It feels over.
Exactly one year has passed since Mom tore me from my soul mate, but it feels like a lifetime. I haven't spoken a word since. I haven't smiled or frowned. I haven't laughed or cried. I haven't read his masterpiece book, watched his fantastic movie or listened to his breathtaking soundtrack. None of it is as good as being near him. I wake up, spend the day and go to sleep in jeans, my Phanatic shirt, a plain black hoodie and his ring tied in a ribbon around my neck. Only scissors will separate it from me. I do my homework if I decide to, I eat if I really want to, and when I do shower, I do it in my clothes and cut myself. As you can imagine, my hair is a mess, but it's hidden under the hood. Like everything.
It's the last day of school. I've had senior projects and finals to do, but I haven't. The rotten principal, who has enjoyed numerous blowjobs from my mom, calls me to his office. I go.
I sit down across his desk and he looks at me with a stern expression. "Well, Avril, it hasn't been a very good year, now, has it?"
I remain emotionless.
"Well, this is very bad news. You have failed all year. You're going to have to repeat 12th grade if you want to succeed not only in your grade school studies, but in society."
He has pissed me off many times. But this was the worst. I don't need no society, I need Erik to come back. I haven't heard from Grandma, Emily, Andrew Fucking Lloyd Webber, not even Alex, less alone Erik. This is the first act of pain I've expressed since I closed my mouth forever. He has a brand-new desktop computer on his desk. I pick it up and fling it at him. He screams and I flip him off before running out the doors, despite the secretaries yelling at me. In the bus circle sits a limousine. My eyes widen when I find the chauffer holding a sign that says "Avril Hills." I look both ways and point at myself. The guy nods. He could be a kidnapper, but I don't care. I can't show my face in that school again. I don't even want to go home. I approach him and he says, "I have a message from a Mr. Destler."
The name rings a bell. He hands me an envelope. On top of it is a rose tied with a black bow. I actually gasp a little. I open the note, which is closed with a red wax stamp in the shape of a skull. "Dear Miss Hills,
You have received the honor of an invitation to the grand opening of Le Théâtre du Fantôme in New York City, New York, on the second of May, seven P.M. We implore you to come."
My mouth drops. I look at the chauffer. He says, "This is quite an honor, Mademoiselle. The guest list is very restricted."
I nodded. He opened the door for me and I got in. This was the first time I had been in a fancy vehicle, let alone limo! I enjoy the long ride to New York City silently.
Hours pass and I see the lights of NYC shining through the windows. I expect to see the theater that has played The Phantom of the Opera for so long but I don't. The limo stops at a theater that looks kind of like the Palais Garnier. The chauffer lets me out and I take a moment to gaze at the exact replica of the place I hardly knew but loved. This felt like something better. The chauffer opens the door and says, "Welcome home, Miss Hills."
The door closes before I can counter. I look forward and see what looks like the main hall of the Palais Garnier but awesomer. But it's dark. I walk forward and clap once to get attention. A light comes from a door up the stairs. I walked upstairs and went inside to see a theater much like the Palais Garnier's. The majestic chandelier is dim but turns off when I'm in one of the aisles. The curtain goes up and a dim light comes onto the center of the stage by the time I'm at the front row. I hear footsteps touch the stage and see a man wearing an all-black Victorian outfit come into the light. He has black hair pushed neatly behind his ears, and on his face is a white mask. I'm not sure exactly who it is but when I hear his voice, I have a clue, because only two people know the song my fiancé wrote me—me and my fiancé. He's singing the song he wrote for me. In the middle, he helps me onto the stage and sings the rest. When it's over, I'm about to fall into the orchestra pit, but he saves me. He's holding me in a dip position and lets me touch his face. "Is it really you?" Those are the first words I spoke in an entire year.
"It's me, Avril," he says.
I throw my arms around his neck and hold onto him tighter than I did when my mom separated us, giving him a kiss that neither of us will ever forget.
I am Avril Destler, star of the operas and musicals by the world-famous playwright and songwriter Erik Destler. I am also his wife and co-owner of theThéâtre du Fantôme. Every year, we put on his most famour work, The Phantom of the Opera. We have many frequent audience members, such as Annette Cormier, Frank, Marine and Pierre, even Alexandre Moreau. Sitting in Box Five is often Andrew Lloyd Webber, a good friend of ours. I think I found my happily ever after.