Becoming Anne Again

Chapter Forty-Six

A/N Thank you loves for sticking with me! Really not much to say, but I hope you all enjoy this next chapter!

Anne spoke each word with such passion and so much conviction that if Gilbert closed his eyes, the darkly lit cafeteria disappeared, and all of a sudden he was in the opera house with her. It wasn't clear whether she was Anne or Christine, but he was beginning to think they were one and the same.

"I like your version better," he said plainly, sighing in contentment. "I think it untangles the plot more, if that makes sense."

"Yeah," Anne replied, nodding her head. "I understand."

"There's just one thing I don't understand. Why would she stab him in the throat instead of the heart? I don't know, it just seems like it would more poetic through the heart."

"I don't think so. The Phantom put everything into his music. When she plunged the knife into his throat—his vocal chords, right?—she was taking that away from him. Maybe his throat was his heart, in a way." Diana was somewhere out on that dance floor, and she wondered if perhaps this was how it felt to be the Phantom—except she wasn't the Phantom, she would never hold Diana hostage.

But then she remembered something her therapist had told her, and all of these romantic sensibilities were only mirages that clouded that thing that Anne spent every waking moment trying to forget.

Anne began to breathe a little harder, suddenly hyper aware of every part of her body. Her curled hair stuck to the sweat on the back of her neck, and she could feel her foundation sink into every crease in her face, settling uncomfortable right between her nose and smile lines. There were too many lights, too many people, too many—

No. No, no. She could say no.

"Come on," she said, suddenly tugging Gilbert upward, who stumbled as he was practically dragged towards the center. "Let's dance."

"Okay," Gilbert said, although she didn't seem to hear him at all. The DJ had started playing tunes from the 80s to relive his own glory days, and Anne found it far easier to dance to Don't Stop Believing than the previous, more childish tunes.

Everything disappeared around her, until it became a kaleidoscope of color, and Anne could no longer distinguish anyone or anything. She was dancing, her hips moving from side to side, twisting her body in time with the music, the words on her lips even though the song was fast becoming background music to her own saga. The sensations were overwhelming, and she felt her heart beat faster and faster, the urge to run growing with each passing second. She was turning, rolling her body, she knew this, why did she know this—

Dance for me, carrots.

She was no longer in the cafeteria. She was in a seedy motel, its backlot home to unfortunate vagrants and drug deals gone bad. She was no longer in Cape Cod, she was back there.

Anne O'Keafe, isn't it?

We all do our part in this family.

He who does not work does not eat, Anne.

Anne would have screamed, but every part of her was dried out, so what came out was something more like a scratchy cry.

"Anne! Anne!" Gilbert grabbed on to Anne, pulling her close to his body and pressing her head against his shoulder.

Rigidly, she wrapped herself around him, the smell of his shirt grounding her. "I need to go," she said, her voice muffled as she refused to part from him.