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. Warnings: character death.
Warning(s): violence
Pairing(s): ErikRaoul
Story note:
These chapters are getting to be obscenely long. In fact, I had planned to have the cemetery scene in these chapters. Just think how long it would have been!
Erik's insecure, poor guy. I'm guessing he's major OC in this chapter, but it's kind of uncharted territory. We see that he can be thoughtful in the end of the musical. How far can his kindness extend would be the major question then. Blah, Erik's in love… he's a puppy. I think for the one he loves, he'd move the entire world for them (and in this case, it's Raoul!).
There's a whole discussion about roles in this chapter. Erik's reviewing the roles that Raoul plays. It's kind of weird, but it's been a common theme so far, so I figured I'd leave it as it was. Tell me if it was confusing.
Oh, and no one dies in this one yet either. Just to assuage your fears as though you didn't realize it from reading Ch15.
o.o.o.o
Unmasking the Chains
Chapter 16
o.o.o.o
By: Lucifer Rosemaunt
o.o.o.o
Erik's POV
o.o.o
Last time:
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
I sat down and watched him. I watched him because I could. I watched him because he was in my bed and he was mine. It was a novel thought. I had once considered Christine to be mine. Her voice, her talent, and her fame were all mine. That was undeniable. However, nothing else was. In a way, I had felt it to be a natural progression that she herself should be mine. I had thought it was the logical next step. So, I took steps to ensure she would be. I did not think she would rebel. I did not think that she would never be able to be anything more. I had not thought that she could be anyone else's. She was though. What I had thought to be mine was merely a farce.
And, here I was once again thinking that I could have something, someone. This time it was different. Though I still did not know how he would react, it felt as though it were already too late for him to say otherwise. Christine could run. Christine could kiss other men. Christine had her freedom. Raoul, well Raoul was like me. He did not. My kidnapping him did not cage him. He had actually needed me. I had never been needed by anyone in my life. Even Christine had not needed me like this. He had to be mine.
I stood up and walked away from the bed. I began to pace.
But what if it were merely my obsession? I felt as though I knew him. I felt as though I understood him. More importantly, I felt as though he knew and understood me. That itself could be a fabrication. I had only spoken to him, truly spoken to him once. Once. I had known Christine since she was but a child and I had been mistaken. I could certainly be wrong this time.
What difference did it make? Obsession or love.
I stopped by the foot of the bed and looked at him. He looked so young asleep. He looked so innocent. It was not as though I could not love him. It was perhaps too easy.
Wait… that was the first time I had thought that.
I had never thought that I could possibly love Raoul. I had thought that I loved Christine, but that was when I had still been lying to myself. No, this had nothing to do with love. Not with him. I had only thought to protect him. I had only thought to make him mine.
What did that mean though?
What did it mean for Raoul to be mine to protect?
The obvious answer that I had the least qualms about was that I was to keep him from harm. It seemed ironic though.
I walked towards a passageway, thinking that I would leave to clear my mind a bit. He would be fine for a little while. He was still sleeping. Yet I could not take one step further. I could not seem to take a step away that would leave him out of my sight. I stood there at the entrance of a passageway I knew would take me to the farthest part of the opera house away from my own home and I could not move. I refused to turn around to look at him.
Was I to watch over him as though I was some angel? An angel. I was more the devil. I could only cause him harm. Yet, here he was in my care better. I had helped him. I had to keep reminding myself that the monster I had been had only ever been a mask. It had been an act that had helped me survive. I was so much more. I had to be more than the monster or else I would have killed Raoul by now.
I had a chance to be someone more, someone more than a monster. I could not let the opportunity pass me.
Moreover, I wanted to keep him from harm.
I turned around and walked back towards the bed. Taking the seat I had vacated, I let my mind go blank for a moment. I let it go blank for as long as I could.
I wanted to keep him from harm. There was nothing amiss about that. I scoffed. Of course I had never protected anyone ever before, but I felt as though I had to make an exception this time. I had to. He was slowly being killed by whoever had given him those scars.
It was then that the other answers to that question would surface. What did it mean? The implications of this recent desire were troubling. Why did I want to keep him from harm?
Who was he to me? It was without a doubt true that he deserved my pity. He had managed to get that from me. He had managed to make a monster feel pity for someone other than himself. It took much to do so.
I tried to look at him and not feel that strange yearning to protect him, to make sure he stopped looking so sad, to make sure he only smiled. I stared at him for hours confused and frustrated. Staring inevitably turned into touching. I could not stop myself.
I reached out and ran my fingers through his hair. It was nice to be able to touch someone. The feeling, the texture of his hair, the warmth that radiated from him was addictive. I never thought that the freedom to touch someone was so intoxicating. I did not want to stop. If I were being honest with myself, I would have said that I was petting him. But, I was not being honest at the moment. My hand moved of its own volition. I touched him only because I had never had the opportunity to freely touch anyone else. I had always been alone. I had never had anyone with me, to suffer with me, or better yet, to ease my suffering.
It evidently took the scar-riddled body of a boy to make me believe that I was not alone. I was not alone. I had struggled alone. I had dreamt, felt, and thought alone. I had imagined myself to die alone. I had been alone all my life.
But, so had he. Raoul had been alone, his scars said as much.
Scars. I knew all about scars. I knew how they stayed not physically but mentally, 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 who had given it.
I could be mistaken though. Raoul could have had someone there with him. He could have had someone to support him. Still, I doubted it. If he had had someone with him, his wounds would have been better tended. He would not have gone to the masquerade at all in his state. Someone would have helped him heal. Someone would have stopped it from ever happening.
No, he had been alone. For some reason, that knowledge was enough to ease my mind. It made my pain a little less unpleasant. Now, here he was with me. It had to be fate. Could fate be that kind?
He deserved my pity, but part of me felt as though he deserved so much more. How much could I give to him? The answer to that question was frightening. I was willing to give him everything. That was too extreme. That was too much. I barely even knew him. That had to be reason enough to stop this madness. Yet, I was still drawn to him. He did not know any of this yet. I could still just let these feelings fade. I could leave him and focus on… focus on what? I did not want Christine. I did not want anything else. All I wanted was Raoul.
Of all the thoughts and doubts, it all came down to wanting him.
I sat bedside and continued to run my fingers through his hair.
When had I ever needed any other reason than that of my own desire?
I pulled my hand back when I saw Raoul begin to stir. He started to mumble and looked like he was going to turn to his other side. He did not manage to move for which I was glad since it would have aggravated his wound. He fell back asleep and I realized that I had been watching him for almost an entire day. That thought was closely followed by the fact that he had been sleeping for an entire day. He had seemed tired at the masquerade, but after seeing the wounds, I only thought it to be due to his injuries. He must not have slept very much either. I desperately wanted to know what he had been through.
I myself felt a little lethargic, but a little sleep deprivation never bothered me too much. I could not sleep anyway. I just wanted to watch him a little while longer. I reached out and grazed strands of his hair. I did not dare to touch him again in fear that he would wake. He did not need to know about my affections for him. He would only be scared away.
I realized that he would wake soon and he would probably be hungry. I left his side to check my resources. I did not eat very much, and lately, I had been consumed by my opera. I had not restocked my food supply in a while so all I had was some meager scraps. I gathered everything and made a mental note that I would have to get Madame Giry to buy me more food. When would I be able to leave though? I could barely leave his side. I could worry about that later. I set the food down by the table and walked over to the bed.
He was still sleeping but the blanket had shifted downward. I pulled it up and settled it higher. My home was quite chilly. I was used to the temperature, but I knew that it had to be cold for him. He was not only unaccustomed to the temperature, but he was also naked, a fact that I would have enjoyed more had I not been infuriated with the scars and wounds that littered his body.
His lips quirked and he pulled the blanket tighter against himself. He seemed so young, so innocent. I could not get past that fact. I was surprised that his innocence was still intact. He was trusting, loyal, and idealistic. I did not know how he could have kept such characteristics. With what he had been through, shouldn't he have been more like me? We were complete opposites though. He had yet to be tainted. It was admirable in a way.
I sat down and watched him. He was handsome. I knew that I could watch him without ever tiring. After a while, I was pulled from my musings when he began to whimper and shift. He began to push the blankets down. Each time he threw them off, I pulled it back up. Could he be sick?
I checked his temperature by placing my hand on his forehead. It was a little warm, but nothing that would indicate he was sick. He seemed to calm down. Maybe he was…
I lost my train of thought when he grabbed my hand with both of his own. Pressing my hand to his cheek, he sighed happily and shifted so that he was cradling my arm. As he hugged my arm, I sat there frozen. I could hear my heart beat loudly in my ears and the blood rush to my face. He was touching me. As little as I had touched others, there were even less times that I had been touched. He seemed so content, but I could not let him cloud my mind like this.
It was hard to think when he was rubbing his cheek against my hand. I could only stand so much. He was sleeping. He had no idea what he was doing. He definitely had no idea what he was doing to me. I slowly pulled my arm away. I scoffed in disbelief when he only held on tighter. Was he awake? Was he only doing this to torture me? It felt nice to touch him like this, but I could not take advantage of him. I did not want to scare him away before I even had my chance to win him over. I had to take it slow. I had to make sure he was open to the idea. Molesting him in his sleep would not be the best way to go about it. I cleared my throat in hopes to wake him up. He had had enough sleep anyway, right?
He slowly opened his eyes just a bit. He was staring at my hand. Maybe he would realize what he was doing. It was amusing to watch him wake up though. He slowly followed my arm up. I could almost see his mind waking up. I could almost see his thought process. I thought he was going to look at me, but he stared at my shoulder for a moment before shutting his eyes. He let go of my hand quickly.
I could see him trying to control his breathing. He looked as though he were about to panic. I allowed myself a small grin at his antics. He was so guileless in his actions. I could barely think of him as ever being deceitful. It was odd to think of him as anyone but Raoul. I knew he acted completely different when he was around the managers. He was the Vicomte. I could not believe these two personalities to be the same person though.
"Are you still sleepy?" I ventured to ask. Maybe I could assuage some of his fears. What kind of face should I show him though? Was I going to lay down like a dog for him? I had some pride. I wanted to win him over not become his lap dog. I was not Piangi. I had never needed to be nice though. What if I wasn't doing it correctly?
I thought he was going to ignore me, but he shook his head slowly in response. Well, what to do next? He was not looking at me. That was indeed a bad indication.
I wanted to make him mine. I wanted him to agree to be mine, but I had kidnapped him. Not only had I kidnapped him though. I had hurt him in the trap and made him fall unconscious before taking him. Even though I eventually helped him, would he see it that way or would he only see me as a villain?
Then there was the ring. I had taken the ring even though I knew he wanted it. I took it mostly because I knew he wanted it badly. He did not know that though. So at least, I could keep that fact a secret from him.
I had been looking at his face when he suddenly frowned. He was probably wondering how he was going to get out of here. He was a prisoner. Surely, he could not mind. I was keeping him away from whoever had been hurting him. I was almost certain that it was the Comte. I could not jump to conclusions though. He could just be an apathetic brother.
His eyes flew open and he looked truly frightened. Whatever he had been thinking had scared him. I hoped he had not been thinking about me. I was at a loss for what to say and simply ended up saying, "I thought you had fallen back asleep."
It had been obvious he had been awake though. I could not let him think that he was so transparent to me though. It would only serve to unnerve him. It unnerved me how well I could read him. It took no effort at all on my part. His expressions, his gestures, his eyes spoke volumes; volumes which I could read easily. It felt nice to be able to understand someone so deeply.
He finally looked at me and I held his gaze. He was not scared, not at me at least. He held my gaze steadily and I found myself glad he could. Not many people could look at me and not turn away, mask or no mask. They would always turn away in fear. I had always tried to scare them away though. This time, I wanted him to look. I wanted him to see me. I was pleased to see that he stared at my eyes and not my mask.
I feared the time though when I would have no mask. I was afraid of his reaction when he finally saw me without it. Would he act like Christine? Not only Christine though, would he act like everyone else who had ever seen me? I was hideous.
What was I thinking? Of course, he would be horrified. I had to make him see me though. I had to make him see the man, not the monster. It was why I could be nice to him. It was not the only reason I was nice to him, but I could hope he would already see me before that moment came.
He looked away self-consciously and for some other reason I could not quite name. It was not in fear. I wanted to see his eyes. It was easier for me to gauge how well I was doing if I could see his eyes.
He glanced up at me sheepishly and shook his head. He was being incredibly shy. It was a little surprising considering how he had acted when we had first spoken. He had been forthright and had even threatened me. That had been of course when he had not been my prisoner. It was only natural that he would be subdued in this situation. Still, I had liked that encounter. It had been interesting to watch him then. Not to say that Raoul was not interesting right now, I could barely keep my eyes off him and he had been unconscious a vast majority of the time I had spent watching him.
He suddenly flushed and I wondered what he was thinking. He would not look at me. It was as though he were intentionally making it impossible for me to decipher his thoughts. It was an unfair advantage on my part, but I had no idea how to go about ingratiating myself to him.
He shifted and this time I could tell why. He was afraid. He pulled the blankets tighter against him, and he must have realized how dangerous I really was. He must have remembered. I did not want him to be afraid of me, but what could I say? I could not tell him I had never killed anyone. I could not tell him I had never hurt anyone. So, how could he believe me if I said I would not hurt him?
I was worried and searching for a way to calm him when he stopped looking afraid and instead looked confused. He pulled his hands from under the blanket and stared at them. I hoped that this would help my case. He would see that I had helped him. He would see that I could be gentle and kind.
He peaked under the blankets and flushed a deeper red. I fought hard not to grin. He blushed so easily and the color made him looked irresistible. My years in solitude had denied me the pleasure of touching anyone else. Now that I had finally done so, I could feel other desires beginning to stir. My hand twitched. I wanted to reach out and touch him then. I held myself back and forced myself to not grin when he looked up at me mortified before pulling the blankets tighter against him.
I wanted to laugh. Did he think I had never seen such anatomy before? His reaction was so prudish I had not expected it. As I watched him though, I realized that his embarrassment was not the only reason. He looked so sullen and dejected.
I tried to determine what was wrong, but he kept his gaze on the edge of the bed. I had the feeling he wanted to disappear. Why would he want to do that? His eyes shone unnaturally. Was he going to cry?
I was bewildered. I could not understand why he was reacting like this. I had to think about this logically. I knew he reacted because he realized that he was naked. It would be an unreasonable response if he were so distressed because another man had seen his privates. Of what else was there to be ashamed? There was only one explanation left, his scars and wounds.
I thought on it for a moment. I would not want other people to see my scars. They were my shame. They represented a time when I had been weak. They represented a time when I had not been enough. I had to change, and I did. I became a murderer.
Therefore, I had seen Raoul's weakness. I had seen his shame, but why act so adversely? I could not have been… Was I the only one who had seen them? I wanted him to meet my eyes so that I could confirm the thought but he firmly refused.
He looked so hurt then, so angry with himself.
I did not think less of him though. How could I? I had similar scars, but the truth was I was disappointed with myself for having been too weak. Should I not feel the same disappointment in him? I should, but I could not. Raoul had held on. He had not reached the point where he was willing to be a killer. I realized that I did not want him to reach that point. I wanted him to stay the Raoul I knew. I wanted him to stay the Raoul who was the product of those scars yet still moved on as though they were not there.
He was strong. Stronger than I had been when I was first healing. I had not wanted to move, so I did not. I had not wanted to live, so for a while, I did not. I let the pain consume me. I let it take over. I only found reprieve in hatred. He had not. Though I hated the roles we played, he had somehow blended in with society instead of standing out. I was an outcast, not only because of my deformity but also because of my actions. A murderer will always be an outcast.
I had admired him. When I had first seen the wounds, my first reaction had not been one of disgust or disdain. I had been astonished. Raoul did not cease to amaze me. He was so much more than he let people believe. He had fooled me more times than I would like to admit. Yet, when I was with him, I could not believe he could deceive anyone. I could not believe that anyone would want to do this to him. What could he have done? What was his crime?
Were we all to be victims in life? My crime was naught but my face. His crime… I could not even think what crime he could have possibly done. Perhaps it was naiveté. Perhaps it was his innocence. Such innocence surely could not exist. It was much too impractical in this cruel world.
He looked to be so conflicted. His brows were furrowed and his breathing was laboured.
He probably saw me still as an opponent. Revealing such a weakness to an opponent would certainly mean destruction. I could not do that to him though. It felt as though someone was wrenching my heart when he looked so wounded.
Was this empathy? Was this what it felt like to hurt for someone? I had never felt this before. I had not needed to. I had been apart from the world. I had been alone. Now, I was not. I was not alone in the world. This pain was different, but I was glad that I felt it. It made me hope for my future. It made me hope that there could be more.
I wanted to stop his pain. What to do though? Words would not suffice. Actions had always spoken louder than words. I reached forward to soothe his brow. Before I reached him though, he physically recoiled and flinched.
I froze. Even in his state, he had reacted so strongly. He had even moved his whole body. How traumatized was he? I would not hurt him. I could not. Not again. Not when I knew what I did. Not when I suddenly found myself caring too much.
He remained cowering for a while. He truly expected me to hit him. How could I make him understand that I would not? He slowly opened his eyes and let out a shaky breath. He glanced at me uncertainly. He was so afraid. This was a fear with which I was unfamiliar. I knew fear. I had instilled it within people for years.
Raoul's fear was heartrending. It was a mixture of fear and resignation. He did not want to be hit, but it was obvious that he was expecting it. He thought that it would occur and therefore accepted it. He should not have to accept it. He should not have to believe no one would stop it.
The need to protect him welled up stronger. There was no denying it. I would unquestionably protect him. Moreover, I would make him mine and make him understand it.
I knew what I wanted now. I simply did not know how to go about and do it.
Raoul would not look at me for extended periods of time. I did not fully understand why. Was it just me or would he avoid everyone's gaze? There was no way to test that though. He was skittish and seemed to have some inner conflict within him. If he were fighting a battle within himself, I would have no way to reach him.
I had to bring him out. I had to pull him out of his inner dialogue and keep him with me.
When he finally looked at me again, I reached out to him. He still flinched, but he did not recoil. As gently as I knew how, I pressed my hand against his forehead. He froze under my touch. He was confused. Apparently, he had not expected such an act from me. He would have to get used to it though. I wanted to be able to touch him freely.
He relaxed gradually. His muscles became less tense and he did not look so worried.
It was best to make him believe that I had not touched him for the sake of touching him. It would be best for him to know I worried for his health, "Are you hot?"
I pulled my hand away reluctantly. It was perhaps a bad idea because when I did, Raoul looked apprehensive once again. How much pain had he gone through for him to be so anxious? I knew the answer to that question though. I had seen every inch of his body. I had a map in my head that kept the number and location of every scar. I could not erase his past. I could not even erase my own. How could I overcome something that was ever-present?
Raoul shook his head in response. He winced and looked away.
I was frustrated. I was weak. I was losing in the battle to keep Raoul here. I grabbed his chin irately. I realized my mistake all too late when I saw Raoul close his eyes in fear. I wanted to protect him and here I was letting my anger get the better of me. I wanted to shake him to snap him out of it. Instead, I held his chin. He had stiffened but did not pull away. I considered it a good sign.
"Look at me," I ordered. I thought to ask nicely, but I did not know how.
I was a little cross to see that he obeyed immediately. He had been trained. Those wounds had been inflicted so that he would be obedient. I wondered briefly what he would have been like had he been allowed to be free. I could not help but feel connected to him. I believed that we both would have been different had we been able to live freely. It was this life though that had brought us together. Could I wish for something else?
He stared at me intently. I appreciated that when he looked at me, he looked me directly in the eyes. It was as though the mask did not exist. I could pretend that it did not when he looked at me. I was angry though, and I saw him notice it. I should have hid my irritation, but it was too late. He tried to pull away, and failed. He winced in pain and I could not help but feel frustrated with myself. I was only hurting him more.
"Stop moving, you'll only reopen the wound." I said more roughly than I had meant to.
He shook his head. I did not think he would listen to me. He was panicking. I had to make him listen though. I was afraid that he would reopen his wound. It would only make his recovery take longer.
"Relax," I stared intently at him. He had to listen to me. It was for his own sake. "I'm not planning on hurting you," I tried to make him believe I meant it. I doubted he would listen, but then he nodded. I was relieved but almost could not believe it. "So, stop moving."
I let him go and leaned back in the chair. He relaxed and I wondered what I had ever done to deserve his trust. He actually believed me. I was the last person who deserved it, but he offered it to me so easily. I had only hurt him so far, so why did he believe me when I said I would not? I could not focus on that though. I should not focus on gifts. I should focus on the hardships that lay between us.
I watched him closely. His expressions changed moment to moment. It was how I could tell that he had some inner dialogue. I wanted to know what he was thinking. I wanted to know him more. I still did not know how to do it without scaring him away. My emotions seemed to overwhelm me. I could not let them overwhelm him or else I may lose him.
He looked up at me, and I did not bother to hide the fact that I was watching him. He seemed a little self-conscious, but nothing else.
"Thank you," he whispered. I read his lips more than heard the words. He lifted his hands indicating the bandages. He looked away and I could barely tell if he had thanked me because he was simply being polite or because he truly meant it.
I leaned forward about to ask him when he flinched again. Maybe he did not trust me. I could not be so direct with him. It would only scare him. Instead of forcing him to look at me again, I let my urge to touch him take over and brushed some strands of hair behind his ear.
He began to blush and I wanted to touch him again. I held myself back. I liked to see him blush. He would nervously look away and grin a self-deprecating smile that I wanted to kiss away.
I did not know how to react to that thought. I could admit that I wanted him, but the logistics of the actions seemed so foreign. I mentally stumbled over them. It was one thing to want someone and another to express that desire physically. I barely touched him and my heart raced. The thought of kissing him made my stomach lurch. I wanted it even more though.
I had to stop thinking about it. I had other things to worry about. There was a topic I wanted to breach, but could find no easy way.
"You have a lot of injuries," I began, "and a lot of scars."
I could not be anything but straightforward. Raoul already knew I had seen them all. Of course, he should have known that I would ask him about them. Would he answer though? He looked hesitant.
I had meant to interrogate him about his wounds. I had meant to force him to reveal every single story and to reveal who had done those things to him even though I had a strong inkling as to who it already was. How could I though? How could I when he looked so afraid, when he looked so hurt. How could I when he flinched every time I moved toward him? Yet he still let me touch him. Yet he could still look at me with such trust. He could look at me openly. It surprised me that he could even look at me.
I wanted to make him feel better not feel more conflicted. I would find out one way or another how he obtained those scars. It would just take more time than I was accustomed. I could not just watch him ruminate on how to respond to me. I was glad that he had decided not to lie though. I considered dropping the subject altogether for now, but I figured that he could think about it when he was eating. I could not forget that he was still under my care. I could not forget that I wanted him to get better. He struggled to help the process of sitting him up, but he was still confused.
Pulling the pillow up, I leaned him against it worried that he would not be able to sit properly. The urge to hurt someone for doing this to him filled me. I would find this person and kill them. I would make them suffer. "Will your back be okay with this?"
Though a little uncertain, he nodded. Smiling ruefully, he commented, "It's not as though I can sit any other way though."
I knew he had meant it as a joke, as some lighthearted observation, but it only angered me further. My jaw clenched and I stood up. I needed to expel some of the anger I felt or else I knew I would end up hurting Raoul. I let out a deep breath. It was harder to stay calm than I had ever thought. I was not used to repressing my emotions like this and it was exhausting. For Raoul though, I knew that I could.
I walked to the table and retrieved the food. I frowned at it not pleased with the selection. Raoul was a Vicomte. He would surely not appreciate such food. He had to be hungry though, so I knew he would eat it.
I walked to the bed and placed the tray down on his lap. He looked at the plate with such surprise and joy you would think he had never received food before. He was grinning widely. His happiness made my heart lighten. He was so pleased with something as simple as food. I had forgotten that he was no ordinary Vicomte. I had forgotten that he was not the Vicomte. He was Raoul, and I was relieved that Raoul could be so grateful.
Realizing that I too was grinning, I frowned at myself. I should not be so easily swayed emotionally by Raoul's moods. He had yet to eat so I said harshly, "You're hungry, are you not?"
He nodded eagerly and picked up the single piece of bread. He looked at it for a moment before tearing it in half. I wondered what he was doing. The piece of bread was not very large to begin with, why tear it in half? When he offered me the other half, I stared at him in disbelief.
Who was he? From where did his kindness come? I could not understand it. I knew Raoul had to be hungry. He looked as though he had scarcely eaten in weeks and he was offering me half of his meal. He had not even started to eat just to make sure he could eat his full before offering. I never knew people like him could exist.
"I'd rather not eat alone." He stated sheepishly and I could not find it in me to refuse him.
I did not eat very much. In fact, I only ate when I absolutely needed to. At this moment, I felt a little hungry, but I could ignore it. Food held no interest for me. It was simply something I had to do. When Raoul began to eat, I bit into the piece of bread. There was nothing special about it, but I suddenly had an appetite. The food was not bland. It did not feel like a chore to eat, especially since watching Raoul eat was intriguing. Raoul ate happily. He appeared to savor every morsel of food he ate, as though it was the first time he had ever tried it. I ached to touch him, but I contented myself with sharing this meal with him. I was pleased to note that he seemed quite content to sit there and share his meal with me.
I had never eaten with anyone, and I wanted to talk to him. I did not know what to say though. I did not know how to break this oddly comfortable silence. It seemed so fragile.
Raoul looked at ease but every time I reached forward, he would flinch still. I did not know if I should be angry or not. He did not seem to think I was going to hurt him. It was probably just reflex to another person's presence. He kept offering me half smiles. Smiles that were painful to look at. His smiles were always tainted with sadness. They were the only real indication of what he had been through. You could see some of the pain he had experienced whenever he smiled at you. Though they hurt, I waited almost eagerly for his smiles because I knew he was smiling at me, for me. He was trying for me, and no one had ever made that kind of effort for me before.
I watched him eat and noticed as some of the fruit's juice clung on the side of his lip. Before I fully thought through it, I reached forward and wiped the juice off. He froze in that position and I realized what I had done. I knew I should not touch him so freely, but after being able to do so when he was asleep, I could not help myself. He was mine after all.
He slowly relaxed and returned eating without comment. I would not have known what to say if he had asked. He had not objected yet. He had not told me to stop touching him, which I considered an invitation to do so more often. However, I knew that it could also be because he was simply afraid of me. He let me touch him because he did not want me to hurt him. He flinched enough for me to conclude as much, but I did not want to be so cynical. I was cynical in every aspect of my life. With Raoul, I wanted to have some hope.
He suddenly started to cough. He was choking, and I grabbed his shoulders. What was I supposed to do? I had never seen someone choke without dying. Given the fact that I had usually been the cause of their choking, me and a Punjab lasso, I had never thought to find a way to save someone from choking. I was near panicking myself when his coughing stopped.
He looked flushed but seemed to be all right.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
He nodded vigorously. He was hiding something from me. I reluctantly let him go and offered him a drink. Perhaps it would help him swallow whatever had caused him to choke. I looked down at the plate and realized we had eaten everything. I took both cup and plate and put them aside.
I had given him enough time to think about a way to respond. I sat down on the bed and unconsciously sat close enough to be touching him. My heart beat faster. I looked away while I composed myself. I spoke as calmly as I could though that was not very calm. I did not want him to think I was angry with him even though every time I thought about his scars, I wanted to hurt someone. It was not his fault. "Where did they come from?" I looked at him.
Raoul still looked unsure. He did not know what to do. There was probably nothing I could do to make it easier for him to tell me, but I just had to know. I had to know who had whipped him. I had to know who had cut him. I had to know who had starved him. I could just imagine the blood on my hands once more. It was blood that never should have been spilt. I clenched my fists in anger.
He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
I spoke for him, "What happened to you?" I wanted to ask what had happened in the past month. Whatever it had been, I knew it to be the reason for his most current injuries. I wanted to ask what had happened in the past. He had probably heard fabrications of my past. I did not think he knew what had really happened to me though. He would not know my scars. I thought to share them, but could not. I would find out more about him before sharing of myself.
He shook his head and spoke in a fragile voice, "Please don't ask me that. Please."
We stared at each other in a deadlock.
He had the advantage. He looked to be in so much pain from just the question that I could not force the issue. I would eventually find out. I could wait for his tales. What I could not wait for however, was the most important question.
I nodded, "Okay, I won't." He looked relieved quite prematurely, and I continued my statement, "I won't ask what if you tell me who."
I looked at him challengingly. I would let him have his secrets since I knew I had my own. However, I would not go another day without finding out who had done this to him. I would not be swayed on this topic.
He stared at me wide eyed. I could tell he did not understand why I wanted to know. I could tell he still thought I was his adversary. I would prove to him I was not, but for now, I would let the misunderstanding hold as long as he told me. I did not think he had anything to lose if he told me. It was not as if I could make it any worse for him. He looked to have it bad enough already, any worse and he would be dead. I scowled at the thought. I did not want to think of an unhappy ending for us.
His mood seemed to lighten when he spoke again, "I will tell you, but only if you tell me your name."
My name? I did not think he would bargain. I should not even bother. He had no leverage, but he seemed resolved. I responded, "What if I have no name?"
"Then you shall receive none from me," he responded firmly.
I had no name. One did not need a name if one was never called. I had only been called Opera Ghost or Phantom. There were other names that were more designations than names such as monster and devil's child. I knew they were not what Raoul wanted. There was something. I could faintly remember it. A long time ago, deep in my past, I remembered being called a name, a name that seemed so ordinary now. I had almost forgotten it. Erik. Did I want to tell him though? No one called me by that name. Was it even mine to give?
"A name for a name," I thought aloud. It was a good bargain.
Raoul nodded eagerly and I thought to give it to him right away if it made him this excited. Instead, I stayed uncertain. The name was nothing but a mockery of what should have been a normal life. I could not tell him.
I needed to stall. I did not want to tell him, but I did not think he would tell me the name otherwise. He shifted a bit uncomfortably and I saw he had bled through his bandages. I decided that he needed to have his bandages changed. I was avoiding the matter at hand, but I was not used to negotiating. I usually obtained what I wanted, and if I did not, I would cause some general havoc. I could not do so with Raoul. So, avoidance was not so terrible. At least, it gave me time to consider my options.
This past day I had been so lost. I had been experiencing a whole set of emotions from which I had blocked myself. I had never had restraint. I had never had patience. Then again, I had never felt this way about anyone. I was actually hesitant in my actions.
I grabbed his shoulders and with great care, I pulled him until he was sitting upright. I hoped I was not hurting him. Since he was awake, this was the best way to change his bandages. It was better than having to roll him over.
"What?" He asked confused. I could tell he was a little annoyed.
"I'm going to change your bandage," I explained.
"What?" He asked again. What part of that statement did he not understand?
"I said…"
He cut me off, "I heard you," he blushed and I found myself amused. He continued, "I thought you wanted to know about…"
He did not need to finish the sentence. I knew of what he was speaking. I looked at him. He squirmed a bit in my grasp, and I realized that I was almost embracing him. I pretended to think on it longer simply so that I could just hold him longer.
"I'm considering it," I finally replied.
He nodded rather compliantly. A compliant Raoul was somewhat attractive, enough so that I was distracted. I considered waiting to see how long I could hold him before he said anything. However, that was not the impression I wanted to give.
Instead, I asked, "Can you sit up without assistance?"
I secretly hoped the answer was no. I released him just a bit and I saw him struggling to stay upright. He winced and I supported him immediately.
"No," he replied shakily, "I don't think I can."
I held onto him mad at myself for even letting him try. Of course, he would not be able to sit up by himself. His wound was still bleeding and he was still in pain. I calmed down quite quickly though. I was touching him. I found that doing so calmed me down considerably.
I began unraveling the bandages. It was a little difficult trying to hold him up and removing the bandages but I hardly minded. I was touching him and Raoul had, for the moment, stopped flinching. I could pretend that he wanted me to touch him.
I froze when Raoul wrapped his arms around my neck. He was sitting upright by himself, but I hardly noticed that. We were practically cheek-to-cheek. I was glad that he could not see my face since I was certain that I was blushing. I was almost certain that he would be able to feel the heat. I could not deny that it felt nice though. It felt incredible. Touching him was one thing, but being touched by him was almost too much. His arms touching my neck made me want to moan. He was hugging me. I forgot how to breathe.
Then he spoke, "It's easier this way, right?" His breath caressed my throat and it sent shivers down my spine. I nodded my head and in doing so, our cheeks brushed against each other. My heart skipped a beat. My hands were shaking. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to bury my hands in his hair and kiss him. I really wanted to hold him.
Instead, I began to unravel the bandages. It was actually harder this way. He was a little too close and I had a hard time removing it without actually seeing it, but that hardly mattered. He was holding me. I would tell him to hold me tighter if it had been an option. I thought he had been relaxing but a sudden intake of breath told me that his wound had suddenly started to hurt again. He had probably tensed up.
He let out a shaky breath and my self-restraint was near breaking. I almost forgot that I had finished unraveling the bandages. Although I was loathe to do so, I grabbed his arm and pulled it from my neck. He took the hint and released me. "Lay down while I clean the wound."
He looked exhausted. Maybe trying to clean his wound right now was a bad idea. It had taken too much energy for him. He looked at me work with half-lidded eyes and knew that he would fall asleep soon. His jaw had tightened in pain but he made no noise. He started to sweat from the effort. I knew I had to finish faster. It was necessary though. He would feel better later.
I lifted him up and secretly smiled when he immediately wrapped his arms around my neck. I took a moment to relish the feel of Raoul against me before taking great care to rewrap his wound. I faltered when I felt him place his forehead on my shoulder. I knew he must have been in horrible pain.
"Erik," the word came out of me before I could stop it. I did not know why I had said my name, but I wanted to ease his suffering somehow.
He slowly repeated, "Erik?"
There was no turning back now. "Yes, Erik." I replied evenly. The name seemed foreign on my lips.
Raoul was silent. I continued to wrap his wound. Maybe he would not use it. It did not feel like my name. It had only been used few times and no one for decades had ever called me it.
I finished bandaging and he had yet to say anything. However, when I leaned him back against the pillow, he was grinning madly. I looked at him amused. Evidently, I had chosen the right thing to say to relieve some of his pain.
"Erik," he said merrily. When he said my name, the awkwardness of it belonging to me seemed to disappear. I was Erik. I was not the Opera Ghost. I was not the Phantom. I was simply Erik. What power did Raoul have over me that he could perform such a feat?
I shook my head. "No," I said lightly, "that would be my name. You were going to tell me the name of who had done this to you."
"Erik," he repeated just as happily.
I did not mind him calling my name. It felt nice. It did not feel as strange as I thought it would have. It came naturally from his lips, and I could tell that he approved. I was beginning to approve as well.
He lost his mirth though when my words finally reached him. I may have said it lightly, but I still meant it. I wanted to know who had done this to him. It was part of the deal, and I knew Raoul would relent. He kept his promises.
He looked down at his hands, purposefully avoiding my gaze, when responding, "Philippe."
I cursed a string of words loudly in my head. Closing my eyes, I tried to concentrate on something other than the anger. I was going to kill him. I should have killed him when I had the chance in Christine's room. Forget torture, every moment he was still breathing was a moment too long.
"The Comte," I spat out. It was the only words I would let myself speak. I barely saw Raoul nod his head.
I was going to kill him right now. I moved to stand up when I felt a hand grab my own. I could not stop myself quick enough and ended up pulling Raoul forward. He gasped in pain, and my concern overpowered whatever anger I had felt. What was I doing? Raoul was the most important thing now. Raoul was here. What was I thinking going away?
Angry with myself, I spoke restrainedly, "What do you think you're doing?" I wanted to yell that he could have hurt himself more.
He looked at me pleading, "You-you aren't going to do anything are you?"
Not if he kept looking at me like that. The Comte needed to be killed though. I looked at the exit I had been heading towards and back at Raoul. It was decided then that I could kill him later. I sat back down. Right now, Raoul was here with me. He would stay with me.
"You aren't leaving." I stated firmly.
Raoul looked confused again. "I'm not leaving?"
That was non-negotiable. Raoul was mine. He was going to stay with me. I did not want to talk about it anymore, so I started to shift him down so that he would sleep. "You need to rest." He needed to not question me.
He looked rather annoyed at me then. I realized that I was being rather obscure right now, but Raoul would have to deal with it. I did not want to talk about this anymore. I had already stayed. I had already chosen Raoul over killing the Comte.
He glared at me, and I replied to it, "Sleep." He pouted but I could tell that he was sleepy. He had moved closer to me and I was tempted to join him in bed. Instead, I sat there, watching him struggling to stay awake.
He was mine. The thought echoed in my thoughts. It echoed in my very being.
I caught his gaze for a moment. He looked like he wanted to tell me something, so I waited. He murmured, "Stay" before falling asleep.
I wanted to tell him that I would. I would stay with him forever. What I really wanted to tell him was for him to stay with me. I waited for his breathing to steady and his body to relax fully before I touched him.
All my previous actions had only driven Christine away. What had I done wrong? I had shown her that I had loved her. I had given her everything that she ever wanted. I had revealed myself to her. She still left me. I could not let what happened with Christine happen with Raoul. I had never really felt this way. This gnawing helplessness and uncertainty when he was in pain was new. I had wanted to reach out so many times. He was so close and I had already touched him. My mind had already memorized the feel of him. Yet I knew that I could not. I would frighten him away. I would drive him away as I had with Christine.
Something had to change.
I was willing to. I found myself willing to do anything for him.
o.o.o
I finally found the strength to leave him when he was sleeping. We needed food and more bandages. When I was certain that he would sleep for an extended period, I left to ask Madame Giry to obtain the supplies I needed. Most of my time I spent near Raoul though. I would find myself touching him whenever I could. He would sometimes sigh. I imagined it to be because he was content, but I knew he was dreaming of someone else.
I usually only stopped to draw portraits of him. I filled my sketchbooks of portraits of Raoul. I remembered the mezzanine and how I wanted to draw his smile. When he slept, he would sometimes smile. I had to capture those images. I tried to memorize every expression he had. I wanted to remember him no matter what happened.
Looking at him, I even heard melodies. I heard music when I saw him. I thought myself to be mad. It was music I thought I would never compose. Though I wanted to play my organ, I found that I could not. I would lose myself to the music. I would lose myself to the melodies. When I had played the organ when Christine had been in my home, I had not even noticed her. She had unmasked me then. What if Raoul did the same? I did not want him wandering away when I was playing my organ. He was here and I would spend every moment I could with him.
Still, I could not help but be unhappy. I was losing Raoul already. He seemed to grow more depressed as each day wore on. I did not know what was upsetting him. I tried not to be too imposing on him. I stopped touching him when he was awake because he still flinched quite violently. It was hard to not reach out and touch him, so I often sat at the table that was nearby and watched him from there when he was awake. Still, he smiled at me less and less. Everything was deteriorating and I did not know why. I did not know what to do to make it stop.
I should have known this was to occur though. I had been fooling myself. Raoul was a prisoner. He would realize that eventually. No matter how kind he acted to me, he would eventually realize who I was. He would eventually realize he did not want to be near me.
I wanted us to be at ease with each other. Everyday we ate together. Everyday I changed his bandages. Once, when the need to touch him when he was awake was overwhelming, I decided that all his bandages needed to be changed. He had been uncomfortable, but he thanked me nonetheless.
There were times when he looked at me so sadly that I wondered what he was thinking. I could not understand his mood. He looked resigned, but I could not imagine to what he felt resigned. It only made me feel more helpless. I was beginning to feel frustrated.
I felt the most frustrated and angry the few times that Raoul spoke. Everyday when Raoul woke, he would ask for two things, the two things which I never wanted to give him. He asked me to release him. I had to bite my tongue whenever he asked for this. I did not want him to go. I would not let him go. Whenever he asked, I only wanted to hold onto him more. I did not know what to do to make him want to stay.
He would also ask for Christine's ring. After Raoul had told me that his brother had indeed been the one to harm him, I could only assume that he was also the one that told Raoul to retrieve the ring. His brother was a sadistic bastard. It made me want to kill him more, but I did not want to have Raoul wake up alone in my home so I hardly went up long enough. I did not want to return the ring because then Raoul would have no interest in me. Once that ring was out of my possession, Raoul would have no business with me. He needed only to leave Paris and forget about me. I was almost glad his brother told him to retrieve the ring. At least this way, he would have a reason to seek me out.
I said nothing when he asked me these things. I did not know how to respond. I did not want to give him either of these things, but I knew that if I prolonged his stay, he would only grow to hate me. I would lose him. It was what happened with Christine. I tried to hold onto her and she kept pulling away. I knew what I had to do, but I did not want to do it.
Today would be the day. I would give him the freedom he so desired, but I would not let him go too far. He was mine. I could give him the impression of freedom for a bit. I wanted to believe he would return to me anyway, but I knew that to be foolish optimism.
We ate in silence then I sat him up to change his bandages. I was secretly glad that he could not sit up on his own yet. He would wrap his arms around me, and I could imagine that he did so simply because he wanted to. His breath tickled my neck and I wanted to stay like this forever. I prolonged changing his bandages for as long as I could just so that I could hold him that much longer, but it ended all too soon.
This was good-bye. Instead of laying him back down, I threw the blankets off him and turned him sideways so that he was seated at the edge of the bed. He stayed upright and looked well. It was saddening to think he would be gone, but at least he would leave in better health. To my amusement, he tried to cover himself.
He was blushing again, and I wanted to reach out and touch him again. "I have seen it before," I quipped.
He replied defensively, "Well, you needn't see it again. What are you doing anyway?" He was shivering, but I stood my ground.
He wanted to leave. So, I would let him. I would let him go. The frustration returned. I was going to be alone again. I picked up the clothes on the table and threw them at him. "Get dressed. I'm giving you the freedom you so desire."
Fate was testing me again. Maybe it was testing us. I would let him go for now. I would think of a way to get him back. I would think of a way to get him to come back himself.
He looked at the clothes in disbelief. He swayed a little but steadied himself and began to dress. I watched him dress letting my anger overcome my sadness. I wanted to yell at him to make him understand he was only going to get hurt out there. He would be safe with me.
He looked younger wearing my clothes. They were too big, and they hid the scars I knew to be there. He was somehow less Raoul clothed. He reminded me more of the Vicomte. He looked at me, and I thought he would ask to stay. However, he only said blandly, "The ring."
I hated that ring. I hated myself for hoping other words would leave his mouth. I pulled him to his feet. I still could not find it in me to injure him though. I steadied him when it looked like he could not stand. He had not walked in a while; I was surprised he could stand at all.
I did not want to let him go. I had to keep him.
An idea came to me. "I'll return it," I held him closer hoping he would not notice, "in seven days."
"Seven days?"
I nodded and began to move. If I stayed that close to him, I would not let him go. He stumbled after me and I steadied him. I did not think he could walk.
I stopped and explained to him my idea, "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."
He would be here for seven more days. I would see if he was happier without me. I wanted his happiness, and I dearly hoped he would find it with me. If that were not the case though, I would have to let him go. Could I let him go? He was mine.
He grabbed my arm so that he could stand, "You don't want me to leave the Opera Populaire."
I looked down at him, and the words came out before I thought of them. "Would you like me to notify the Comte?" I did not know what had overcome me. I did not want to ever have to use the knowledge of Raoul's scars against him. It was despicable, and he had trusted me with it. I trusted him not to share my name so why did I use the Comte against him like that? I was too frustrated. I was too hurt myself to care.
He looked at me in disbelief. He looked hurt himself. Betrayal was obvious in his eyes. I already knew I had betrayed him though, so why did I feel worse?
I ignored the feeling. Raoul was the one who wanted to go. I was obliging. "Can you not walk?" I asked even though I knew he could not. However, to my surprise he released my arm and shrugged off my touch.
He responded, "I can."
He could barely stand. What was he thinking? He should not be stupid. He should ask for help when he needed it, but I could tell he was angry. This was the first time that Raoul had ever been angry with me. I did not know how to react except with anger myself. If he thought he could walk, I would let him.
I was not angry enough to let him fall though. When his leg buckled after the first step, I caught him before he could fall to the floor.
Lifting him to his feet, I commented tersely, "If you cannot walk, you only need to say so."
His jaw visibly tightened. Once again, he shrugged off my touch. He irritatedly pulled his sleeves back and I caught a glimpse of his scars again. I wanted to hold him. I closed my eyes briefly before getting angry with myself for being weak. Raoul wanted to leave. He was the one that did not want help. It did not matter what I wanted.
"I'll make it somehow. Just direct me to the exit."
He leveled me with a glare. I glared back. He thought he was angry. He could not even begin to understand how angry I was. He was lucky my patience was holding as long as it had been. He looked furious though. I moved forward to forcefully help him, but he swatted my hand away.
"Just show me," he gritted out.
I scoffed, "You can barely stand, boy."
I did not mean it though. How could I think of him as a boy? He only became angrier. His fists were clenched at his sides and he looked as though he wanted to attack me. I was too angry to care though. He could try, but I knew he would fail. He could not even walk. What was he thinking? Didn't he want to leave?
I grabbed his elbow saying, "Stop struggling or else your wound will open."
He only tried harder to get away. He pushed against my chest as hard as he could, "Then let it open."
His strength gave out though and his legs buckled again. I held onto him firmly. I was angry all right, but I was angry with myself for being so weak. I should be able to let him go. I was willing to do anything for him, and if he wanted his freedom, I should not pick useless fights with him. It was simply the fact that I was willing to give him anything he wanted as long as he was with me. I wanted him to be with me no matter what. Was that so hard to ask? He was being so ungrateful for what I had done for him.
"Are you done now?" I asked more harshly than I intended.
He would not look me in my eyes, but he seemed to have given up the struggle. He nodded his head slowly. He could not walk, but we needed to leave.
Maybe the separation would not be as painful as I thought it would be. Maybe the sooner he left, the better I would feel. I was no longer pining after Christine so maybe I could somehow find solace in solitude.
I lifted him up and carried him in my arms. Those maybes suddenly became obviously lies. Raoul belonged in my arms. There was no doubt about it. His warmth, his scent, his feel all belonged with me. Instead of placing him back on the bed as I wanted, I headed out. I tried to console myself with the thought that he would still be in my opera house for one more week. I would be able to watch him still. However, I would not be able to eat with him or worse I would not be able to touch him. I would not know where he was at all times. Or maybe I could.
I set him down when we reached an exit. This hallway was usually empty. I hated using exits that led directly into the hallway since it was always more of a liability for me, but I did not think that Raoul would be able to handle more of the physically demanding exits. I checked if anyone was around and opened the passage when it was clear.
Helping him out, he quickly scanned the area. It was a place he knew well. His box seat was nearby. I grabbed his face so that he would look at me instead of being distracted by the scenery. We were saying good-bye, the least thing he could do is look at me. I slid my hand to hold his neck. He did not protest, so I kept it there.
I knew a way to keep track of him, "Watch Christine while you're here. We wouldn't want anything bad to happen to her." At least this way, not only would I know where he was, I could make sure his brother did not meet too often with her. I was still wary of their liaison. If Raoul were there, they would hopefully not plan anything.
Raoul looked at me oddly. It was an odd request, but he nodded.
"Seven days," I reminded him and memorized the feel of his skin before leaving. I stayed behind the wall and watched him. It was hard to not be out there.
He looked around once more and stepped forward. Evidently, he had forgotten he could not walk and fell to the ground. I held myself back and forced myself to just watch. I was just an observer, wasn't I? I had always considered myself to be held apart so why did it feel so wrong to hold back now?
Raoul sat on the floor pouting. He looked around again before yelling, "I can't walk, you bastard!" I smiled a little. At least he was still passionate. He had not lost his spirit like I thought he had when he had been with me. He muttered to himself, "You could have at least left me where someone would find me."
Here I thought I was doing him a favour by giving him an easy exit. Still, I watched a little torn. I was happy to see him acting like the spirited Raoul from before, but I wanted him to be that way with me.
He sat there ruminating in his thoughts before using the wall to begin his journey towards the main hall. I followed him and held myself back from helping him. He finally made it though when Madame Giry saw him.
"Vicomte!" she yelled rushing to his side. I was envious of her. She could openly touch him. He did not even flinch. So, it was just me.
Her yell seemed to have echoed since the managers came running out.
"Vicomte."
I had forgotten that he had to be the Vicomte. Looking at him, he realized it too. He nodded to them curtly.
As though he had a speech already prepared, he said confidently, "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 wondered when he had thought of that lie. He had looked to be in too much pain and too focused to have even worried about having to lie. This was not Raoul though. This was the Vicomte.
The managers expressed their relief and their praise of his ingenuity. I rolled my eyes, and frowned when I saw him smile gratefully to them. He could smile. I took some consolation in the fact that the smile was so obviously forced.
"You must want to go home right away," Andre stated. I waited to see what he would do. Did the Vicomte have another lie ready to tell?
He shook his head, "After what the Opera Ghost has done?" He 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." He said it with enough conviction for me to be annoyed. Was this how he really felt?
I watched him, but the truth was that I could barely catch glimpses of Raoul there. At times, when I could tell the pain was too much, I could see Raoul. I could see the man who was hurting and who did not mind being helped. I knew that Raoul could not survive as only Raoul so why did I not want him to ever play the Vicomte?
The managers looked uncertain as did Madame Giry. Madame Giry especially seemed suspicious of his story, which was to be expected since I had used her to obtain the bandages. She knew that I had more to do with the Vicomte's disappearance than simply leaving him in a tunnel. As though I would ever leave anyone to roam freely in my passageways.
Firmin was about to reply when I heard a voice that made Raoul stiffen. I was automatically wary as well.
"He's right," the Comte strolled up, "He should remain here."
The Comte had been roaming free in my opera house. I knew it, but I had not had it in my power to stop him. I had been… preoccupied. Now, though I would have some free time. I glanced at Raoul who was standing stiffly. I knew his wound had to be hurting since he was so tense. I suddenly doubted I would have free time. Not when my thoughts were consumed with Raoul's safety.
I noticed that the managers did not know what to say. They simply nodded their heads. I had always thought them to be weak. The Comte was taking complete control of the opera house. Not even Firmin's greed seemed to impede the Comte's takeover. They were simply disappointments.
The Comte walked up to Raoul and hugged him too tightly. I could see the muscles in Raoul's neck tense, but other than that, he made no other indication of being hurt. I wondered how he had managed. He had been wincing and cringing so much when he had been with me. How could he hide it so easily now?
"I'm so glad you have returned. We must talk." The Comte spoke.
Raoul smiled and nodded enthusiastically. That was Raoul. It seemed when his brother was present, Raoul could not play the arrogant, unconcerned Vicomte. He was not quite the Raoul I knew though. When I thought of Raoul, I thought of that day a month ago. I thought of a smiling, blushing, passionate Raoul. This was the Raoul who had been injured in my home. He was submissive and docile. He was the one who had come to the masquerade with the single mindedness that had surprised me. This was Raoul as the younger brother.
The Comte grabbed his arm and squeezed so tightly he almost winced. I banged against the wall. Luckily, it made no sound. I wanted to protect Raoul. What was I doing behind this wall? I followed them when they moved away from the managers and Madame Giry.
The Comte was practically dragging him the moment they were out of sight. I trusted that he would not do anything. Any more wounds would be easily seen. If he so much as shed a single drop of blood, I would kill him without a thought of what Raoul wanted.
"Where have you been?" The Comte whispered angrily.
Raoul kept a straight face and replied, "The Opera Ghost had taken the ring. I went to retrieve it." He seemed so emotionless. I did not like to see him act like this. At least with the Vicomte, he had some confidence in him. Raoul was acting as though he had nothing in him.
The Comte looked unimpressed, "And did you?"
"No," he said it blandly still.
"What happened?"
I wanted to know what he would say. The Vicomte was a liar. I wondered how this Raoul would respond. "He knocked me out."
"You fainted," the Comte interpreted. There was no response from him.
"I woke up trapped in another room," he spoke with an even tone. He had been a prisoner of sorts. Evidently, this Raoul twisted the truth into lies. "It seemed like a storage room," that had been an outright lie, but he pressed forward not letting his 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."
The Comte did not believe him for one second. He could see through the lie, but he was holding his tongue. He knew that I had something to do with his escape and his new desire to stay in the opera house.
"How did you escape?" He asked irately.
"He let me go."
The Comte stared at him calculating. He believed that statement. "Why?"
Raoul shook his head. "I don't know."
"Why are you staying?" He pressed. The Comte definitely did not believe his story. Raoul did not seem to notice though. Was he so blind to his brother's thoughts?
"He said something about taking her," he replied. Adding, "I broke the engagement off. I swear. I just don't want anything bad to happen to her."
The Comte 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. The Comte was planning something. He knew that I wanted Raoul to stay in the opera house. That much was obvious. I did not know if he had concluded about anything else, like why I had taken him in the first place. He turned to walk away, but Raoul stopped him.
"Brother."
He turned around. The look in his eyes made me hope that Raoul had a good reason for stopping him or else that blood may just be spilt.
"Please tell mother that I am okay. She must be worried," Raoul finally showed some emotion. He shrugged a bit. He really must have cared for his mother. The Comte had used her health to lure Raoul home that day. Now, he faced the Comte's wrath to send a false message of his well-being. I wondered if she knew what was happening to her son. I was pessimistic about mothers. I doubted his mother cared for him. Surely, she would have noticed some of his scars. Did she not notice that he had been missing for a month and had returned in pain? I did not trust Raoul's family. There were too many inconsistencies.
I hoped I was erroneous for Raoul's sake. He seemed so invested in her love.
The Comte nodded and left. He was left alone again. I wanted to change my mind and take him back right then. No, he would have his freedom. I would check to see if he was indeed happier when he was 'free.' I hated myself for thinking it, but I hoped he was not. I would keep my word though. If he managed to stay just seven days under my observation, I would give him the ring. I would give away the one thing that tied us together.
I was glad that Madame Giry suddenly appeared. She would take care of him. She would understand that he was injured and needed more attention than usual.
"Madame Giry," he said pleasantly, "has the opera house been well?"
He was back to being the patron. At least that was better than the Vicomte. A thought suddenly occurred to me. Without Raoul, did that mean I was going to act like the Opera Ghost once more? I had no reason to be kind. I had no reason to be gentle. Nothing had changed really. I was still reluctant to play that role though.
Then again, there was Don Juan Triumphant. What to do with my opera? I had written it to have Christine. I no longer wanted her. It was still a masterpiece though. I had spent time and talent on that piece. I would still like to see it performed. Perhaps the opera house would remain unscathed though.
Madame Giry nodded to his question but looked at him appraisingly. She was trying to gauge how injured he was. I had asked for many bandages. I was certain she was wondering how badly he could be injured if he looked the way he looked now. I was almost convinced that he was not injured. He showed absolutely no signs of pain. She firmly grabbed his arm and led him away. I frowned at her for touching him so freely.
"Did the Opera Ghost harm you?" You could at least trust Madame Giry to be straightforward.
He shook his head. He was watching her warily. I was pleased to see that he did not trust her. I did not want him to trust anyone. Everyone could potentially hurt him. I did not want him to be so innocent with others. That was quite the oxymoron. I could not expect him to only be naïve with me. It was both an asset and a weakness but he could not choose with whom to be naïve.
"I will show you a place where you can stay."
I was relieved that he would at least have a bed to stay in which to sleep.
To my dismay, he shook his head, "I need to look after Christine."
Madame Giry mirrored the look I had when she looked at him worriedly, "What did he say?" I was a bit indignant at her question.
"I have to look after her, Madame Giry," he restated earnestly.
She relented, "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."
He nodded his head. I was annoyed. A chair was going to be horrible for his injuries. What was he thinking? I was not actually going to chastise him for not sleeping right outside her door. He looked determined though.
I could not help but be relieved that that was Raoul.
o.o.o
The next six days passed rather uneventfully.
I followed Raoul as he followed Christine. I was pleased to see that he was healing rather well. The fact that he was sleeping in a chair did no harm to him, as far as I could tell. He looked to be happy, but I could not tell. He was alone most of the time, and when left alone, he would stare in the general direction of Christine and just think.
Christine and Raoul did not exchange a single word. I did not doubt Raoul when he said that he had broken off the engagement for good, but it was a relief to see that there was no affection at all between them. He only focused on her. I did tell him to watch her, but I did not mean so closely. He looked at her fondly at times. I knew he cared for her as a friend still, but I could not help the jealousy that arose every time he wasted that look on her. Christine was still angry with him, but I could tell that she was getting more annoyed since with Raoul following her, the Comte did not speak to her as much. I found that his consolation had been quite regular the four days that Raoul had been missing.
I was angry with the Comte. I was angry that he was still alive. He had made himself scarce again. He would always be with others. Most of the time it was the managers, which only served to anger me further. He was taking over as the patron. I wondered why Raoul did not do anything, but I doubted that he ever would stand up against his brother. The age of some of those scars said he had been subjugated most of his life. He would never find it in him to escape. I reached a simple solution to both our problems. I would kill the Comte. Problem solved.
I was angry with Raoul, too. He appeared to be fine. I wanted him to need me. Maybe I had been mistaken all along in thinking that he needed me. I did not lose hope though. His brother had brought him a change of clothes, but at night when Raoul thought that no one was looking, he would put on my shirt. Not only that though, he would smile wistfully and sigh.
That had to mean he thought of me. It had to mean that I meant something to him. On the other hand, it could just mean that he was cold at night. I hated that voice of practicality. Why couldn't I just believe in the idealistic thoughts?
As I did every night, I was watching Raoul sleep on the morn of the seventh day when I saw a hooded figure enter Christine's room. I slipped through the passages in time to see that it was the Comte. Christine had a single candle burning, but I was certain that it was he. They shared whispered words.
The Comte hugged her gently, "Let's go."
Christine looked a little reluctant, "Are you certain we should?"
"I've asked you everyday this week for us to go, and you've kept putting it off."
I wondered when they had had the opportunity to talk. It was true that I was distracted by Raoul most of the time, but I had thought I would notice if someone were speaking to Christine. However, it appeared that I had been rather negligent. The Comte was planning something. He wanted to get my attention, and he knew with my past record that Christine was the way to go about it. He also knew that I wanted Raoul to watch Christine. I would play his game, but I would come out it the victor.
Christine nodded and pulled on her coat, "Let's go."
They blew out the candle and left. I hurriedly ran before them. Reaching the carriage, I incapacitated the driver and hid him. I momentarily worried what Raoul would do. I hoped he would sleep through the morning. I had business with these two and I would rather not have him present to see it.
It was better this way.
The Comte and Christine entered the carriage and ordered me to go to the cemetery.
They were making this almost too easy for me.
I drove away from my home and from the one I loved. I would be a murderer one more time… maybe two more times.
o.o.o
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End ch16
word count: 14,906
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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!
Chapter review:
Another obscenely long chapter. That last line kind of made me laugh.
Story review:
Wait for the next installment to see if anyone dies!
Note to self: I am never writing another chapter this long! It was a pain. They're not even happy together!
More action next chapter.