A/N: Howdy everyone! Sorry it took SO long to post this chapter, but I had a little adventure in real life and wasn't at home for quite some time. And unfortunately, this site does not have a "hey I have an important message for you all!" ability... At least I don't think it does. (If it does, would somebody be so kind as to point it out to me? I'd really appreciate it, thanks) And the chapter turned out much shorter than I thought... Anywho, it is what it is and the next update may be next week (which is what I'm aiming for) or it may be the following week, so if you don't want to miss it be sure to check that little Follow Story box! ;)
Once again, thank you to all you readers who have made it this far!
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The days passed slowly, with each consecutive day bringing a higher level of nervous anticipation. I waited for Benoit to come storming in, or sneaking up on me while I slept. Every sound made me jump and my friends grew worried about me, asking constantly about my well-being. Reassuring them that I was fine, we would go about our daily routines, as though all of it was normal.
It was normal for them, but I had to get used to the feeling. For so long now I had worried about being tossed out of the House that it felt strange to think that my place was finally secure. I had asked Madame Giry about my sponsor, who he was, but she merely shrugged and told me he wanted to remain anonymous. This made no sense to me, but I decided to be grateful for it. Anonymity meant that I was not likely to ever meet him and I was perfectly fine with that.
Christine and Meg finally could no longer withstand my paranoid nature and they cornered me after practice one day.
"Are you worried that your father will return?" Meg asked me after a couple minutes of pressing me to tell them what the matter was - and my denying that anything was wrong.
I looked at her and pressed my lips together, debating whether or not I should tell her the truth. She and Christine keenly watched me and I knew I had to tell them. Perhaps it would aid me in the end. It could mean two more sets of eyes keeping a lookout for Benoit.
I beckoned them to follow and we found a quiet spot in the empty rotonde des abonnés, where I was certain the other ballerinas would not find us. The large circular room was where the gentlemen in the audience could go to mingle; mostly with the ballerina they sponsored. With massive polished wooden pillars, a white embellished ceiling, and tall ornamental vases, it was exquisitely decorated, like every other room of the Opera Populaire.
None of the wall-mounted lamps were lit and not a one of us moved to light one. Engrossed in the darkness, we were impervious to eavesdropping, or so we felt. Taking a seat on the polished floor just inside the doorway, between a pillar and the wall, we shifted around to make a triangle shape, making sure that our knees touched each other. A kind of reassurance in the dark. Once we were all seated semi-comfortably, Meg and Christine turned their expectant gazes to me, a gesture more intuited than seen. It was too dark to make out anything more than Meg's eyes, glistening in the blackness from the little light that trickled into the room from the hall beyond.
They said nothing, but waited patiently for me to explain myself.
"Years ago, I met a man named Benoit Masse," I began, speaking softly. "He was handsome. I enjoyed his company and it seemed he enjoyed mine as well. We got along wonderfully and it did not take long before we began courting." I smiled faintly at the memory. I had been so happy, then. It honestly had been one of the most wonderful times in my life.
"But then we were engaged," I continued, the smile fading. "It was not long after that, he changed. He went from openly friendly to brooding. From caring to hostile. At first I thought it was something I had done, but when I commented on it, he assured me I had done nothing. But he also tried to tell me that he was not acting any different than he had before." I let out a sharp bitter laugh.
"He was behaving the exact opposite of everything I had fallen in love with. And then the beatings started." I swallowed back tears. Christine groped for my hand and finding it, held it, giving it a squeeze.
"That's why you flinch." Understanding colored Meg's statement and I nodded. Feeling foolish, I remembered she could not see me very well and I replied aloud, "Yes. Pain always accompanied anger. In some form or another."
"Was he angry often?" Christine asked. Her question, though sincere, was not what she wanted to ask. I knew what she was really asking.
"Oh, yes. All the time." A strangled sound left Meg's lips, then silence surrounded us as that information settled in their minds.
Breaking the quietude, Meg curiously asked, "How did you come to be here, Lina?"
Taking a deep breath, I told them.
/
It had been early evening when Benoit had come to visit. My father was still at home when Benoit arrived, but left only minutes later to attend dinner at a friend's last thing I had wanted to do was spend my evening alone with Benoit, but in order to keep up appearances I had no choice. Why I even cared about such things is... hard to explain. I'm not even sure if I myself know exactly why it mattered so much. My grandfather had tried to tell my father exactly what Benoit was and to get rid of him, so it wasn't really a secret in the household. And yet it was. Getting no support from my father had me continuing to hide what was done to me. I suppose I was embarrassed by it, though I now know I had no reason to be.
At any rate, I was able to excuse myself to my room without drawing too much suspicion from either male. Since Benoit's visit was not expected, I told them I was not fit for company and needed to make myself suitable. Half-heartedly I looked myself over in the mirror. I was able to hide away in my room for over an hour, mostly doing nothing, and feeling sick to my stomach. I was surprised Benoit had not disturbed me, ordering my presence downstairs. Eventually though, I steeled myself for whatever was to come and headed down to join him.
He was in my father's study, a drink in his hand. The predatory gleam in his eyes as he watched me enter had me looking at the floorboards as I crossed the room to perch on the edge of the sofa.
A decanter and an extra glass sat on an end-table beside him and he silently placed his own half-full glass next to them. I watched wordlessly as he poured golden liquid into the empty glass. Once it was full enough, he came to stand in front of me, smiling, offering me the drink.
"Join me for a drink?" he said, his silky voice smoothing over the underlying challenge.
I stared at the glass. I wasn't used to drinking what he had in that glass - and there was so much of it. He had to be insane to think I would drink all of that. Horrible thoughts gripped me as I realized what he might be trying to do. Was he truly trying to get me drunk? Visions of what he would do to me in that state made my stomach flip in revulsion. I hoped he could not hear my racing heart as I calmly replied, "No, thank you. I think I shall pass for now."
Inwardly congratulating myself for outstanding steadiness in opposing Benoit, I met his gaze. For a brief moment I thought I might get away with it. Thought manners might help. But although I had refused politely, it mattered not to Benoit. He had been offended anyway.
His smile faltered and a hint of confusion flashed across his face before anger flared in his sky blue eyes.
Terrifyingly calm, he said, "I would enjoy you sharing this drink with me."
It was folly to refuse him a second time and I knew it. Still, I could not bear to think of what would happen should I accept; how much worse it might be. I told him no again. Tensing, I waited for the blow.
Alcohol hit me right in the face as he threw the contents of the refused drink at me. I had expected such an action, but I had not anticipated him grabbing me by the hair and snarling as he flung me to the sofa. I shrieked in pain and surprise.
"You stupid bitch!" he ground out. "Do you not see how I am trying to offer you a reprieve from the pain?"
The mint-green sofa nearly tipped as I hit, pressing my hands to the back as I threw my hands out to catch myself. As startled as I was, I had had the presence of mind to spin around to a sitting position.
Losing all sense of calm, Benoit was yelling, "Now the pain you feel from the wounds you receive will all be on you! The drink was to dull the pain! You're such an ungrateful stupid woman! I should have known you would reject my help."
As soon as I had spun around, he was on top of me. There was nothing I could do, my reflexes too slow, as his fist connected with my ribs. My breath left me with an oomph and tears leaked from my eyes as my body crumpled in pain. Or tried to. Before I could recover, Benoit once again hauled me to my feet by my hair, drawing another shriek from me. He released my hair and I felt him grasp the back of my dress in both hands. My feet left the floor as, with a grunt, he hurled me across the room. Nearly bashing my nose on a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, I caught sight of something that gave me hope as I collapsed to the floor.
It was a solid pewter candlestick.
There was no time to think about it; Benoit was already coming toward me. As I stood I snatched the candlestick from the shelf. I barely took aim; barely had time. I threw it as hard as I could.
The candlestick made the most horrendous sound I'd ever heard as it struck him in the face, right beneath his left eye. Hands flying up, he covered his face and dropped to his knees. Blood trickled down the side of his face. Worse than anything was the sound that followed. Or rather the lack thereof. Right after the wretched sound of the candlestick hitting his face and then falling to the floor with a tremendously loud thump!, there was silence. Nothing to hear but the hammering of my heart in my chest. In that horrible quiet I started to panic.
I thought I might have killed him. Emotions, raw and biting, tore at me. Fear that I had killed a man warred alongside the fear that if he was not dead he would surely rise and exact vengeance on me for defying him. The latter felt more real to me and it spurred me into action. The whole thought process had taken mere fractions of a second and Benoit's knees had barely hit the floor when I bolted from the room.
I didn't look back. I didn't dare. If he was dead there was nothing I could do. If he was not, then I surely would be.
No longer in control of my responses, I ran. I had no plans to leave the house completely, but once my feet started moving they did not stop at the threshold. Out of instinctual habit more than anything, I pulled the door shut behind me before my feet carried me to freedom; away from fear and pain and a guilty conscience.
/
"I ran away and I never looked back," I concluded.
"But you have, Lina," Meg declared boldly. "You may not have looked back at the life you left behind, but you've been waiting for it to find you, looking over your shoulder ever since you arrived. Now that I know, I can see it. You're not as free from it as you think."
My mouth gaped open prepared to reply, but there were no words. I blinked and closed my mouth.
In my stunned silence, Christine squeezed my hand. Leaning closer to me she said, "You'll be safe here with us. Benoit cannot possibly get to you while we are all together."
Though she couldn't see me, I smiled at her sweetness. I did not say what I thought — did not state the terrifying truth.
We were not always together.
/
For the next few days, everything was wonderful. Telling my tale to my friends had been a release. I felt lighter — freer. The lightness of heart stayed with me and the foreboding of my father's visit faded, even with Giselle and her troupe continuing to harass me. That is, until she reached a new level of cruel.
"Is it true?" Giselle asked me one afternoon, during break. All of us dancers had remained in our positions at the barre, but had sat down to rest.
"Is what true?" I asked, afraid to hear the answer.
A haughty look settled on her face and I braced myself. "I heard a rumor that during Vicomte de Chagny's visit the other day he was seen talking to a ballerina... and that when he thought no one was looking, he took her into the storage room. Apparently, they were in there for quite a while. I heard that ballerina was you." She scoffed. "If you can even really be called a ballerina."
I could feel my ears turning pink at what the rumor insinuated, but I attempted to keep my face neutral as I said, "Are you sure you didn't just create that rumor?"
She started to scowl at me, caught herself, then said, her face equally neutral, "I thought the vicomte showed an extraordinary interest in Christine Daaé. Everyone has been talking about them."
Christine went still at this. Even Meg froze in place.
"I'm disgusted by you, Jacqueline. I thought Christine was your friend and this is how you treat her? Going behind her back to steal her lover's heart? I was right to avoid you from the start."
Rage flooded through me and then a spark of fear as I met Christine's gaze. In her eyes I saw confusion, hurt. I narrowed my eyes at her in reprimand. My voice was low as I said, "Don't you dare believe a word of it, Christine. You know how she hates me. Would say or do anything to hurt me."
Giselle gave an undignified snort. "You hurt yourself, Jacqueline. You waltz right into the theatre and into Madame Giry's arms to be her pet. As if you've been here all along. As if the rest of us haven't been working our tails off."
"So that's it," I interjected, "you're jealous."
"Jealous? Of you?" She gave a cruel little laugh, her friends around her snickering. "If you had any real talent I might be jealous."
"Stop it, Giselle," Meg threatened.
Giselle ignored her. To me she said, "And that little meeting you had with your father a few weeks back? That certainly didn't win you any friends."
"What do you mean?" Fool. I was a fool to ask.
"Well, you finally got a supporter, which is hard to believe in the first place. Whoever would find any promise in you? But then he insists on remaining anonymous? How suspicious. At first I thought maybe he was just embarrassed to be affiliated with your name. God knows I would be!"
As if she were part of a plan to bring me down, another girl listening in asked, "Why is that exactly?"
Giselle's expression was shocked, but I could tell it was feigned. "Well, didn't you hear about how Jacqueline came here?" When the other girl shook her head Giselle continued, "She ran away from her fiancé! She was all set to be married and then ran away. And when her father came and told her to come home she spit in his face. And now Christine has found happiness with the vicomte and Jacqueline is trying to break them apart. Disgraceful."
Everyone was silent now, listening.
"Not being associated with that kind of person is a good reason to remain anonymous, but I realize that it is not the real reason he hides his name. I know who he really is." She smiled smugly at me.
"Who is it?" Eloise asked, excitedly.
Giselle's eyebrows shot up as she looked at her friend. "Isn't it obvious? Her sponsor is Vicomte de Chagny."
Quaking with rage, unable to speak, I just sat there.
"Not only would it be unseemly to be associated with her character, but it would be scandalous as he has already declared an interest in Christine. If he wishes to keep his game running with two women he mustn't let one know about the other."
It was lucky for Giselle that so many of the girls were paying attention. Because both me and Meg leapt at her, to claw her eyes out. Girls jumped up and rushed to stop the blows they knew were coming. They were successful. Hands restrained us before we could lay a finger on her, though I struggled to get free to continue my assault.
"Let me at her!" I shrieked. I had never hated anyone before. But I hated Giselle. Hated that she tried to break up my friendship; hated that she spread lies; hated the satisfied look on her face when she realized I could not touch her. Others were talking to me, no doubt to try and calm me, but it was all an unintelligible murmur as an unending roaring filled my head.
Madame Giry chose right then to return from wherever she had gone for her own break and shouted, "Enough!" No one bothered to answer her as she asked what the problem was. After a moment, realizing nobody wished to explain, she commanded us back to our positions.
I was barely able to continue. Madame Giry kept glancing at me, obviously noting the change in my demeanor, but she said nothing.
Somehow I made it through the day and, at the end, still upset that Giselle had gotten under my skin so thoroughly, I sought solitude. I did not know exactly where I was going, only that I wished to be alone. Eventually I opened a door in front of me and stepped out to find myself on the rooftop. The same place I had had a run-in with the Phantom. Where he had spared my life for a second time. I almost wished he hadn't. To end my miserable existence would have been a blessing.
I had hoped having a sponsor would make everything better, but it didn't. Giselle still seemed intent on ruining me and I could not seem to find it within myself to rise above the insults and ignore her. Blinking up at the stars that were beginning to appear in the cold indigo sky, I prayed a change would come; that I could find a way to manage. Or at least a way to get Giselle to leave me alone.
However, I did not expect my prayers to be answered the very next morning.