Chapter Eight || Fear Can Turn To Love Part One
Mélodie
My body froze, her words hanging in the air like icicles threatening to fall and puncture me.
"Violette, don't be silly. You read the papers, he's dea-"
"Do not lie to me!" she shook as she yelled, angry tears forming in her blue eyes. "I saw you both up on the roof."
All the blood drained from my face and I sat down before I could pass out.
Vi made a small disgusted scoff, "The man had his arms around you like he was your lover."
"He was afraid I would catch cold," I could barely hear my own voice. "We're friends, Violette."
She scoffed again, "'Friends'."
Silence fell between us.
"I don't know what to think of you anymore, Mélodie," a tear trailed down her face and landed on her hand.
"Vi, promise me you won't tell," she pulled her hand away when I tried to reach out to her.
"He's a criminal, Mélodie!" she stood up and walked away from me.
"No, Vi, there's so much more to him than tha-"
"He's killed people, Mélodie!"
"Violette, you don't understand-"
"Your parents, Mélodie! He caused the fire that took your parents!" her red hair seemed to burn along with her eyes.
My mouth closed shut, tears wetting my night gown.
Her eyes went soft for a moment, "Please tell me you haven't slept with him."
"No!" her words struck me like a knife in my chest, "How could you think that?!"
"I don't know, Mélodie," she ran her hands through her hair and paced in front of her bed. "That man should be dead. Dead like all of those people who died in his fire."
I remained quiet, wiping away the tears that refused to stop falling.
She stopped pacing in front of me, "He should be reported to the police."
My head snapped up and I held onto her hand no matter how hard she tried to pull it away. Through my excessive tears I begged, "Violette, mon amie, s'il te plaît (my friend, please), they'll kill him. Don't do this to me, please."
She looked down at me, her ice blue eyes filled with pity, "You know, you are as obsessed with him as he was with Christine Daaé."
Her words rang in my ears and I let go of her hand. Am I that obsessed with him? I mean, he is my friend. It's true I would like - no not like...love - to be more than that but he thought of me as a child. As his friend. I am not his Christine. I could never be his Christine.
And if the authorities new he was really alive they would take him and not only imprison him, they would kill him. They mustn't do that to my poor, poor Erik. I wouldn't let them.
I saw Violette make her way to the door, "Where are you going?"
She heard the worry in my voice, "I'm going to get some air." She paused before adding, "Don't worry. I won't report your precious Opera Ghost."
My mind raced trying to figure out ways to fix this. I had to protect him. Protect my Erik.
Erik
Once the sun has set and everyone was tucked away in their beds I went through the passageways that lead to the kitchen.
At first I wasn't sure what to think of my late night meetings with Mélodie and her forcing me to eat like I was an infant.
I hadn't had the desire to eat or even live for years. But now as I went through the kitchen door I couldn't deny how excited I was to see her. I also couldn't deny how my mouth watered in anticipation for her cooking. Pretty soon I'll be fatter than Piangi was.
Last night she had called me the "Angel of Music". I almost felt ashamed that I hadn't thought of Christine for a while. I felt as if I was being disloyal to her. The reminder of her still created a pain in my chest. What shocked me was the pain no longer felt like a knife was being pushed through my hollow heart. Instead it felt duller and more fleeting. Truly, it was shocking.
Mélodie worried that her remark would send me plummeting back into my previous depression. Before it might have but now, the more I spent time with Mélodie, the more that glowing image I had of Christine seemed to fade.
When she had placed my cloak back over my shoulders and fixed the front to insure no cold breeze would penetrate the warm interior I couldn't help but stare at her.
Me - a monster, a murderer - didn't deserve her kindness. Yet there she was, making sure I was warm and fed. My own mother had never done such things. Neither had Christine. No one had.
Her light brown eyes had looked up into mine, "Better?"
I could only nod.
Her scent lingered on my black cape. Cinnamon. Such a warm aroma. Warm like Mélodie.
The sun cast a gold glow on her cream colored skin. There were auburn strands in her brown hair that seemed to reach out to the sun whenever they sensed its presence. The wind tugged and played with her curls. I couldn't stop myself from wrapping my arms around her and pulling her close.
Where is she?
Normally she is here by now, frantically searching the kitchen for something to cook. Darkness filled the silent kitchen as I waited.
After another few minutes I decided I would go up to the roof, thinking she may be there. She wasn't.
Days passed by and I watched her from the shadows. She looked tired, slightly burned out. She covered all areas of the opera house, sweeping here, dusting there, sewing this, sewing that. No wonder the poor girl looked tired.
I watched her sort through costumes high above the stage, away from all living things. Apart from me that is. If you can call me a living thing. With a face like mine I am more of a walking corpse.
I didn't say anything. She wouldn't know I was here anywa-
"Come out, Erik," she blew a strand of hair out of her face and looked directly over to me.
I suppose I'm getting rusty.
"They're all downstairs rehearsing, you can come out," she stood with her hand on her hip, waiting for me to emerge from the darkness. "Don't even try to pretend like you aren't there."
Well, then. That plan had failed as well.
I picked up one of the costumes that had fallen on the floor and brought it to her.
"Merci (thank you)," she didn't meet my gaze as she took it from me. Without saying anything else she went back to her work.
I broke the silence, "You haven't been coming to the kitchen. I've been worried."
She didn't stop shuffling through the mountain of clothing, "I know. I know you've been watching."
Perhaps I should go back to terrorizing the opera house. I could use the practice.
"I hope you have been eating," one of the many shoes she was carrying fell into the floor.
I picked it up for her, "I have. I wouldn't want to be scolded."
She didn't laugh like she normally did. No witty come back either. There wasn't even that sparkle in her eyes.
"Are you alright, Mélodie?"
She stopped with her back turned towards me and let out a deep sigh, "Ofcourse I'm alright, Erik. I'm just - I'm just tired. I still have a lot of work to do and Eva's dresses need to be re-fitted...again."
"If she gets any fatter she won't have any more suitors to bring her candies."
She paused for a minute before picking up one of the pirate shirts and examining it for holes that needed patching.
Her head turned slightly to look for something in the pile, her back still facing me. She has never been this quiet.
The light caught on something, "Mél...Mélodie, you're crying."
Her hands flew to her face and she stopped me before I could get to her, "Non (no), don't, s'il te plaît (please). I'm alright, really."
"You are a horrible liar, Mélodie."
She made a bitter chuckle through her tears, "Maybe I am."
Using her apron she dabbed her face dry, "Meet me on the roof, tonight. I'll...I'll try to explain what I can. For now please...I need some time to think. And I must finish my work."
I still wanted to go over to her. What I would do once I got there I wasn't sure. But I wanted to be near her and stop whatever it is that was making her sad. Not because I had feelings for her. I didn't. Not those types of feelings. At least I don't think so. I merely wanted to comfort her like she has comforted me.
I took a step back, resigning to her wishes, "On the roof. Tonight."
"Tonight," she whispered, barely audible.
* * *
I sat down atop one of the gargoyles, watching the sun set over Paris. Normally I would be at peace watching the beautiful city close its eyes for the night. Tonight, however, my mind was far from at ease.
I came up here early to rush the night along. I had to see her and find out what was wrong.
An uneasy feeling creeped into my bones as night fell, the moon taking its first breath as the sun faded away.
Hearing the door shut I turned to see Mélodie. Her hair was out of her bun and more disheveled than usual. Her plain dress was marked with dirt and who knows what else. There was a black smudge on her chin. All this telling me she had just finished her long day of work. Her most tell tale feature was her tired eyes.
She stood at the barrier and closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath of night air.
When she opened her eyes she said softly, "I have always loved the roof. There are few other places where I feel this freedom."
I stood next to her, studying her face instead of the beautiful city, "I have often thought the same thing."
Silence fell, except for the clattering of the busy streets below us. I waited patiently for her to explain to me what all was going on in her mysterious mind.
Even with the dirt on her chin, her soiled dress, and her wild hair...she still looked breathtakingly beautiful. Almost regal.
It wasn't until she had spoken that I had noticed my breath had been taken away, "She knows."
It took me a moment to bring myself from my previous thoughts and understand what she was saying.
She looked up at me then repeated, "She knows. Violette knows."
"Knows?" I raised my eyebrows at her.
"She knows about you she...she saw us up here during her birthday celebration," she began playing with her once white apron.
All of it sunk in then. Violette knows my death is a facade.
"She said you should have died like the people the night of Don Juan," her tears began to fall again. "She said she should have gone to the authorities to report you. To tell them the Opera Ghost still lives."
My brain tried to process all she said just now. Images of the fire came back to me, along with what happened below the burning Opéra Populaire.
Track down this murder. He must be found.
How could I forget who I was? Who I am? How could I forget about my curse? My face?
A pair of arms wrapped around my torso, Mélodie's face buried deep in my chest, "Oh, Erik, I'm so sorry! I should have been more careful! I promise won't let them hurt you again!"
Her sobs shook the both of us, her scent of cinnamon drugging my senses. I wrapped my arms around her and ran my hands through those beautiful curls, "You needn't worry about Erik. Erik will be alright."
She stayed there repeating her apologies and I held her close. Mélodie mustn't worry about Erik. Erik isn't worth Mélodie's tears.
Time passed by and her crying eventually calmed. I kept running my hands through her untamable hair. Unfortunately she pulled away, leaving me feeling cold and incomplete.
She wandered over to a crack in the roof's barrier and ran her fingers through it. Some time ago I had found something there. The moonlight shone brightly on it and I discovered it was a piece of parchment. On that parchment was a sketch, a drawing, half complete.
It was a drawing of me which I found incredibly strange. What was even more strange was the woman in my arms. I couldn't recognize the woman's face, mainly because it wasn't fully drawn in, but I was sure it couldn't be anyone I know. That was simply because I hardly knew anyone. I once knew Madame Giry but she is long gone. So is Christine. I do have Mélodie but...why would a beautiful girl like her fantasize about me? A monster. A murderer. A walking corpse.
Mélodie still caressed the empty crevice, "I'm such a foolish child."
A sad smile spread across her tear stained face, "I want so many things I know I can't have."
A small breeze danced across our feet, chasing a few stray leaves away like shepherds rounding up their flock.
"I was there that night," her voice was barely audible over the noise of Paris' bustling streets. "The night of Don Juan."
It seemed like every noise suddenly vanished, permitting me to hear every word she uttered, "I can still hear their screams."
Memories of that night reemerged and I shut my eyes tight trying to force them away. I wish I had died that night in the fire. The fiery death would have been the most suitable for the Devil's Child.
"What I remember most about that night is..." I opened my eyes, waiting for her to finish, dreading her next words. I almost willed them not to come, but my will power is not that strong, "...you."
Ofcourse my image would be permanently plastered in her mind. Christine had unmasked me, exposing the true monster.
Can I ever forget such a face? So distorted, deformed, it was hardly a face in that darkness. Darkness.
Christine's ghost pushed her way back into my mind, her voice ringing in my ears.
"Your voice was so beautiful."
I looked up into Mélodie's golden eyes, unsure of what I just heard.
Her full lips formed into a small smile, "So, so beautiful."
All I could do was stare at her as her small form drew closer to me. I leaned into her hand that pressed against the exposed side of my face. Her voice floated up to me, "So beautiful."
Indeed, Mélodie is quite beautiful.
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CAAAN YOU FEEL THE LOOOVE TONIIIIGHT! Unlike Erik (and later Mélodie ;) ), my voice will cause excessive bleeding in your ears.
I meant to post this earlier but we had an early show today which means I've been working all. day. long. (I can relate to Mélodie and her aching back -.-)
And I'm changing the formatting a little bit and saying who's pov it is right at the beginning so it's a little less confusing.
I try not to do Erik's that much to add to his mysterious character but when it is him talking I shall tell you guys from now on.
And I'll edit and change the previous chapters too since there aren't that many yet.
Also, just so everyone knows, I am just learning French so when I do write them in French bear with me :P
ENOUGH OF MY BORING SELF! Night everyone!
Mabelle - signing out! *passes out due to exhaustion*