So, I admit, I've been distracted. I had 10 episodes of House M.D. sitting on my DVR and they were calling to me like the intoxicating smell of coffee (Mmm…). But! I only succumbed to 5 of them. You should applaud me for my diligence.

And on we go, right? If you're not interested, I can go place my attention elsewhere-perhaps watching a miserable guy with a scruffy face limp around doing insane things to his patients. Yes…

Or you could just read and I'll put more effort into updating sooner. I could do that-it just wouldn't be as much fun. Unless I had some motivation. It comes in little bottles and you can get them half off at Sonic during happy hour. Hello? Can you say "deal"?

My thanks to PHLover213 for being a super reviewer. Jeez, if you kids could be more like her, I'd be getting somewhere.

Bricks Fulfilled

"But in some aspects," I continued, feeling the coldness of accepted reality sink into the spaces between my bones, "I did love her for her youth and beauty."

I casted a side glance my companion and saw his eyes regarding me dully. Most likely Nadir was hanging on to my every word.

"It is some psychological diagnosis you are searching for, right?" I asked, "You want to scientifically understand why I, who felt nothing but selfishness, suddenly had a yearning to see this child gathered in jewels and cheeks rosy with happiness, no?"

Nadir motioned in the affirmative.

"I suppose it was everything about her, my little Christine Daaé."

After I left that statement hanging in the air for a minute or two (I'm sure Nadir was counting in order to determine the proper time to courteously interrupt), he said, "That's no diagnosis."

"Indeed, it is not. She was like a cure for all the symptoms of my miserable life, you see. I was ugly, she was a piece of art come alive. I was hated, she was bathed in parental adoration. I was a monster, she was the epitome of innocence." I scoffed a bit at my own foolishness. "It was as I were a stack of bricks and she were the mortar designed to hold me together. We fulfilled each other that way."

"But Mademoiselle Daaé did not feel the same way. She did not feel...fulfilled," he coaxed.

I laughed, genuinely this time. "Oh Heavens no, Daroga! You should have seen her face pale at the sight of me. It was…" I coughed, all mirth gone at the memory. "It was difficult."

(This is my new freaking flashback break because the freaking computer/website won't let me put my customary freaking dashes in.)

The production had ended, my darling's precious vocal superiority still ringing with that final chord in my head. I could hardly get the image of her out of my mind: radiant, breathtaking, dazzling.

I almost chuckled, giving away my hiding spot behind her mirror. I, dazzled? It didn't seem possible.

Christine was still battling her nerves. Oh, there are people who believe performers only feel nervous for the moment they are on stage, all quaking emotions flooded out in an instant when their feet take them elsewhere. But a true performer knows the anxiety of reliving the event in their own mind in a bloody quest for failure. The mistake could have been as miniscule as a misplaced breath or as large as a shattered pitch, but Christine was wracking her memory for anything that would have made her performance less than perfect. Her shivering figure before the mirror told me so.

I wanted nothing more than to reveal myself and comfort the misguiding nerves with my praise, but before I could do so, her dressing room door burst open.

A boy!

I growled, caught off guard by this unexpected appearance. Thankfully Christine's cry of " Raoul!" overshadowed it.

Shock tingled throughout my body. She knew this intruder?

A short conversation later and I was barely holding onto sensible thought. My vision had exploded in a fiery red hue and all I wanted to do was wring that scrawny boy's neck until it every bone was reduced to powder and his head lopped around unsupported by the anatomical necessity. Oh yes, that would do me very well…

The sound of a door closing brought me to my senses. The red washed away to show me a Christine blushing with a hand over her heart. That boy had kissed her hand!

My jaw trembled in an animalistic craze and a strange hissing sound was issuing from my lips. Pressing my forehead to the cool texture of the wall, I took steadying breaths. In, in, in, out, out, out. In, in , in with the calm, out, out, out with the anger. Good…

By the time I managed to gain control of myself (really, it wasn't healthy to lose it as easily and often as I did) Christine was sitting in her chair by the mirror again, only this time she appeared to be waiting for something.

Her angel!

That boy had not swayed her vigilance after all. With a huff of pride, I spoke and congratulated her on a flawless success.

She blushed again, but this time it was for me and me alone. Believe me, I took careful notice.

And then I remembered my entire purpose tonight-how could I have forgotten over the small issue of an incompetent male presence? I was to make myself known to my dearest. Really, how could I have misplaced that thought? My hands were practically shaking in recollection of the emotional tempest I had been the past week.

And so I sang, careful to leave my inner turmoils out of the music and focusing excruciatingly on placing Christine under my hypnotic spell. The notes bounced off her dressing room walls and she whirled around a bit before finally coming forward, toward the mirror by pure intuitive will. There was a part of me that wondered if she'd subconsciously known my hiding place the entire time of her instruction.

When I opened the mirror, reflective glass rippling to create the image of moving water, I nearly stopped singing. My beautiful protégé sharing the same air as I, only physically a yard apart, her eyes connecting to mine with a spark. It was amazing that my heart could handle the excitement.

But then…there it was…my worst fear recognized.

Her face lost all of its color and the lovely blush she'd bore only seconds before was painted over with a sick white color.

Breath ceased to funnel into my lungs and my body gathered deadly carbon dioxide. If I stayed like this, involuntarily not breathing and all, I would die from a buildup of the formidable gas.

My Christine was afraid of me.

(This is my new freaking flashback break because the freaking computer/website won't let me put my customary freaking dashes in.)

"But I pushed her regardless," I continued, "I pushed her with no end in sight, no slack on the reigns, and she fled from me the first opportunity available. I wanted to force her to love me but all I accomplished was forcing her to the farthest place from my heart."

Nadir got up. Stretching from the boredom of my words, it seemed. "You cannot force someone to love."

"But there, Daroga, is where you are incorrect. It is very possible to make human beings feel anything if one has the right leverage. In fact, I believe I succeeded, if only for a few seconds of light in Christine's eyes. She once laughed at something I said-after seeing me in all my hideous glory, even."

"Laughter isn't love," Nadir said. I think standing while I was seated made him feel safer, in more control. "Would you like more tea?"

I nodded.

"Just promise this cup won't end up in the fireplace. I was rather hoping to read the tea leaves to check for future misery in your life," Nadir added with a spot of humor in his voice. I smirked beneath the mask. Even I can appreciate a healthy joke at my dispense every once in a while.