Author's Note: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, nor do I own "I'll be Good" by Jaymes Young
57
A shiver ran up and down Kayla's spine, and she opened her eyes.
The first thing she saw was her reflection in the rear view mirror. Her hands were resting on the steering wheel, her little black kitten plush staring at her with wide white eyes from the dashboard. Sure she was caught in a dream, she ran her hands along the warm leather of the seat beneath her, sticking her hands in the pockets of her parka, watching snowflakes tricking out of a charcoal sky. She leant her head against the wheel and willed herself not to cry.
Something around her neck clinked, and she frowned, sitting back up and tilting her chin down to peer at her chest.
The petals of a ruby rose glittered at her from the centre of her chest, nestled in the navy blue puff of her parka. Barely breathing, she ran her fingers along the gold chain, hands meeting at the back of her neck.
No clasp. But the chain had lengthened, and it was more like a dangling necklace than the tight, hollow-of-her-throat pendant it had been for the past six months. She could take it off now, if she wanted.
She never wanted to take it off.
Glancing over at the passenger seat, Kayla noted with shock the elegant gold bag overflowing with pearly tissue paper, tied with a curling crimson bow. She recognized the materials as being from her gift wrapping box, but she had no memory of putting such a package together. She snuck a look at the clock; it was 5:55. How, after all this, was she early?! The card she had drawn - could it really be yesterday that she had drawn the roses and musical notes? - perched between the tissue paper and the edge of the bag. Neat black cursive was visible: Have a phantastically happy birthday Sam, love big sis. Oh my god. It was still the day of Sam's party. In February. The same day she left.
Uncaring of the consequences, Kayla yanked the knot apart and hurriedly pulled out the tissue paper, peering into the bag at the creamy bundle beneath. Gingerly lifting the package into her lap, she peeled away the layers. Beneath the folds of paper, cavernous eye sockets peered back at her. Curling her hands under the edges, she brought the mask closer to her face. Ridged cheekbones, dark eyes, bone cool against her skin. There was a scent of velvet, of parchment and candle wax and decadence and decay. It was his.
Reluctantly, she re-wrapped the Red Death face and shoved it back into the bag, stuffing the other sheets of tissue paper over it and half-heartedly tying the silk ribbon. There. Now it looked like something she wrapped in a hurry. Pulling the keys out of the ignition, the metal unfamiliar in her hand, she shoved open the car door, grabbed the package, and clambered out. Snow crunched under her boots as she walked up her parents' stone stairs and rang the doorbell.
Samantha opened the door immediately. "Kayla!" she squealed, springing forward and locking her arms around her older sister's waist.
"Hey Sammy!" Kayla croaked, dazed at the feel of her little sister's familiar hug. "It's great to see with you, baby!"
Samantha looked up at her quizzically. "You make it seem like it's been years. We facetimed yesterday, remember?"
No. She did not remember.
"You know me, I don't remember what I had for breakfast this morning."
Technically it wasn't a lie.
"But whatever, it's still nice to see you!"
"Kayla, baby, you don't have to knock! Where's your key?"
Kayla's lips quirked. "Hi Mom."
"Let me take your coat, baby, it's really nice to see you..." Her mother tugged the parka from her shoulders, and Kayla shrugged it off, handing the garment off with a smile.
Samantha was still beaming at her. "I love your vest!"
"Um, thanks?" Kayla, taken aback, glanced down at her shirt.
"What's wrong, honey?"
Kayla shook her head and smiled, forcing her gaze away from the silky swirls of red on black of the waistcoat, tugging the cuffs of her black dress shirt self-consciously. "Nothing's wrong; just in a daze, that's all."
Samantha ran a knuckle over the vest. "It's so pretty!"
Her mother frowned. "It is nice, but it's a little bit much for a family dinner... But never mind. Did you get it at Hot Topic?"
Kayla shrugged and smiled, too shocked to come up with another response. How many things could have possibly survived that trip?
She was immediately thrown back into the family fray, as grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins streamed into the house, bearing colourful boxes and bags. Sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, she listened to loud greetings and conversations echoing around her, responding to the standard hellos and inquiries with an enthusiasm that she did not feel. Samantha whipped around the house, a train of cousins at her heels, silver laughter pealing over the chatter.
It was surreal to sit at a glass table, on high backed padded chairs, with cutlery that matched. Even weirder were the dishes being passed around the table: penne interspersed with chicken and basil and oil; salad with peaches and blue cheese; baked carrots and sweet potatoes caramelized with brown sugar and maple syrup. When a bowl of rolls travelled by, Kayla lunged forward and grabbed three before passing it on. Dropping the rolls on her plate, she looked up. The entire table was staring at her quizzically.
"Yes, hi, can I help you?"
"Mommy, Kayla took three buns!" Her cousin Trevor tugged on Aunt Michelle's sleeve to enhance his impatient whine. Four years old.
"Your insight is incredible, thank you." Flashing an incredibly sarcastic grin at the child, Kayla tore off a piece of the bread. She remembered the sourdough of a dark kitchen, and the bun began to taste like sawdust.
"But Mommy, you said we could only have one!" Trevor complained.
Kayla slathered her sawdust bread with butter and took a bite. It wasn't an improvement.
"It's not fair!"
Snatching her flute, Kayla shot back the glass of champagne, slamming it back down on the table with a thump. "Listen, my child, I have had a trying day and I shall eat as many buns as I goddamn please."
Shocked silence fell around the table. Then Sam giggled. Once it was clear that the birthday girl was unaffected by the outburst, the tension eased and the conversations resumed. Trevor, however, glared at Kayla across the table. The girl stuck her tongue out at him.
After dinner and cake, the guests gathered in the living room to watch Samantha open her presents. As she pulled out the creamy paper and stared into the bag, Samantha's eyes shot up to stare at Kayla. "No. Way!"
There were numerous exclamations of curiosity, and with a grin, Samantha pulled out the mask and held it over her face. Trevor screamed. Kayla laughed. But mostly there was confusion. "What is it?" asked Mom fondly.
"It's the Red Death mask from the Phantom of the Opera!" Sam squealed, lowering the mask and staring at it lovingly. "It looks just like the movie one, oh my gosh, Kayla, I love it! Thank you thank you thank you!"
"Maybe you should give it back to Kayla; she's the one dressed like a tragic Goth artist," smirked Cousin Jeff. Kayla, resisting the urge to five-star him across the face, settled for a none-too-gentle punch in the shoulder instead.
"Ow! Hey! Jesus, Kayla! Did anyone see that Kayla just punched me?"
"You're a college freshman, Jeff," his dad yelled from across the room. "You're not twelve anymore."
Jeff recoiled, bringing an offended hand to his sternum. "I object to that remark most strongly."
For a moment, Jeff's blonde buzz cut and grey eyes faded behind a sudden flash of hazel eyes and brown curls, and the echo of a teasing voice. Kayla shivered, and the mirage melted away.
She didn't stick around long after that, making her excuses with a much regret as she could muster.
In her own apartment, curled up in her own bed, Kayla woke in the middle of the night, reaching out for boots that didn't exist, with a burst of adrenaline for a rehearsal that never happened. As she recognized her own furniture, she realized that she wasn't in the dormitory. There wasn't a rehearsal to get to. She was completely alone.
She did not sleep for the rest of the night.
Her eyes were still open when the sun rose, casting pale gold rays over the duvet, glittering off the jeweled petals of the rose she clutched like a lifeline. The warmth that used to radiate from it had faded away, and it felt just as cold as any other piece of jewellery she owned. Glancing over at the clock on her bedside table, green numbers flashed at her: 11:00 AM. From its position on the charging dock, her phone screen lit up, a notification reminding her that there was a Theatre Calgary party to celebrate another completed play, along with a company meeting at the same event. Kayla moaned and buried her head back into her pillow. That was the thing, she supposed, about coming back; there was actually a life she had to keep up, a life she had not lived for months. Sitting up slowly, she hunched over her knees, massaging her temples. She wanted nothing more than to crawl back under the covers and never come out. She could feel the blackness reaching out for her from the corners, trying to pin her down under despairing claws. She'd felt this blackness before, and god be damned she had had enough. "Okay, okay… You can do this, you can do this… Up out of the bed. Goddammit, Kayla, what would he say?! You survived for six months in a foreign country and a different time period, you can at least get out of bed and chill around your apartment for a bit." She coaxed herself to the edge of the bed, and very slowly scooted out of it. Her toes sank into the grey carpet. She took a deep breath. "Okay, just another day. Let's go."
Her first order of business was to unpack her bag.
She sat on the floor, a croissant stuffed in her mouth, pulling items out of the purse and spreading them out on the floor around her. Her wallet, with her licence, credit cards, and Canadian and British money; her agenda, timetable, and university transcripts; a small bag of cosmetics; costume makeup brushes; her sketchbook and drawing pencils were there, but her watercolours and brushes were gone; and her pink earbuds, the colour faded now. Deeper down, there was a black silk domino, and a scrap of cerulean satin. All that remained of her masquerade. A glance at the clock notified her that it was noon, so she clambered to her feet, walked into the kitchen, poured herself a tumbler of rum, and returned to the living room, plopping back down on the carpet with a scowl. She took a sip of the burning liquid, the droplets of rum remaining on her tongue long after. Leaning against the edge of the couch, she tilted her head back and shut her eyes. The darkness behind her lids flickered with candle flame, the sombre notes of an organ echoing in her ears. It felt like home. So, keeping her eyes firmly closed, she let herself drift.
"I thought I saw the devil, this morning
Looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue
With the warning to help me see myself clearer…"
The rum glass, still half full, sat abandoned on the kitchen counter. Kayla stood in the bathroom, tugging on the hem of her blouse and nervously adjusting the cuffs of her blazer. She was wearing makeup, normal makeup, for the first time in what felt like years; sharp wings of black liner, tones of grey and aqua eyeshadow, mascara, and bright pink lipstick. The pendant swung back and forth like a bloody pendulum against the robin's egg blue of her shirt. Music trickled through the narrow halls of her apartment, echoing against the bathroom tile as if through a theatre.
"I never meant to start a fire,
I never meant to make you bleed,
I'll be a better man today,
I'll be good, I'll be good
And I'll love the world, like I should
Yeah, I'll be good, I'll be good
For all of the times that I never could."
Did she? Did she make him a better man? She didn't know. The thought was so terrifying that she returned to the kitchen and retrieved the rum, tossing it back with one gulp. It stung on the way down her throat, much harsher than the wine she was now used to. She went back to the couch and sat down again, staring at her phone. Half an hour until the party started. Scrolling through her messages, she clicked on a name and started to type.
Kayla: Can you pick me up? I may have had a drink
Melissa: …
M: One drink, you say?
K: …
K: maybe 2
M: haha you wildcard
M: Yeah, I'll pick you up. Five minutes?
K: For sure, I'll be ready. Thx.
Locking the screen, she tossed it onto the couch beside her and let her head fall back. Melissa was the one of the assistant heads of the fashion department; born and raised in Toronto, with a degree in fashion design from a well-known school in Milan. Rich, smart, and unbelievably nice. It was a wonder Kayla even associated with her, let alone being her current closest friend…
Your best friend here… her mind corrected.
"My past has tasted bitter for years now,
So I wield an iron fist
Grace is just weakness
Or so I've been told.
I've been cold, I've been merciless
But the blood on my hands scares me to death
Maybe I'm waking up today…"
Kayla shot to her feet and switched off the stereo. Her time abroad was too real to be reminded of it for any longer. Three minutes later there was a knock on the door. "Hey gurl, hey!" Kayla ignored the bottle of wine Melissa was holding and flung her arms around her friend. "Hey, Kayla, nice to see you too, you okay?"
"It's been a rough day," Kayla mumbled. Understatement of the century.
"Well, my friend, first things first more drinks for you. I'll even abstain to be your DD," Melissa smirked. They walked down the stairs, Kayla stumbling slightly in her flats, and Melissa being, of course, as graceful as ever in her five-inch heels. They climbed into the car, and the engine roared to life. The song that began playing through the speakers was the same one Kayla had just shut off in her apartment.
"For all of the light that I shut out
For all of the innocent things that I've doubt
For all of the bruises that I've caused and the tears
For all of the things that I've done all these years…"
"You don't mind Jaymes Young, do you?" Melissa peered at Kayla out of the corner of her eye. "Is it too sad for your state of mind?" Kayla shrugged. "It's almost over, it'll switch to Rhianna in a minute." For thirty seconds, they sat in silence, Kayla holding back tears as she tried to keep a phantom's face out of her mind.
"Yeah, for all of the sparks that I've stomped out
For all of the perfect things that I doubt
I'll be good, I'll be good
And I'll love the world, like I should
Yeah, I'll be good, I'll be good
For all of the times I never could."
Author's Note: I'm sorry.
Thanks to all y'all for sticking with me, and for the guest reviews from Minha, Liandra2428, Guest, Hayley Brunz, Leopard, and to the non-PM-able SilentLove 2700 for the follows, faves, and review.
I'm sorry that it took so long. Again. It's almost finals season again, and I still have papers and midterms due, plus course registration for next year. And, in other news, I am going on an exchange. To England. For a month.
I've been accepted into the International Summer School at a university in the UK, which apparently has the best creative writing program in the world. And what will I be studying there? Creative writing! So, in the end, that can only benefit you guys.
Thanks for your patience, everyone, and I love you all.
Tierney