The Final Act (A Phantom of the Opera Phan Fic)

Chapter Eight ~ In Which Love is Damned

Charlotte's POV

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I soon learned that my kind-hearted yet bankrupted husband had just spent a good month's wages on some poor woman and her child who were staying across from L'Aria in the fair-quality hotel. To say I was angered would have been an overstatement. Anger was not the emotion that ruled me. No, for my husband had done a sweet service that I could not condemn. However, that was a month's wages down the drain, and that meant an even tighter budget on our own end.

As I lay in the bed at our apartment, Alex close beside me with his mind wrapped up in the new score Erik had provided him, I began to wonder why I had signed away my life in this manner. Of course, I could never leave Alex. He was far too precious to me in many ways. But, there was always a nagging feeling that was unexplained that haunted me. Maybe I could have done better. Maybe I could have found someone else. Maybe I could be traveling the world with some exotic group and performing till my throat ran dry and raspy, but would I be happy then?

With a small sigh, I turned to face my darling husband, wrapping my arms around one of his. He merely rested his head on mine and continued to read over the notes and words. Soon, I found myself looking over the piece as well. It was a beautiful collection of notes. Something so different than anything I had seen before.

"He's a genius." Alex whispered, laying the papers down on the sheets as he kept his head rested on my own. "Why can I not write like this? Such pure words and tones. It seems almost child's play."

I squeezed his arm slightly. "My darling, you were meant to make music with chemicals and mathematical formulas. Not the violin or the piano."

Alex sighed heavily and moved away from me slightly. "Why did I choose to please my father and torture myself?"

A frown produced itself on my lips. I took a hand, gently stroking his cheek. "Such questions only allow you to swim in your torment. You try, and that is the important part. Perhaps you are merely the object that aids in the growth of the final product, but you are not the final product. Perhaps Erik is your music and you are merely the mouthpiece from where it is to come forth."

"What good are you in the industry if you cannot produce what is being demanded?" He huffed, looking at me with misty eyes.

"Alex," I cooed, wrapping my arms around him and kissing his cheek softly, "The world of music requires many different members. You may not produce the music but you can manage the finances and balance out the budgets. You call what music is played but you do not have to write the music yourself. Leave it to Erik. He wants to do it. I know it."

Alex sunk into me, his heart breaking, chipping slowly away. "I'm sorry, Charlotte. I wish I was more for you."

"You are everything you can be and more. Don't you dare believe otherwise. Now, I insist you forget this nonsense you are telling yourself about the music. Let Erik take care of that. You simply advertise." I kissed him tenderly, feeling a lack of energy and a lack of passion on both our ends.

"Fine." He agreed with some reluctance in his voice, moving himself from me and laying down in the warming covers.

As the silence in the room grew thicker, I could hear the small patter of rain hitting the rooftop and windows. It seemed to rain more here lately. Of course, days would pass when there would not be a drop or a puddle, but more often than not it rained just because. For what reason, I knew not. Maybe to morn with us for our loss of creativity, or perhaps to refresh us with the thought of new-found hope.

With a small yet pleased sigh, I laid myself down, grabbing for the arm of my darling husband, taking his hand tightly in my own. "I love you." I said, very softly but audibly.