Chapter 2

The Phantom brooded in his room for the next few days, coming out a few times to use the washroom. He would only accept a meal if Meg brought it and left it outside the door. She was not his maid, and he treated her like a child. She had left him alone at first because he needed space, Christine had just betrayed him, and honestly what would they have done if he had come out to see her. Most of the time, she stood in the living room, practicing her ballet so she wouldn't be out of shape for whenever she would dance again.

Finally being fed up with being ignored, she knocked on his door, dinner in hand. She was not going to take no for an answer again.

"Leave it." He told her, as if she were a dog. She knocked again and got no reply. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and saw him sitting at the edge of his bed with his elbows on his knees. "Did I not tell you to leave it, Meg? Do you not understand? Must I spell it out for you?"

"Enough, Monsieur. You cannot keep treating me like a child -"

"If you did not act like one, I would not have to punish you like one."

"I'm not a wide-eyed little girl, hiding under my mother's skirts, afraid of nightmares anymore, Monsieur, of that I assure you!" She replied haughtily. "And as for my name; it is Marguerite. Only friends and family may call me Meg, and you sir, have not earned either title. Now, you will have your supper and then you will come downstairs into the drawing-room and talk to someone other than yourself!"

"You dare order me around?"

"Admit it, Monsieur, Christine is gone! I admit her a fool for choosing Raoul but there's no turning back time; no changing her decision. It is time to move on."

"Do not mention her or even his name to me. Who do you think you are? You're nothing but a ballet brat who hides under false pretenses of being a quiet angel. You are a rude young lady with no sense of propriety. For Heaven's sake, you act like a defiant child. Now put the tray on the dresser and leave me be. You're not one who can push me around." He declared angrily. He saw a spark of anger in her eyes; but then they softened and she felt chastised like a father would his daughter who had defied him.

"As you wish." She said quietly as she curtsied a small bit, and set the tray down, taking her leave back downstairs. He had to admit she was not a child any longer, no, although he did see her like that very often. She had grown into a lovely young woman with astounding talent. Even her singing was not a terrible feature. She was headstrong and opinionated, standing up to him, he would have applauded her if it were to anyone else but him. He had felt remorse about calling her such names but he was just angry, and hurt. He really loved Christine and he thought she might have loved him back. Until Raoul came back. Then everything crumbled. That was another thing, what did Me- Marguerite mean when she said she thought Christine a fool for choosing Raoul? Had she really held him on that high of a pedestal that she thought her own best friend a fool? He pushed the food around his plate as he silently pondered these things.

As he finally finished, he decided he might as well go downstairs to please the little Giry. She had gone to such lengths to keep him secure from the harm of mob; which he was still utterly confused about. What had caused her to act out such compassion? Did she really trust him enough to stay in a house alone with him for however long that may be, without expecting something bad to happen to her? He remembered the drive here from the opera house, she had asked his name. . .Not even Christine had known his name. No one had known of his name for a very long time, he'd figured he'd forgotten it. A name given to him by a mother who didn't want him and kept him out of pity, who would want to keep a name like that?

Making his way down the stairs, he heard the soft counts of her routines in the drawing-room, and her the soft thud of her feet on the carpet as she finished her leaps and turns. As he entered, she had finished with a Chaines turn, and looked up, only to be startled by him. She fell back and could not gain her balance before clattering to the floor like a wobbly chair. He could not help to conceal the smirk that showed on his face, and he saw as her eyebrows knitted together in anger -or embarrassment, he couldn't determine which.

"Do forgive me, I did not mean to disturb you." He bowed slightly, letting her compose herself.

"Not at all. I wasn't expecting you to be finished with your brooding so soon."

"A certain, child helped me along." He watched a nerve in her cheek jerk and pretty little mouth contort into a frown. "Such pretty faces should not be stricken by frowns."

"You flatter me, sir, but my face would not be stricken with frowns if a certain man was not here, making them." She challenged.

"Perhaps I should return to my room, and leave you to yourself, then?" He retorted. If silly banter was all that was ever going to come out of a conversation with her, he wasn't sure how he was going to survive the long period of time he anticipated staying here.

"Please, stay," She said, following him out of the doorway. "I do not want to bicker. I'm sorry I yelled at you. I know this must be hard on you."

"What could you know of it?" He asked softly, but accusingly.

"I have known of other things outside of the opera house." She said finally, crossing her arms on her chest.

"I apologize if I have offended you, Mademoiselle." He said quietly. "I suppose I never got to mention how thankful I am that you snuck me out of there, although I won't pretend to know what possessed you to do such a thing."

"You were trapped in a corner, I knew it was right to help you out of it. I just wanted to let you know that people are different, we all don't hate you. I don't hate you. I wanted to show you compassion and care after what had happened. Despite what you want people to think, you are a man. And men have feelings as well as any woman." She laid a hand gently on his arm, and taking it away just as quickly, even though he had to admit he liked the warmth. And before he knew it, she was halfway up the stairs and he was still standing in the doorway.

As Meg took one more look to find him, still in his white ruffled shirt -halfway open- and black riding pants, she sighed a great sigh in contentment; she achieved what she set out to achieve. She showed him that not everyone was appalled by his appearance, that she did not judge him by his looks alone. Even though he had replaced the mask onto his face, she had still seen it -if not vaguely- in the tunnels and she thought it made him devastatingly beautiful. He would not be the man he was today if society had not shunned him like they had. He would not be the tragic Phantom of the Opera. He would've just been a man. She hated herself for thinking like that but she more than likely would have never met him if he hadn't been a gypsy and her mother had not rescued him. She did realize soon enough after entering the basement of the opera house that that was his home too, and he was going to lose it. That is what really stoked the fires of her wanting revenge. He was losing the only stable environment he had ever known, so she brought him here.

'If only he didn't treat me like a child.' She thought to herself, entering her bedroom. The spacious room, with a blue floral wall print and crème colored carpet, had been her cousin, Cecile's, room. The four-poster bed was in the middle of the wall straight ahead as she entered the door, to the left was a bay window with a seat, and to the right was a whole wall full of books. Cecile loved her books, particularly romance novels so, the first three days where Meg had had nothing else to do, poured over the books. And although she was not a fan of romance, she imagined herself in the role of the woman, much to her embarrassment. The man though, was always left blank. It was like there was an ink smudge over the man's face, but she did imagine him with a deep velvety voice, the words rolling off his tongue with his English accent. 'Almost like the man two doors down.' She shook her head rapidly, she expelled the thought from her mind. This really was not what she wanted to be thinking now.

Snapping out of his trance like state, he cursed himself for getting lost in the silly words of a girl ten years his junior. The world was all the same. No one would show him compassion, just pity. He didn't want their pity. Pity did not alleviate the hurt of ones emotions. Only pressed on them more, reminded one of what horrible things were happening. His need for compassion was almost to late, then why did he come with her when she offered him safekeeping from the opera house? He knew he would be torn to bits by angry people who had lost their homes. They did not take into account that was his home too. He supposed that's what set her apart from the rest of them. She knew that she wasn't the only one who had lost a home.

He thought back to how she saw him, crumpled on the floor, like a weakling. Crying over a woman who never truly loved him. As he pondered this he stomped back to his room. Christine had betrayed him. What did a little ballerina know of what happened? She merely knew he loved Christine, and Christine chose that fop in the end. Well, there was no time to dwell on the past. He now another another little problem, a certain little blond creature who seemed to care for him a great deal. He thought it odd, he had looked over Christine all her life and eventually came to love her, and yet, he'd known the little blond friend who entire life, even acquiesced her by playing pranks on the opera staff at her request, he had watched her brown eyes shine when a simple request was filled. He watched her chubby cheeks blush when she found his note that night in the dormitories. Yet, he had never really noticed her. He did not watch her grow up as he had Christine, she was simply the best friend. The forgotten one, like him. Anyone who had ever known him had forgotten him, for he disappeared from society years ago. Erik Destler was long gone, and the Phantom of the Opera was his identity. He doubted there was any hope of him coming back now. He could not even tell the one who had saved him from being, quite possibly, killed his own name.

He had meant to ask why she held her friend as a fool for choosing Raoul over him. He had nothing to offer Christine except love and his music. Raoul had everything to give her. A carefree existence, a home, money, music, and anything she'd ever desired. As far as everyone was concerned, Raoul was always to be the best choice.

Back at the opera house, Madame Giry surveyed the removal of rubble with a cloudy head. She trusted Erik not to do anything with Meg there, but she did not trust her own daughter. Too long, had she watched her daughter be the forgotten one, one everyone simply cast aside. And now she had the full attention, of a male no less. She had already guessed that Meg went down to the bowels of the opera house, and had seen a male, towering over her, following her out of the tunnels. She was not sure what was to come out of a situation like this, but she was not about to stop it. Phantom or not, Erik was a fairly decent person, simply in need of compassion and care. Should anything result of their predicament, she was not going to stop it. They would both, in time, find one another and give each other the love they both so desperately needed. Of that, Madame Giry was sure.

Later, Meg came downstairs, being unable to sleep, and started to boil some water to make a cup of tea. She could not bring herself to admit feeling anything for the Phantom, yet she knew in her heart she was in denial about it. But she would not set herself up for rejection. He wanted Christine, they always wanted Christine. She watched for years as people commented about Christine whether it be her relation to Gustav Daae or how utterly stunning she was, they always wanted Christine. Meg had spent her whole life surrounded by people, and yet she felt completely and utterly alone. If she were to be pushed out into society on her own, she would know of no one. She would be no one. She would have nowhere to go.

After finishing her tea and cleaning out her cup, she laid in her bed, and wept. She had no one.

Down the hall, a man sat awake in his bed, listening to the quiet sobs of a woman that had nothing to cry about. The thought of such a normally carefree little creature so stricken by sadness was enough to pull at the heart-strings of his cobweb laden heart.

Later, both sat awake listening to the stillness of the night stretch on for hours and hours

A/n: Hey all! I didn't get much feedback but what I did it was positive so I decided to add the next chapter to get the ball rolling a bit.

I do have a question for you all, on fanfiction my story is called A Phantom's Legacy but in my first chapter and as I wrote it on my iPod it was under the name Confessions Of A Wallflower. I was just wondering if you guys could give me some feedback on what you would prefer it be called!

Now for anon review reply(ies)

newbornphanatic: Thanks for your review (and also being the first review and also being so encouraging) It really means a lot and I hope you're around for the new update!

Good? Bad? Lemme know!