Disclaimer~ hmm, something new... ok, well I own phantom of the opera, yup it's all mine see? I am the reincarnation of Gaston Leroux who wrote the book about real people... well then, even He didn't really won them right? I mean what is to OWN? if my friend went "I own my hampster named Renton..." Then I would say that she couldn't, for it owns itself... where was I? Oh yeah, I don't own phantom...
AN~ Can anyone guess where this story is going? wanna try? If I can blow your mind, what do I get? If I said, you were totally off, would you beleive me? will you hate me for what I do? I dont know, I guess you will have to read.
Chapter Six: Outbursts
Your part is SILENT!
Little Toad....
"Raoul..." Christine asked. "Am I gaining weight?" she continued as she looked into her vanity mirror.
It had been two months since the visit from Dr. Leblanc, and though Raoul assured her that she was in perfect health, the sickness had not gone away. Not only did the sickness not go away, but her restlessness increased, and she became rather moody at sometimes.
A temper no one had ever seen emanated from her, and though Christine was appalled by her actions, Raoul seemed quite all right with them.
She remembered back to a fortnight when she was working on her needlepoint. Raoul had been sitting beside her in his chair by the fire and she in hers.
"OUW!" She yipped when she stabbed herself for the second time with the sharp needle. A drop of blood fell onto her white dress, and she lost all control.
"Damn you!" She yelled at the embroidery and before she new what she was doing she threw it into the fire.
"What a pathetic attempt at nothing!" She snarled and got up to storm off.
"Christine!" Raoul said rather taken back, as she had been about to walk away. All of a sudden she felt embarrassment and guilt seep into her and knew she had lost the colour in her face. Quickly she dropped to her knees and laid her head in Raoul's lap.
"Oh dearest, please forgive, me, I don't know what has come over me!" She said in between sobs.
Raoul simply stroked her hair and hushed her cries. It surprised her he understood her outbursts. In fact, he did better then she, herself. She had expected him to be disgusted with her. Her temper was becoming as fierce as Erik's had been.
That had been the only a fortnight ago, and now they were getting ready to go to an opera.
"Well?" She asked rather annoyed by his silence. She turned to look and see what was taking him so long. When she saw he was smiling at her, she was even more upset.
"Well are you going to stand there all night with that rather silly grin or are you going to tell me if I have turned into Carlotta or not!" She fumed.
Once the words were out her mouth she clasped her hand to it.
"Where in heaven's name was this hostility coming from!" She cried inside her head. "Never in my life have I ever talked so rudely, and now I find it comes rather easily!"
Raoul laughed and approached his wife who was dressed in the finest silks of Paris. She had put the majority of her long, curly hair up with beautiful sterling silver combs.
"You look more radiant then ever, my dear. Do not worry about your outbursts, all will be explained tomorrow on the arrival of Dr. Leblanc." he said touching her cheek, making her smile.
My Raoul, she thought, my dearest, loving husband. What was the surprise he was keeping from her? She didn't like surprises or secrets. They had been spoiled. Too many men kept secrets from her then blamed her when she didn't know what they were talking about.
"Come dear, we should be off! The opera awaits!"
___
_/___\_
(*)_*
Down once more
to the dungeon
of my black despair!
Erik stood by the entrance to his palace of sins in Rue Scribe. The sand bags had been taken away, and now he was free to enter back into the dismal world he had left behind.
Why did he come back here? The music. He needed to make peace with the only thing in his life that had never betrayed him.
Music had been there with him through it all, and when Christine had left, he had given up on it.
He betrayed music, and felt guilt seep into his heart. He had traded a new love for his first, and even though the new love, Christine did not return it, he could not return to his first.
It would be near impossible bringing the large organ up to his cabin, and even if he did, she would hear it and know he was there.
No all he had now was the untouched violin that sat in the corner of his home. He felt no inspiration to play; no muse came to him since he found Christine was with child.
It was as if at that very moment, he knew she would never return to him, reality had hit in and sent him into a world of day, night was a world long forgotten, and how could he return to the passion of pain when he had felt the passions of love?
No he thought, as he walked through the catacombs underneath the Paris opera house.
I have to make peace with my demons; I have to watch another opera, just for the sake of music.
___
_/___\_
(*)_*
No more memories,
no more silent tears . . .
No more gazing across
the wasted years . . .
Help me say
goodbye.
Christine looked out the carriage window terrified of returning to what felt like home. The mansion she lived in with her husband did not feel like her home, and would never feel that way, she realized. She was a guest who was treated with every privilege and everything was served to her on a silver platter.
It would never feel like home though, no matter how much she touched it up with feminine touches, it was cold, sterile, and too bright. She was use to the darkness of the opera house. The house she had began to live in more then her own dismal flat.
Why do I have to be sick? She thought sadly. It had been three months since she had sung for the Opera Populaire, but when she had stopped sleeping properly, she noticed she could no longer sing the aria's that were required.
She felt a pain in her abdomen and when she told Raoul, he begged her to take leave of absence for a year. She was astonished he would ask of such a thing! Certainly her singing would be poorly out of tune by then at the rate she was going. So when she refused, he went above her head to the managers.
She never found out what he said, but when both Firmin and Andre approached her, they were not unhappy or angry with her, why they were beaming.
"Mme de Changy, please understand that this is a decision we want to make, but you must take a leave of absence until, you are better." Andre said in a smooth voice.
Christine felt tears well in her eyes and looked around at all the people around her on the stage. She felt small, and that those eyes of her friends and family were laughing. Andre and Firmin were laughing, laughing at her as though they had planned for her to come back only to tell her to leave.
This is a sick game, she thought bitterly, running out of the rehearsal to her old dressing room.
"Christine!" Raoul had called out to her behind the locked door as she had fallen down on her divan.
"Go away Raoul! You just don't want me to sing anymore! You don't want you wife to be an opera rat! You want me to change who I am!" She said angrily through her tears.
"No Christine, that is not at all, please forgive me, please forgive me, it is all for the best..."
Christine remembered that night as though it were only last. It was the first time she had ever been upset with Raoul.
Enough to silently whisper "I wish Erik were here."
Erik was not there however; a paper had declared him dead. "Erik is dead." It had declared on the front page about a week before the incident.
But she had already known that, his soul had come in dreams to say goodbye to her.
No she was afraid of the things that the large building did to her. It made her wish, made her regret, and made her bitterly angry.
"I'm sorry I made you quit, Christine, but all will be explained tomorrow when Dr. Leblanc arrives." Raoul said, knowing what she was thinking about.
"Tomorrow this, tomorrow that Raoul! Why leave the mess to the Dr., Why not tell me yourself what is going on that you made me quit my passion!" She said fiercely.
Raoul did not say anything or look at her, and Christine didn't apologize this time for her outburst, this time she meant it.
to the dungeon
of my black despair!
Why did he come back here? The music. He needed to make peace with the only thing in his life that had never betrayed him.
Music had been there with him through it all, and when Christine had left, he had given up on it.
He betrayed music, and felt guilt seep into his heart. He had traded a new love for his first, and even though the new love, Christine did not return it, he could not return to his first.
It would be near impossible bringing the large organ up to his cabin, and even if he did, she would hear it and know he was there.
No all he had now was the untouched violin that sat in the corner of his home. He felt no inspiration to play; no muse came to him since he found Christine was with child.
It was as if at that very moment, he knew she would never return to him, reality had hit in and sent him into a world of day, night was a world long forgotten, and how could he return to the passion of pain when he had felt the passions of love?
No he thought, as he walked through the catacombs underneath the Paris opera house.
I have to make peace with my demons; I have to watch another opera, just for the sake of music.
___
_/___\_
(*)_*