Chapter 19: A Storm of Discord
The dropping atmospheric pressure and the increasing cloudiness that had occupied the skies for the past few days foretold the imminent worsening of the already gloomy weather. Despite this and her fatigue after an entire afternoon of training, Meg felt sparks of excitement mixed with a trace of worry as she started to climb the stairs leading to the top levels of the Opera Garnier.
In the morning, after she and her mother had seen Christine off to the train station, she had finally met again with the rest of the festival organisers, and their enthusiastic reaction to the last parts of the script had far exceeded her expectations. What was more, everyone insisted that she convey all these cordial thanks to her mysterious "anonymous acquaintance from the opera house", and, to be honest, she really couldn't wait to do so.
Erik often tried to act indifferent, but she felt sure that the happiness of the people whom they had helped would bring him some satisfaction and maybe even joy. She only hoped that it would be enough to brighten his mood.
Meg bit her lip.
She had no doubt that news of Christine and Raoul's trip, which had spread through the whole theatre like a fire, had also reached the Opera Ghost's ears. And she knew it must have affected him.
Yesterday, when she'd received a terse note telling her to go to the old storage room under the roof instead of the underground, she hadn't been able to help a pang of anxiety. She didn't need accompaniment just to share details of the festival meeting, so the swap wasn't illogical, but still, a part of her felt a little concerned.
Meg sighed and pressed the script she held tighter to her breast. It was probably silly to bring it, since it had been fully accepted, but she just couldn't resist the idea of showing Erik which parts had been met with the most enthusiasm.
Recently, when they had been working on their project, she had begun to glimpse more tiny twitches in the corners of his mouth, which she had learned to identify as the shadows of a smile, and something inside her couldn't help but wish to see more of them. So far, she had seen Erik smile fully only once.
For some elusive reason, her heart beat a bit faster at that memory.
Attributing this reaction to her earlier worries, Meg pushed these musings away. Climbing the wooden steps two at a time, she arrived at her destination and reached for the storage room door handle.
"It's me!" The announcement was more a courtesy on her part than a necessity, because the Opera Ghost always seemed to be able to identify her footsteps from afar. Meg cheerfully walked inside, but her smile of greeting died on her lips as soon as her gaze rested on her friend's tense silhouette.
Erik – or, rather, the Phantom – glared at her from the other side of the room, arms crossed.
A small knot formed in her stomach.
"Is something wrong?" A stupid question, but the words left her mouth before she could think.
The man's features hardened even more.
"Even if it were, should it really matter to you, Mademoiselle Giry? After all, your unpleasant duty will soon come to an end." His lips twisted in a sour scowl.
Meg blinked, surprised. What had she done to deserve this? And why was she suddenly back to being just "Mademoiselle Giry"?
"You mean the festival play?" Frowning, she put both her lantern and the script on the wooden crate. "I would never call it an unpleasant duty; I really enjoyed working on it with you." Concern marred her brow, and she directed her steps towards the Opera Ghost. "Besides, it should, and it would matter to me if something was wrong. You are like a family member to me and Maman, Erik. And I really consider you my friend…" Her voice softened as she glanced up to meet the Phantom's eyes.
For a split second, she saw there a flash of shock and some emotions she couldn't quite name, but then the man turned away from her, the stone facade returning. His fingers clenched at his sides, and his gaze fixed on the snowflakes that had just started to whirl in the darkening sky beyond the window.
"I agreed to help, so to keep my word, I came here once more, but after today, I no longer plan to continue."
The stiff formality in his tone brought a painful stab to her heart.
Perhaps she had misjudged the situation. After all, what did she know?
Meg lowered her head, clasping her hands tightly.
"The script was accepted without any corrections. I wanted to share the details of the meeting and the praise with you, but I think that can wait. I can see that something is troubling you…" A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed hard. "It… it's about Christine, isn't it?"
Her question hung in the air between them. Erik didn't reply or even turn to face her, but the way his muscles tightened gave her all the confirmation she needed.
Meg's stomach knotted.
"I… I know that it's complicated," she said hesitantly, "and I'm not exactly sure what happened between the two of you, but I know that you were important to my friend. And I see that, just like me, you care about her wellbeing." She bit her lip.
"You must have noticed how much more cheerful and lively she has become recently. So… even though the situation is far from ideal… maybe we should just try to enjoy her happiness," she finished weakly. By the tight set of the Phantom's jaw, she quickly realised it was another wrong move.
"Oh, so now I am supposed to feel happy about the fact that everything I ever had is once again being taken from me?" Erik's grey-blue irises focused on her, burning with barely contained fury. "And maybe even be grateful?" His gloved hands waved in the air as he took a few irritated strides aside, only to turn sharply and send her another glare.
"After all, it's obvious that I should just enjoy it all, isn't it?" His sneering voice dropped almost an octave, growing louder and harsher as he started to stalk back and forth. "Be happy about being sentenced to this miserable imitation of a life. Be glad to be chained to the darkness. Be pleased when that s–" he broke off for a split second, sending a furtive glance in her direction, "that aristocratic brat treats me like the worst of villains, even though I haven't broken any rules?" The scathing bitterness in his words became even more evident.
"And, of course, be joyful and grateful because I won't even be allowed to talk with Christine before she leaves, only because of my cursed face and one stupid mistake?! What a fool I must have been, not to even think of it!" Erik turned towards her with his hands clenched into fists, shoulders heaving.
Meg's insides twisted with a sharp pang of guilt.
"I didn't mean it like that." She took an uncertain step forwards, spreading her hands and wishing she could say something that would make him feel better. "Besides, maybe not everything is lost yet. If you just let me explain everything I know to Christine and Raoul, I'm sure they would at least agree to talk and–"
"Oh, so I should just reveal all my secrets to a man who would like to see me in chains?" The glare she received could burn a hole in metal. "Well, thank you for another pearl of wisdom, Mademoiselle Giry, but for some inexplicable reason, I highly doubt it's a good option for me." The Phantom's mouth twisted, his irritated tone filled with unpleasant sarcasm. Though she had to admit he had a point, it still stung.
A heavy, suffocating silence crept between them, and Meg averted her gaze. The lump in her throat seemed to grow again.
"I… I can understand how you feel…" she began quietly, but a scornful scoff interrupted her mid-sentence.
"I highly doubt that somebody who's lived all her life in an absurd bubble of happiness and sunshine could even try to imagine it." His words were tinged with venom, and once again hurt her more than she wished to show.
Meg lowered her head. "You're probably right," she whispered. "I cannot fully know what you had to go through. Only… How can I ever know anything or guess how I'm supposed to help if you don't speak about it?" She glanced back up.
A flash of undefinable emotions crossed the uncovered side of Erik's face, but his lips remained tightly pressed together.
Feeling growing desperation, the ballerina shortened the distance separating them.
"Erik…"
"I do not wish to discuss this topic further." A low, warning note slipped into the Opera Ghost's tone, but the pain welling up inside her did not let her back down.
"I know. But that doesn't change the fact that I'm worried. And I only want to help. Please, don't you understand that–"
"No, it's you who doesn't understand!" With a swirl of his cape, the Phantom spun violently towards her, and Meg barely stopped herself from flinching. "Christine heard me! Heard me and spoke to me! No one did something like that for me for years. No one but her and–"
"Well, maybe that's because she was the only person you ever really spoke to!" The yell ripped out of her before she could even think why his statement had angered her so much. It seemed to stun Erik almost as much as it surprised her.
For a moment, they just stood there, staring at one another, and then the Opera Ghost turned away, facing the small roof window again. His right hand went up to his mask, while his left curled into a tight fist. His shoulders were trembling.
Meg's heart constricted at the sight.
"I'm sorry…" Her soft whisper sounded strange after their shouts. "You're right. I have no right to pry so much. But I'm just worried and…" She broke off, not exactly sure what she wanted to say, and slowly approached the Phantom.
"I don't want to force you to talk about something you do not wish to," she said gently, "but please, at least hear me out before I go. It's true that Christine was confused and, well, a bit scared too, but… how could she not be? I don't know many details, but she never had a chance to truly get to know you. For years, you were her cherished teacher and a great support. And I know that you still are important to her in some way, but she barely knows anything about you as yourself…" Meg forced herself to raise her head and look at the Opera Ghost.
"What's more, she loves Raoul, and I don't think anything can undo that. It will certainly bring some changes, but I'm sure she won't forget her other friends completely."
Despite her efforts, Erik's expression remained as motionless as the white mask concealing it.
Meg bit her lip again, then uncertainly crossed the last metre between them.
"I really hope that the situation will get better with some time," she whispered, "but… Erik, even now, you are not completely alone. Maman truly cares about you. And as for your face…" She hesitated for a heartbeat, and then touched the man's forearm, trying to pour all her compassion and warm feelings into her words. "Well, I'm sure it's not as bad as you think…"
"Not as bad?!" The Phantom turned to her so violently that she almost lost her balance, stepping back, but he didn't seem to notice. His visible eyebrow furrowed in an almost menacing way.
"Pardon me, Mademoiselle Giry," he hissed, "but I would prefer if you finally stopped talking about things you know nothing about!"
It was like a drop that sent a cup overflowing.
"Well, I'm trying," she protested, "but how can I know anything if you don't talk to me and never take that awful mask off?" Desperation and frustration flooded her words, and with that, the Phantom's wrath finally burst out of control.
"Oh, so that's what you really want, then? To see the circus freak's face?! FINE! LOOK AND WELCOME THE NIGHTMARES!" The man furiously ripped his mask off, closing the space between them.
Meg couldn't help it: she instinctively drew back from the sudden movement, letting out a muffled gasp. She regretted it that same second, seeing the hurt that flickered through Erik's grey-blue eyes, but it was too late to take it back.
She had to admit that the right side of his face really didn't look good. It had a strange reddish shade and was covered with blotchy furrows and thicker, paler protuberances and ridges that entwined everything in an eerie way. His bottom eyelid dropped slightly, and the skin beneath it looked almost as if it had melted, dripping down onto his cheek and part of his nose.
It seemed a bit as if he had been badly burnt, but there was something much more unsettling about it. Something unnatural. As if some inhuman, callous structure grew out of his cheek.
Against her will, the thought and the sight sent shivers down her spine.
Nevertheless, it was still the face of a person she considered a friend. And what had frightened her most was not his appearance, but the sudden outburst she had been unprepared for. Unfortunately, he had probably gotten it all wrong!
The dancer opened her mouth, but the Opera Ghost didn't let her get a word in.
"So, are you at last afraid?" His jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles in the deformed part of his countenance twitched; the movement was ghastly. "Good. Maybe it will finally teach you to stop playing the little hero." With a throaty growl, he took a step closer, forcing her to move back.
Despite Meg's efforts, a knot of anxiety formed somewhere deep in her stomach.
The Phantom looked down at her, towering over her.
"Tell me honestly, Meg Giry, was this whole venture just to keep me occupied away from her?" It was just a bitter, hoarse whisper, but it stung her more than any shout.
How could he even think so? For a few seconds, she was too stunned to form a sensible response.
The Phantom's already twisted features contorted even more, as if her lack of an instant reaction was all the confirmation he needed.
"You know, for a moment I almost let you fool me," he said more quietly, averting his gaze, "but now I see it clearly. I overheard your conversation with Christine last week. I heard how happy you were. I suppose you just couldn't wait to finally be released from your self-inflicted duty." His lips twisted in a bitter grimace and his hands clenched so hard at his sides that she could almost hear the leather of his gloves protest.
"I'm afraid, though, that your noble sacrifice was unnecessary. The wondrous, admired viscount already took enough precautions to stop me from getting anywhere near Christine. And so, you were forcing yourself to endure my monstrous company in vain," he ground out venomously, turning back to her.
It was a final slap in her face.
Meg felt stinging tears welling up in her eyes, but it was nothing compared to the pain in her chest.
"How… how can you even say something like that?" She tried to search for the right words, but none came. "It… it's true that Christine is my friend," she said, voice shaking. "And it's true that I care about her and I want to see her happy. But that doesn't change the fact that I might also want the same thing for you. A-and if you can't see that, then… then you are the most stupid genius I've ever met!"
She had no idea where that choked yell had come from, but as two streaks started trickling down her cheeks, she knew she couldn't stay there a moment longer. And so, she spun on her heel and ran out of the room, shutting the door behind her and collapsing to her knees in the dark corridor, just before the first of many sobs ripped out of her throat.
Erik yanked the door open and stormed outside onto the roof. The approaching blizzard wasn't the best weather for such an escapade, but he just needed to get out – out, out, OUT of that hellish place and OUT of the range of Meg Giry's muffled, heart-wrenching sobs coming from that cursed corridor!
A cold wind hit his again half-masked face, pelting him with tiny clumps of wet snowflakes and tugging at his cape, but it did nothing to extinguish the burning in his chest. With an anguished roar, the Phantom slammed his fist against the snow-covered slope of the roof and started to pace back and forth along the path near the edge.
How dare she pry into his business without his consent again?!
How dare she talk about things he didn't want to hear and tell him to let Christine go?!
And how the hell did she dare to look so irritatingly concerned throughout all of this?!
Erik cursed loudly and ran his hands through his hair in frustration.
Images of Meg Giry's kind, compassionate eyes flickered through his mind for a split second, along with the sight of her reaction to his unmasking. His hand hit against the roof tiles again, but somehow the gesture had lost most of its force.
Hell.
He was furious. Furious at this cursed, unfair world. Furious at Meg for all of her prying.
But at the same time, he was also furious at himself for unleashing all his pain and vexation on her.
A low groan escaped his throat, and the Opera Ghost slumped to his knees, hiding his excuse of a face in his hands. The cold and the wetness soon started to seep through his clothes, yet he barely noticed it.
He'd have to be blind not to see how happy Christine was with her respected, wretchedly perfect viscount at her side, but how could he just give up? And if he was certain he had to continue the fight, then why did Meg Giry's words sting so much?
The discordant, dissonant emotions swirled inside him with the strength of a fiery gale, and he no longer knew exactly what he was supposed to think. He only felt that everything had suddenly started slipping out of his grasp – like old melodies that he desperately wanted to keep, but which just kept getting further away from him, leaving only distant shadows and shattered pieces.
Though he was used to the lack of light, this winter night seemed to him much darker than the others…
Author's notes:
Poor Erik can be quite the drama queen…
As always, thank you endlessly for reading, liking and all the lovely comments! ‹3 I'm super excited every time I receive one! It's great to know which fragments of the story you enjoy or which ones move you. :)
Also, loads of appreciation to my wonderful beta (Beta Wonder?) Lily (librarylexicon)! ;) I'm really grateful for your grammar and editing corrections!