Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.
Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)
Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)
Pairing(s): ErikRaoul
Story note: No profound moments. Raoul's lingering much too much on Christine and Erik's making excuses. ^__^
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Reluctantly Willing
Chapter 12 - … to resist
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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt
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Raoul went from sleep to wakefulness in a moment. It was how he woke up nowadays, and after Christine had left, he'd thought he would go back to his older habits. He thought that he'd wake in the morning only after his servants knocked on his door several times and had begun to yell at him for his tardiness. That didn't happen though.
Not moving, he simply opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He listened closely to hear the sound that had woken him, but nothing caught his attention. It was morning. The servants should be moving about, but nowhere near his room. He could faintly hear some birdsong, and he knew that if he turned his head just a bit, he'd be able to look out the window. He'd see sun streaming through. He didn't have enough energy to do even that.
It was all simply too disappointing, his life at the moment, her decision, his reaction. Nothing had really changed. He knew it was to be expected though. He was still in the mourning period; he hadn't let go of her just yet. It was difficult. He still had those nightmares; so as much as memories plagued him while he was awake, sleep wasn't kind to him either. Moreover, how could he get a good night's rest in general? He was sleeping in a bed that wasn't his on sheets that were once hers. In fact, this whole room had been Christine's.
Closing his eyes again, he hoped to shut out those thoughts. Maybe he could spend the whole day in bed; maybe he could forget everything and sulk in peace.
That would be pointless though. He'd have to get up eventually. There was food, work, and of course, there was still the ghost. He hadn't been able to stay in bed knowing that the ghost would know he was this pathetic. He hadn't cared the morning after Christine had left that the ghost was in his house. He'd simply stayed in the room, suffering in not-quite silence. He'd torn through all her clothes, half-crazed and half-cautious. These were her things. He'd been torn between wanting to destroy them and wanting to save them so that he could at least remember her, to have keepsakes, or just in case she came back. It was always that last hope that made him hate himself and stifle frustrated yells.
She wasn't coming back. He knew it. Absolutely was certain. And every time, he would hope that he was wrong. He'd have that moment where he was just as certain that she would return. Even when he had those moments, he'd come to the same conclusion. Nothing would change. If she came back, what would happen? They'd probably live in the same house. He'd have to kick the ghost out of course, but then Christine would still avoid him. She would still refuse to let them be in the same room together. She herself would become a ghost in his household.
Was that any different than it was now? She was there in his head. Always a thought away, as though she were still just a room away or just down the stairs, avoiding him.
Raoul opened his eyes and forced himself to stand up, forced himself to start his day. She was here in this room, all too present and he suddenly wanted to run away from her.
Breakfast. Food would be nice. He'd lost his appetite since that day, but sometimes, his stomach would growl. Sometimes, it was just something he could do that required little thought. Sometimes, he'd actually feel the weakness from having not eaten the whole day. It wasn't fair to his servants anyway. They prepared his meals whenever he asked and they put so much effort into it. He felt obligated to show some gratitude. He wasn't quite used to being concerned about showing gratitude. They were his servants, but after everything, well, he'd changed his attitude about gratitude.
Things were different though, he thought as he stepped out into his hallway, just not in the way he'd hoped. Casting one more look into Christine's room, he closed the door firmly. It was different because of the ghost, with the ghost. Raoul couldn't regret his decision to let the ghost remain in his house because admittedly, it was nice that he wasn't alone. Just the knowledge that someone else was choosing to stay in his house was comforting and in a way, it was nicer than when Christine had been his company. He was just waiting for the ghost to leave too though, just waiting for him to vanish one day.
The ghost hadn't left the day after Christine left as Raoul thought he would. He was waiting for the ghost to ask the big question.
Where would Christine be?
But the ghost hadn't asked, hadn't just stayed one day. One day turned to two, two to three, and now, this would be the end of their first week of living together. Somehow they were still alive. He just couldn't understand why. After the fourth day, when the ghost's head had sufficiently healed, he'd stopped wondering and just resigned himself to the expectation that every morning he'd be wondering if the ghost were still in his home.
Oddly enough though, where he thought that his estate was quite large when Christine lived with him, it seemed much too small with the ghost. Everywhere Raoul turned, the ghost seemed to be just a few paces away. It wasn't as though the man were following him though. The ghost would be coming from the other direction completely and then not pay attention to him at all. There was no extra attention. The man simply lurked – and it was lurking, because Raoul noticed it was only when he was around him that he didn't attempt to cover his face – through the hallways and in every room. No place was sacred, but at the same time, the ghost was unobtrusive, as though because he could hold so still and keep so quiet that people tended to disregard him, ignore his very presence. His servants hadn't needed extra coaxing after the initial shock that the ghost was to be staying with them to not bother him. They ignored him as well as he ignored them.
Raoul found such a thing impossible. Whenever the ghost was in a room, he was unable to notice anything but the ghost even when they'd been in such close quarters. It had simply been easier to distract himself with Christine than focus on the ghost. Now that Christine was gone though, the only thing that he could focus on was the ghost. That was why he'd gotten no work done in the past week. He'd avoided his bedroom and den whenever he could. He could almost swear that the man's eyes followed him, and Raoul didn't want to hide his sorrow at Christine's absence. He didn't want to show his rival this particular weakness, one that he'd been unable to work through. So, after the ghost had shown signs that he would heal with no further complications, Raoul had begun to actively avoid him.
He'd realized rather quickly that the ghost didn't like going outside – Raoul assumed it was because he didn't have a mask anymore. So, he spent much of the last few days outside, in the stables and in the gardens. He'd yet to find the ability to go beyond his estate though.
He would come upon the gate and suddenly feel as though he were suffocating. His mind would race and he'd be unable to breathe. Dizziness would settle then and he'd be forced to stumble away to find shelter in his home and even though he wouldn't admit it, he'd hope that the ghost would happen across him again. Just one glance and his heart would calm. He'd be able to breathe again.
Raoul let out another sigh before heading downstairs.
At the bottom of the stairs, he paused as the ghost passed him. Time seemed to slow. The ghost held his gaze as he walked by, not bothering to hide his deformity almost daring him to say something, daring him to question his very presence in his home. Raoul couldn't. His heart felt like it was somewhere in his throat, and he couldn't breathe. The ghost's eyes held him still. He didn't think he could look away if he wanted to. Why would he want to though? The only reason he could tell the days apart was by their interactions with each other. But this was a different look.
Then just as suddenly, the moment was gone. The ghost walked up the stairs not even once looking back, but even as expected as that was, Raoul knew that something drastic had changed between them in just that moment.
Raoul swallowed with some difficulty before heading directly outside. He needed space, a little more space. Being alone, for the first time in a long while, seemed desirable.
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Erik paused at the top of the stairs when he heard the Vicomte leave the house. Sitting down at the top step, he glared down the stairs. The boy had left the house again.
He wasn't going to follow. No. He didn't need the blonde's company, and if he went outside, it would be like he wanted his company. That wasn't the case. Staying inside was making a statement against both Christine and Raoul. If he left, then it showed some kind of weakness; there was absolutely no reason to leave the house.
In fact, he hadn't stepped foot outside in a week. The Vicomte hadn't complained, but then again, Erik hadn't thought that he would. Erik, on the other hand, had asked himself hundreds of times why he was still on the Chagny estate. He was well enough now, had been for the past four days. He remembered because it had been four days since the Vicomte had stopped coming by the room to give him his nightly check up. It had been four days since Raoul had given him that worried frown, four days since he had run his fingers through his hair and gently tested the tenderness around the area he'd been injured.
Yes, he was healing perfectly, hadn't expected there to be any problems, but at the time when those warm hands stopped their ministrations, he almost wished that there had been complications. But, he blamed such thoughts on the head injury and Christine's absence.
He was just using the Vicomte of course. The only thing he needed was a place to stay for a while to recuperate. He didn't need the boy's company or sought him out.
There'd been that one time. He had really only sought him out on the second night of his stay, waiting until the Vicomte left the room before following just to find out where he had been sleeping. Erik had rather gotten used to his presence in the den or in the chair beside his bed. The change was disturbing the sleep he should have been getting.
Pausing when the blonde entered the bedroom, Erik could only stare in disbelief. If he hadn't already known, the hesitation and flash of pain that crossed the boy's features at the door would have told him all he needed to know about whose room it was exactly. He couldn't understand why the Vicomte would choose to sleep in Christine's room when there were about six other bedrooms he could have been staying in. It was unnecessary pain and incredibly stupid.
He could picture the room in his head and could just imagine the Vicomte sleeping in her bed, tear-stained cheeks and red eyes. Erik scoffed. How much more torture did the blonde need? He'd lived with her yet never spoke with her. He'd stolen her yet offered her back. She'd left him yet now he surrounded himself with her presence. Erik almost gagged at how disgusted he was with the Vicomte's actions.
He couldn't help himself though as he crept up to the door. He wanted to hear the boy cry and hear his broken voice because it was only fair. The boy wanted this; so he deserved to suffer. Of all the rooms to choose, why had he chosen hers?
Yet, even as he had approached the door, certain not to make a single noise, he had hesitated. He'd already seen the boy miserable, seen him beaten and as he leaned his ear against the door to hear those sobs, he knew it wouldn't bring him joy. There was no victory in the Vicomte's suffering because they'd both lost. They'd both promised her everything they could possibly give her and she had refused them both.
Erik had left the boy to suffer, but had been unable to leave the estate to chase after her since then. He told himself that the time wasn't right. Not yet. He'd know when the time was right.
To pass said time, he did the only thing that made sense. He watched the Vicomte. He followed him, secretly of course, to watch him. Just to see how long the boy would allow him to stay of course. It wasn't difficult for them to cross paths in the house. He could almost imagine how easy it had been for Christine to avoid him. The Vicomte never tried to hide his presence. His footsteps were distinctive and in a house such as this one where there was so much silence, it wasn't difficult to hear the boy approaching.
More than that, he could feel his misery everywhere in the house. It was as though the Vicomte were leaving a trail of sorts in hopes that someone would find him, would track him down. And it wasn't difficult for Erik to follow that trail, to seek him out, not to comfort him but because he was very close to reaching his limit with the Vicomte's depression.
All the boy did was mope and frown. Had she been that great?
Erik remembered her as she had been on stage, resplendent. He always thought that memory first before he thought of her as the one he'd brought down to his lair – that girl hadn't been everything he'd hoped. She'd been less and shown him worse. No, she hadn't been that great. She was above all other women – that was easy for Erik to concede, but after everything that had happened in his life and between them, that hardly meant as much as it should have. There would be no one like Christine, and Erik could only be grateful for that fact. No one would ever hurt him as much.
He tried not to think too much on his feelings for Christine. He didn't want to think about how his anger was overpowering the need to have her. He didn't want to think about who she had become or how she had betrayed him.
It hadn't been hard to distract himself from thoughts by watching the Vicomte, but more and more, the boy was beginning to avoid him. It was annoying because that trail of misery the boy left was almost too tempting; he wanted to follow even if it meant going outside. The Vicomte would leave the house and Erik would go to the second floor, walking from room to room to find the perfect view from the windows to see him just to satisfy that urge.
Then, the Vicomte would look towards the driveway and for a second there would be hope and Erik wanted to smack that hope out of him. He wanted to yell that she wasn't going to come back for him, for either of them, and if anything, the boy should just give up. He could just imagine the wounded look on his face if he ever did so, could just imagine him turn his head quickly, his hair swinging down from behind his ear to cover his face. The boy would sigh before nodding, and that would only anger Erik more even if he didn't quite understand why.
How could he have possibly lost to him? To a Vicomte who gives up on first loves and lies as a beaten dog at a woman's heels?
Christine would not return on her own. They'd have to chase after her. Erik would have to chase after her, but it just wasn't time.
What did she think she was doing denying them both her love anyway? It was one or the other. There was never the option to leave them both. If she did, then it only meant that she had been using them.
If only the boy had never come, then his Christine would have never acted as such. He clung to that thought as much as he reminded himself that the only reason he was staying was because the timing was not right just yet. He could feel it in his bones.
But until then, he let all his focus be consumed by the Vicomte. Only, of course, because if the Vicomte didn't get over Christine, then they'd only be put in the same situation as before. The boy would chase after her and she would use him as an excuse. They would still be competing for the same woman.
It was about time for the Vicomte to stop loving her. Erik stood up and purposefully strode down the stairs and out the door. He knew exactly where he would find the blonde.
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End Chapter
Word count: 2,926
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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!
Chapter review: Oh, delusions. This one could have been edited better, but it's already evening. So, wait for more Erik/Raoul interaction in the next chapter.