Ang stared at the man, then blinked several times and stared a bit longer. He was insane. Literally insane. This was a totally different type of crazy, one that she'd never considered any of the times she'd read or watched his story.
She imagined his brows arching behind his mask as he awaited her answer. By his body language, he felt the request was nothing outrageous; he stood almost casually, as if waiting for a cab.
"Are you serious?" Dumb question; he was absolutely serious. "Monsieur, you don't understand. I can't sing. Not in front of people. I mean, I was, literally, the only kid who didn't make it into the junior high choir. Please, just trust me. You aren't going to like what you hear." Ang was on her feet now, hands gripping the bars, pleading openly with him to spare her the shame he was asking of her.
His head tipped to the side. Most of what she said was jibberish as far as he knew, but his understanding latched on to one particular sentence, and he refuted it quite quickly. "I have already heard you, Mademoiselle, and I quite enjoyed it." He relaxed his arms and brought one hand up to study his fingertips as if he could see them through the leather of his gloves. "It is entirely up to you, however it seems to be an obvious choice. You sing, or you starve."
Memories rushed to the surface and her heart began to pound in her chest until it was nearly painful.
"Your parents obviously gave you the wrong name." Her foster father spat in her face before shoving her into the lightless closet and locking the door from the outside. "There's nothing angelic about you."
"Did you hear how everyone in church laughed at you?" hissed her foster aunt as she dragged her out to the family car. "That's the last time we're letting you take part with the other kids. You ruined the Easter program."
"It was like listening to a goat. I could barely stay on key standing next to her," snickered one of the girls in her high school to a group of her friends. "Seriously. Crippled and tone-deaf."
The voices of her past battered her mind the way a storm's waves toss a buoy to and fro. Ang's jaw clenched and she pinched her eyes tightly shut, willing the tears away before they revealed themselves. That was then, and this was now. And 'now' feels so much worse! Her heart was hammering in her chest and she felt the familiar sensation of her blood-pressure dropping, her extremities tingling with numbness, the blood roaring in her ears as panic rose like a flash flood. Breathe. You have to breathe. Just get it over with; he'll feed you, and then you can figure out how to get the hell out of here!
Her mouth opened once, twice, then a third time, and each time, not a single sound came forth. Pulling in a shuddering breath, Ang tipped her head forward against the bars. "Please don't make me do this," she pleaded softly.
The Phantom simply waited in silence, tapping a finger against his elbow.
"O silence…" Ang began to croak out, her voice trembling as she stifled the sob that threatened to escape her throat. "Ô bonheur… Ineffable mystère…"
To her horror, she heard laughter. It was soft, but it was there. Through embarrassed tears she lifted her gaze and peered at the man so amused at her expense. "It's not funny," she protested quietly.
"It is, rather," he chuckled, turning and walking away. "You sing like a goat."
Of all the things he could have said, he chose the very phrase that pierced her heart and made her chest ache, a deep wrenching pain that radiated down her arms until everything hurt. Her shoulders sagged and she hung her head in shame. "I- I told you you wouldn't like it," she muttered, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. Another peek upward showed that he'd vanished, and with a trembling breath she sank to her knees in mortification and sobbed into her hands.
The tears eventually subsided, and indignation replaced embarrassment. How dare he? How dare he! Who did he think he was? He lived in a glorified basement for the better part of his life, and he was judging her? Not just judging, but actually had the audacity to laugh at her, to her face! Her hands balled themselves into fists as her rage smoldered within her. Gone was the wilting child that was too afraid to stand up for herself. She'd left her behind years ago. She had overcome incredible odds and had survived horrors most kids in America only had nightmares about. She was independent, and successful, and she'd be damned if she let this know-nothing, ugly-faced hermit make her feel poorly about herself!
His footsteps heralded his return, and with him he carried a silver tray filled with more of the same fare as before. "An agreement is an agreement, Mademoiselle, though I believe you received a better deal than I."
Ang sniffed, wiped her face, and stood to her feet. "I need to relieve myself again," she stated, her tone void of emotion, her expression carefully schooled into a mask as blank as his.
Balancing the tray on one palm, he inserted the key into the lock and twisted. He stepped to the side and swung the cage door open, allowing her to exit.
Ang stepped through and took the tray from him gently. "Thank you, Monsieur." He closed his eyes and bowed his head just slightly in acknowledgment. At that moment, her grip tightened on the edges of the tray, and in one smooth, fluid movement, she brought the tray up and around, slamming it solidly against the side of his head. Fruit and bread scattered around him as the man dropped like a felled tree, mask askew and cracked, body crumpled in a heap. He stirred with a moan, hand holding where he'd been hit, and the rage boiled within her tempted her to kick him while he was down. Instead, she stepped back and tossed the tray to the side.
"No wonder you're down here alone," she ground out, tears returning unbidden, hot and angry as they coursed down her face. "You're as ugly inside as I'm sure your face is. Too bad there isn't a mask for your heart." With that, she spun on her heels and fled, hands hiking her skirts up as she took to the tunnels.