When I had returned home, my parents were gone once again. They must have gone to the country club or somewhere to get away from the drama that had been caused by me. As I walked up the sidewalk, I heard a car door shut behind me and I stopped. I turned around and saw a man in a dark suit, carrying a briefcase. He was an older man, and looked pretty important to be coming to my door. I headed to the porch, stopping and turning again as he cleared his throat.

"Sophia Day," he asked in a professional manner, stopping just a few steps before the stairs leading to the porch. When I nodded, he held out his hand and introduced himself. "I'm ADA Christopher Nolan. I'm the prosecutor who will be handling your case with James Buquet."

I nodded softly, shaking his hand and inviting him up to the porch. "Would you like something to drink," I asked softly, knowing that he probably noticed my hands and how bloody and battered they were.

"No, thank you," he said, looking down at my hands before he sat down in one of the chairs on the porch. I followed his lead, taking the seat to his left. "Rough day," he asked, his eyes moving from my hands to my face, studying me.

"I got into a fight with another girl at school today," I shrugged, not saying anything more than that. Mr. Nolan just nodded, getting the case file out of his briefcase and opening it.

"I just wanted to hear your statement again that you gave to the police last night, and make sure that everything is just as it should be. So I'm going to ask you some questions, and I want you to answer the best that you can, okay?"

"Yes, sir," I said, pulling my knees to my chest as I sat in the chair.

"Okay. First, I would like you to walk me through the accident that you had on the senior class trip that landed you in the hospital."

"Okay. Well, we were touring the Paris Opera House and I wandered away from the group. The chandelier fell and I pushed Monsieur Destler out of the way just before it landed on me. I wound up in the hospital with a couple of cracked ribs."

"Now, who is Monsieur Destler?"

"Monsieur Destler is the music teacher at our high school. He was one of our chaperones on the senior class trip."

"Was Mr. Buquet on this trip as a chaperone as well?"

"No, sir, he wasn't. He didn't show up in Paris until the night I was in the hospital."

"This is when you say the molestation began, is that correct?"

"Yes, it began that same night."

"Do you have any idea why he would have chosen you, or why he continued to molest you until the night before last?"

"The only thing that I have in my mind was that I was Monsieur Destler's favorite student and he used that to his advantage. He pretty much told me that if I refused him, he would be fired and he would receive the blame for what Mr. Buquet was doing to me."

Mr. Nolan gave a nod, writing some things down on his legal pad. "You're currently in the school musical, is that correct?"

I nodded, adjusting myself to sit properly and crossing my legs. "We've been in rehearsals since we returned from Paris. Mr. Buquet continued to molest me throughout the time."

"All right, Sophia. I know this is going to be difficult for you, but I need you to walk me through the night of the rape."

I let out a low, shuddering breath, wrapping my arms around myself before I began to review the events of that terrible night. "My parents were not at home, but my boyfriend was here and we watched a movie. I wasn't feeling well, so I went upstairs to bed while he cleaned up our dishes and left. He forgot to lock the door when he left. I was sleeping when Mr. Buquet came in. The next thing I knew, I felt this sharp pain and he was…" I took a breath, holding back tears. I regained myself after a few minutes. "He was pushing inside of me. I screamed and fought at him, telling him to stop, but he didn't. He…used a condom."

"You know, Miss Day, there are a lot of girls who don't come forward with something like this. You are being very brave."

I merely nodded, wishing that I was being held and comforted by anyone. My parents. Drake. Monsieur Destler. Anyone.

"So you were a virgin when he raped you," Mr. Nolan pressed, writing more notes down on his legal pad.

"Yes, sir…I was." I hadn't come to grips with the fact that my virginity had been ripped from me. It was something special that I wanted to give willingly and lovingly to someone I loved in the future.

"Miss Day, I just want to brace you for what lies ahead. Buquet has a shark of a lawyer, and he's already building his case up against ours. We have enough evidence from your examination at the hospital and your room to put him away, and your story hasn't changed, which is a good thing. Now, there is something else that I need to know, and then I will be on my way."

"Yes, sir, Ask what you need to ask."

"Are there any other men in your life that you have been close to, men that aren't your father or another male family member?"

I nodded. "There are only two: Drake and Monsieur Destler."

"How close are you to Mr. Destler?"

"As close as any student and teacher could be."

"He hasn't made any advances towards you?"

I thought about my next statement carefully, thinking about the kiss that Monsieur Destler had given me on our first Saturday together, and the one that he had given me just an hour before. I could still feel his soft lips against mine as I closed my eyes, thinking about what I wanted to say. I took a breath as I opened my eyes again, looking at Mr. Nolan. "Monsieur Destler has not made any advances towards me, or any other student. As for Mr. Buquet, I know that he has had sex with one other student besides me."

"May I have her name, please?"

"Her name is Christine Page, but everyone calls her Chrissy."

"Are you friends with her?"

I scoffed, showing him my hands. "Hardly, Mr. Nolan. She was the girl that I got into a fight with today at school."

He nodded. "I'd hate to see what she looks like, from the looks of your hands."

"Trust me, she's feeling some pain."

He nodded, jotting a few more notes down before speaking again. "Miss Day, here is what's going to happen over the course of the next couple of weeks. In order for you to not testify in court, we're going to try and plead Mr. Buquet out. We are prepared to offer him Rape in the First Degree, and he will serve fifteen years in prison. If we can get more girls from your school to come forward, we will have a stronger case, and he'll serve fifteen years for every girl that he assaulted. However, there is one stipulation. If Buquet doesn't take the deal that we are going to offer him, we will have to go to trial and he has already invoked his right to a quick and speedy trial, so we will start proceedings next week if he doesn't accept the deal. Do you understand what I just told you?"

"Yes, Mr. Nolan," I replied, standing up from my seat. He stood up as well, holding out his hand for me to shake again. I took it, shaking his hand and offering me a kind and reassuring smile.

"Everything is going to be all right, Miss Day," he said, stepping down off of the porch, turning to me once more. "Please do not be offended if I say this, but I would suggest seeing a counselor about what has happened to you. It's better to talk about it than to bury it."

I gave him a soft nod, and he turned to walk the rest of the way down the sidewalk, getting into his car and leaving. I sighed softly, going into my house and locking the door. As I walked up the stairs to my bedroom, I felt increasingly uncomfortable. Something just didn't seem right as I walked in my home. I looked in my bedroom, seeing that it was still a mess from the night before and the police searching for more evidence against Buquet. I looked at my calendar that was besides my door, and I let out a frustrated groan, putting my hands on my head. 'Beauty and the Beast' was two weeks away, right around the same time that the trial would be starting, if there was going to be a trial. Feeling restless, and wanting to get my mind off of everything, I went into my room, and began to clean up from the mess that was left from the night before.

It was midnight before I finally stopped cleaning, leaning against my bed, looking around. I had rearranged every piece of furniture, dusted everything, and had clean sheets upon my bed. I looked around my room, seeing pictures of Drake and I. I began to wonder what was going to happen to us. He said that he needed some space. How much space did he need, and for how long? Would he end up leaving me in the end? I let out a low sigh, getting up and going into my bathroom, running the water for a shower. I undressed and stepped in, letting the water run over me. In my head, I went over Belle's lines has I cleansed myself, skipping over the songs as I spoke my lines softly. After a while, I stepped out of the shower, drying and putting clean clothes on, coming back out to my bedroom. Looking around, I didn't want to be in there. I pulled on some socks, shoes, and a hoodie, venturing outside from my bedroom window. I climbed down slowly and quietly, using the gutters and siding of the house. Once I placed my feet on the ground, I pulled my hood up and looked around, seeing that my parents still weren't home. I shrugged it off, and started to walk around the area. The night air was crisp and cool; spring was definitely in the air. I walked for what seemed like forever, taking it all in. I listened to the sounds of the night, closing my eyes and stopping but for a moment. Then, something else began to fill the air. The soft sound of a piano began to flood the air. The keys were being played with such grace, moving softly, and yet furiously at the same time. I opened my eyes, and I began to follow the sound. As the sound grew and grew within the night air, I found myself in front of Monsieur Destler's house. I stopped moving, listening to the sounds once again. I moved quietly around his house, looking in the windows on the first floor. The house was dark, not a soul in sight. But the music…there was music, I was sure of it. I looked at the ground, seeing some light coming from behind the house. I walked in that direction, stepping lightly, finding the source of the light. It was coming from the basement. There was a small window in which the light was shining from. I slowly bent down, peering in the window.

I had never seen the basement of Monsieur Destler's home; only the first floor and even that was for a brief moment. From what I could see through the window, his basement was beautifully decorated in rich colors of red and gold. Manuscript paper lay all over the place, along with some paintings that I had never seen before. There, in the center of it all was a luscious black grand piano, baring the symbol of Steinway. There, sitting amongst it all, playing the piano was Monsieur Destler. I watched as he moved his fingers over the ivory, this strange feeling beginning to swell within my heart, the music flooding my ears as I closed my eyes, listening to the piece that he was playing. It was unlike anything that I had heard before. Suddenly he stopped playing. I froze in my place, afraid that he had seen me. I opened my eyes, watching him. He had grabbed a pencil that he had placed beside him, scribbling down some notes for the next few bars. My eyes widened, looking at the notes he had written. I had no idea that he composed music of his own. He stopped writing, and began to play again. I listened to the melody, the music flooding my ears once again. This time, I began to hum softly along with the notes as I lay on the cool grass. It wasn't long after I started humming that the playing stopped once again, this time followed by the piano bench scooting away from the piano. I bolted upright, breaking off into a dead run back to my house. I knew that he had to have seen me, but I didn't care. His music filled my heart with joy and it made me want to soar. I stopped once I got back to my house, leaning up against the siding of the garage, breathing heavily. I couldn't get the music out of my head. It was plaguing me, and I wanted to hear more. I climbed back up the drain pipe and moved across the roof, going back into my room, shutting my window. I sat down on my bed, slipping my shoes off. I began to wonder, why didn't Monsieur Destler tell any of us that he composed music, as well as taught it? Mainly, why didn't he tell me? I pulled the blankets back, still thinking about the music that I had heard. As I moved to get under the sheets of my bed, images of Christine and the Phantom began to make its way into my mind. I wondered how Christine felt singing the Phantom's music. Did she feel the same way that I was feeling? My eyes grew heavy, and I closed them, breathing deeply as I began to drift away from the world that I knew, drifting back into the sea of slumber that I needed greatly.