Twisted Every Way(Phantom Of The Opera Fic)

Chapter 15:Ten francs, 9 pounds, 10 dollars

Gustave didn't care what they called it, francs, pounds or dollars. It was all the same amount jingling around in his pocket as his feet slapped the pavement.

He had slipped out the window when Raoul went away for a drink, climbed down the fire escape and ran.

Ran as he never recalled running before.

The realization that his absence would hurt his Mother more than anyone else stung him. But what was he to do? He could be nothing there. Nothing but a reminder of things unwanted, things unseen.

He was finally at peace.

In his mind, he felt he had already reached his destination. The moment he left he was already there: wherever it is that he was headed.

A place where Mothers married happily and he didn't know his inheritance.

No matter where he slept, memories were always hunting.

Everything was wrong.

And he decided, as most 11-year-old boys would, because he had a problem he was to simply run away from it.

He determined in his delusion to seek out occupations.

"I will have an adventure." he said over and over to himself, "An adventure is waiting for me."

If the music of the night was burning, then he would stand high above it. He had made up his mind.

"Please Sir, I'd like to buy a coat," Gustave stated hoarsely.

The store clerk gave a question glance to the boy. He noted the child's ragged clothes and deathly cough.

He handed him the small overcoat and hat and Gustave gave him four pounds.

"He deserved less." Gustave thought as he walked away, "He does not know what is like to be hungry and weak."

Gustave knew what was right and what is wrong. He knew in his short time alive, how good boys were supposed to be. Raoul and all his teachers, even his mother had engrained into him how he was supposed to turn out: a good gentleman, respectable. His words to be like lighting bolts each with their own power, force, and spark.

He was tired of living up to their expectations. Of dealing in their treachery and melodrama. He was ready for an adventure of his own. Ready to decide his own path and song.

5 pounds for the coat. Two pounds for a cab.

"To the graveyard sir." He said handing the man the money. No questions were asked.

Good boys didn't leave their mothers alone in despair. Didn't run off alone and sick and scared. Gustave had always listened. Gustave had never had cause for anger before. But now everything was so terribly confused, and he desperately felt the need to get away from it all.

That was if Madam Giry would have him.

"I shall be happier once they're out of mind." Gustave told himself, "I shall be happier when I'm alone."

He knew he was lying.

And somewhere, as the scenery paced in a hasty retreat, colors swirling and dying off into the rain he called to mind a verse of poetry Erik once had recited as they climbed down those hallowed halls.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the rising of the day.

((What do you think Erik's favorite novel to read in his spare time was? Feel free to comment your ideas. I think it would be some Edgar Allen Poe. Maybe the Raven XD))