. I had not heard either so far.

He took the plate away and helped me sit up though secretly, I could manage by myself. I had not wanted him to find out or else he would have told me to stop holding him. I wrapped my arms around his neck and breathed in deeply. For some reason, I only felt completely at ease when I was touching him, when I could breathe him in. He finished all too soon, and I let go of him reluctantly. Instead of letting me lay back down though, he threw the blankets off me completely. I covered myself as best as I could. He moved my legs to hang off the edge of the bed before pulling away.

I managed to stay upright. He scrutinized me as I sat there covered in bandages trying to hide my privates.

"I have seen it before," he quipped. At least, I knew his caustic wit was a constant.

"Well, you needn't see it again," I replied defensively, "What are you doing anyway?" I shivered a bit without the blankets.

He retrieved some clothes from the table and threw them at me. "Get dressed. I'm giving you the freedom you so desire."

I looked at the clothes uncertainly. He was letting me go? The wave of disappointment made me sway a bit. I had known this moment was to arrive eventually. I cursed the part of me that had hoped something would change between us, that something could. I slowly dressed myself, making sure he could not see my face. I had to compose myself, but the thought of leaving physically hurt me. I forced myself to focus on other things. I realized that the clothes were too large. I tried to pull the sleeves back, but they kept falling over my hands. He had given me his clothes. Focus. I had to stop thinking about him. It would only cause me more pain.

"The ring," I said, finally looking at him.

He helped me stand. I was a bit unsteady from not having moved in four days, but I managed to stand up with his help. He steadied me by grabbing my arms. The floor was cold and I did not have any shoes. Luckily, his pants were long enough that I could step on them.

"I'll return it," we were so close I could feel his breath on my face. Focus on the words. "in seven days."

I snapped out of my stupor, "Seven days?"

He nodded and began to move. I stumbled and he steadied me once more. My legs felt incapable of moving.

"I will return the ring to you only if you remain within my opera house for seven days. If you so much as step one foot out of the building, you should expect nothing from me. Your desires will mean nothing to me and I will do as I please."

I grabbed onto his arm so that I could stand straighter. "You don't want me to leave the Opera Populaire."

He looked down at me, and I suddenly realized our difference in heights. "Would you like me to notify the Comte?"

I looked at him in disbelief. Who was this man? I thought… I had been stupid enough to believe he wouldn't use that knowledge against me. I shook my head.

He nodded satisfied and asked, "Can you not walk?"

I released his arm, and shrugged off his touch. "I can." I couldn't. I just did not want him to touch me anymore. He was not only sending me away he was playing games with my life. I hated games. He reminded me of Philippe suddenly and that thought broke my heart. I had been slowly dying knowing that I would have to leave soon but now the thought of staying with him when he was like Philippe was worse. I had to. I would play the Phantom's game. I frowned a little when I realized I had thought of him as the Phantom. Once learning his name, I had only thought of him as Erik. Now though, he seemed to be the Phantom.

I stepped forward determinedly and was pleased to see my leg hold. However, when I moved to step forward, my leg buckled and I would have fallen to the floor had he not caught me. I cursed loudly in my head.

"If you cannot walk," he lifted me to stand on my feet, "you only need to say so."

My jaw tightened. I did not feel like being lectured currently.

I once again shrugged off his touch when I was certain I could stand. I pulled the sleeves back annoyed that they kept falling forward. It was so frustrating. If he just left me alone, I would be fine. "I'll make it somehow. Just direct me to the exit."

I leveled him with a glare. He merely glared back. He looked just about ready to lose his patience. I didn't care. I had already lost mine.

He moved forward to help me. I swatted his hand away. Had I been the least bit composed, I would have realized what a horrible idea that had been, but I was too incensed.

"Just show me," I gritted out.

He scoffed harshly, "You can barely stand, boy."

I wanted to hit him then. I hated it when others called me a child. Philippe only considered me to be a little boy. I may be younger, but I was still a man.

He moved towards me again and grabbed my elbow. "Stop struggling or else your wound will open."

I needed him to get away from me. I pushed against his chest as hard as I could, "Then let it open."

My strength gave out though and he held firmly onto me. My legs had given out and he held me from under my arms.

"Are you done now?" He asked harshly.

Lifting me up to stand on my feet, I nodded my head slowly. I would not meet his eyes. I was still frustrated and angry. He was still too close.

He suddenly hefted me up into his arms, bridal style and began walking, as though my pride could handle anymore. He said nothing to me during the whole trip, and I hated myself for enjoying being held like this. I had crossed my arms though in rebellion though I really just wanted to hold him.

He suddenly stopped walking and set me down. I looked left and right down the passageway and realized I should have been paying attention to where he had been walking. To what end though? I would never return. This was it. He leaned against the wall and then tripped a wire that made the wall shift.

He helped me out and I recognized the hallway. It was near the box seats. No one was around. He grabbed my face so that I would look at him. I expected him to release me, but his hand slid from my chin to the back of my neck. My heart beat faster.

"Watch Christine while you're here. We wouldn't want anything bad to happen to her."

His words caught me by surprise. He wanted me to be around Christine? Isn't that the opposite of what he should have asked?

"Seven days," he said. Then suddenly his hand as well as his presence was gone and I was alone in the hallway.

I looked around and stepped forward. I fell to the ground rather ungracefully. Sitting on the floor, I wondered how the hell I would get anywhere. "I can't walk, you bastard!" I yelled in frustration. I muttered to myself, "You could have at least left me where someone would find me."

I sat there for what felt like hours trying to compose myself before dragging myself to the wall. I somehow was able to stand and start moving. It was slow progress, but I made it to the main hall where luckily for me, Madame Giry spotted me.

"Vicomte!" she rushed to my side.

Her yell seemed to have echoed since the managers came running out.

"Vicomte."

I forgot that I had to be the Vicomte. I could still be injured though. I nodded to them curtly.

"Sorry for my absence. I had been roughed up and left to wander some tunnels. I barely made my way out of that labyrinth," I did not know where that lie had come from, but I was glad that I had thought it up. I had not even considered what to say to them.

The managers expressed their relief and their praise of my ingenuity. I wanted to roll my eyes, but I smiled gratefully to them instead.

"You must want to go home right away," Andre stated.

I shook my head, "After what the Opera Ghost has done?" I stated firmly, "I need to watch Christine to make certain that nothing happens to her. That fiend may do something. He already ruined the masquerade."

The managers looked uncertain as did Madame Giry. Madame Giry seemed suspicious of my story. I could not blame her. It seemed rather odd that I would find my way out, but the truth was stranger and probably unbelievable.

Firmin was about to reply when I heard a voice that made me stiffen.

"He's right," Philippe strolled up, "He should remain here."

The managers did not know what to say, so instead they nodded their heads. Philippe had that effect on people.

He walked up to me and hugged me tightly, enough so that my wounds hurt. "I'm so glad you have returned. We must talk."

I smiled and nodded in what I hoped to be an enthusiastic manner. Philippe grabbed my arm and squeezed so tightly I almost winced. It was his manner of warning me while helping me to walk.

The managers and Madame Giry moved away.

Philippe was practically dragging me the moment we were out of sight.

"Where have you been?" Philippe whispered angrily.

I kept a straight face and replied, "The Opera Ghost had taken the ring. I went to retrieve it."

He looked unimpressed, "And did you?"

I forced myself not to look away, "No."

"What happened?"

I could not tell him the truth, but he could tell when I lied. I settled for telling as much truth as I could. "He knocked me out."

"You fainted," Philippe interpreted. I did not let my irritation show.

"I woke up trapped in another room," I spoke with an even tone. I had been a prisoner of sorts. "It seemed like a storage room," that had been an outright lie, but I pressed forward not letting my face or tone of voice change, "I searched for an exit but could find none. I went through his things and got these clothes and tore up others for the bandaging."

Philippe seemed to buy it, for which I was pleased. I wondered if he really did, but did not want to jinx it. "How did you escape?" He asked irately.

If I made something up now, Philippe would find a way to question it. Could I tell the truth? "He let me go."

He stared at me. "Why?"

I shook my head. "I don't know." That was at least the truth.

"Why are you staying?" He pressed.

"He said something about taking her," I replied. I hurriedly added, "I broke the engagement off. I swear. I just," I tried to gauge how angry he was, but could not tell, "don't want anything bad to happen to her."

Philippe scoffed. "Though your stupidity is always astounding, it would be best for business if she was not kidnapped again. Stay and be her saviour." He added mockingly. He turned to walk away, but I stopped him.

"Brother."

He turned around. The look in his eyes told me I had better have a good reason for stopping him.

"Please tell mother that I am okay. She must be worried," I shrugged a bit. She was probably the only one worried about me. I knew Christine wasn't. I knew Philippe hadn't been. The managers had Philippe now. My mother was the only one who cared about me. I could not make her worry unnecessarily.

Philippe nodded and left. I was left alone again. I hoped that Philippe was treating her well. I did not know if he would treat her badly when I was not there. He never did when I was around, but it could all be a ruse. I did not want her to suffer as I had. It made Philippe's treatment of me a little better knowing that I was helping her and the thought that maybe if she knew, she would try to stop it. I had other things to worry about now though. Philippe seemed to have agreed so easily. Maybe our separation made it harder for him to read me. I hoped that was the case.

Wondering what my next step would be, Madame Giry suddenly appeared.

"Madame Giry," I said pleasantly, "has the opera house been well?"

She nodded but looked at me appraisingly. I thought that she was going to ask about my story, but instead she firmly grabbed my arm and led me away.

"Did the Opera Ghost harm you?"

I shook my head. What did she know?

"I will show you a place where you can stay."

"I," I shook my head, "I need to look after Christine."

She looked at me worriedly, "What did he say?"

"I have to look after her, Madame Giry," I restated though technically, that was what he said.

She nodded her head, "Christine is either on stage or in her room. When she is practicing, you may watch from your balcony seat. When she is in her room, you are to be outside. I will provide a chair."

I nodded my head. It sounded fine. Hopefully, I would be able to hear if anything were to happen inside her room. I would do this. I could do this.

o.o.o

The next six days passed rather uneventfully. I was optimistic that I would obtain that ring just yet. I could walk steadily by the second day and the stab wound only stung. So, I trailed after Christine. I did not speak to her and she did not speak to me. She was ignoring me completely. I did not mind. It was better this way. Seeing her only reminded me what I could not have. I hoped she would be happy though.

Philippe had brought me a change of clothes for which I was grateful. I had kept Erik's clothes though. At night, I put the shirt on top of my clothing just so that I could pretend he was nearby. It was stupid and childish, but it made me feel better. My imagination was my only consolation nowadays. I could indulge. I had not heard nor seen the Phantom since he left me.

On the other hand, Philippe would come to the opera house everyday and discuss business matters with the managers. He was taking over. I knew that it was inevitable, but it still was disappointing to see it happening. I focused on Christine though. The Phantom had told me to watch her, so I would watch her.

Madame Giry was kind enough to provide me food and a blanket when night fell. The chair was far from comfortable, but I was still tired so I hardly cared.

In the early hours before the sun rose on the seventh day, I woke suddenly. Nothing seemed amiss though. I listened closely to hear if some sound had woken me, but heard nothing. I looked at Christine's room. The door was ajar. I quickly checked inside and found it to be empty. I heard a carriage leaving and rushed downstairs. I hesitated by the door. The Phantom had said to stay inside the building, but he had also said to watch her. I didn't know what to do.

I heard the carriage moving further. I rushed out. I had to watch over her. Asking the carriage driver where she had been heading, I cursed when I heard the cemetery. Of all the places to go before the sun rose, why would she have chosen to visit her father's grave? And now of all times. I jumped on a horse and made chase.

There went any hope of obtaining the ring. I hoped Erik would not find out.

o.o.o.o

End ch15

Word count: 10,346

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

Chapter Review:

I think I may have been too verbose in this. 10,346?!?!
I know what you're thinking… How could I make him realize he likes Erik and then make him believe Erik doesn't like him in the same chapter? I'm too cruel.