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Born Ugly: book Two	By : KassandraRamsey Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > AU/AR Views: 1616 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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- 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, and am making no money off of this story. This applies to all subsequent chapters.

Born Ugly II
Rated: R
Warnings for the whole story- Murder, Violence, Attempted Rape, Relationship b/t an Adult and a minor (not sexual though)
Summary: Picks up from where Book 1 left off, but from Christine/Dorothy’s POV
Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, and am making no money off of this work.

A/N: Yea! Book 2 is finally ready! You don’t have to have read Book 1 to understand this one, but it will help. Please pay attention the rating and warnings. The story starts out pleasant enough, but the end is rather dark, and might disturb sensitive people.

I’m curious to know what everyone will think of this one, as it’s different than any I’ve seen so far. Anyway, I’ll quit rambling now. Enjoy, and don’t forget to let me know what you think!

Born Ugly- Book Two
Chapter 1: Dorothy Carr

It rained all the way to school on that first day. I had recently reached my fifth birthday, and now was expected to join the other children that were my age in classes. Kindergarten seemed such a big and scary word.

“I want to stay home with Daddy!” I cried that morning.

Ms. Colbert, my nanny, would have none of it. She dressed me, forced breakfast down my throat and shoved me into the car.

“All children have to go to school. Your father will be there when you return this afternoon,” she’d chided, not unkindly.

The fact was, she didn’t know that for sure. My father had been sick for several years, and the doctors didn’t think he’d be around much longer. What if he died while I was at school? Eight hours seemed such a long time to waste when I could be spending it with him.

I sighed and glared at the raindrops on the windshield. I would have put up more of a fuss, but my father had asked me not to.

“Your education should be your top priority, Dorothy,” he had reprimanded the night before, when I went to plead with him one last time.

Mrs. Colbert pulled the Lexus up to the curb in front of the school and parked.

“Do you want me to go in with you?” she asked, checking her lipstick in the mirror.

“No,” I said, shortly.

I was mad at her, even though I had no rational reason to be.

She gave me a look, but shook her head.

“Okay then. I’ll be right here to pick you up at three, so don’t dawdle after school,” she said, and flipped the switch to unlock the doors.

I scrambled out of the car and made a mad dash for the entrance, smiling shyly at the other kids who were getting just as soaked as I was.

Someone ran into me, and I nearly lost my balance. I turned around to see a cute little blond haired girl who looked too young to be starting school.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” she asked, flushing with embarrassment.

“It’s okay. I’m fine,” I said, straightening my book bag and turning to head down the hall that would take me to my homeroom class.

The girl fell into step beside me.

“I’m Margo Peterson, what’s your name?” she asked with a bright smile that was so infectious I found myself returning it.

“Dorothy Carr,” I answered, stopping at the door of the classroom.

“Are you in this homeroom? Me too!” she cried happily; I giggled at her excitement.

There was something so carefree and joyful about Margo that made me like her instantly.

At least I would know someone in my class. The two of us made our way through the crowd of students and parents saying goodbye for the day. There were a few tears, and I felt a wave of longing for my father sweep over me.

“I wish Grandma had been able to take me today,” Margo admitted, sliding into a desk near the back of the room.

I sat down in the desk next to hers.

“What about your mother and father?” I asked, hoping to distract myself from thoughts of my own father.

I wished I hadn’t asked as I watched the smile slip from her face.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” I offered, uncomfortable.

She gave a sad sigh and shook her head.

“No, it’s okay. My mom left my dad and me a couple of years ago, then my dad died in a car accident last year. Grandma tried to get in touch with my mom when he died, but she couldn’t find her.”

Margo’s depression hung thick in the air like smog, and I almost choked on it.

“I’m sorry. My mother died when I was a baby, and my father has been really sick for a long time. The doctors say he won’t live much longer,” I said, surprising myself.

I wouldn’t normally reveal something so personal to someone I just met. Normally, I was shy around strangers, but Margo didn’t feel like a stranger. It felt like I’d known her for years. There was only one other person I’d ever met that I felt that way about, and I had no idea what had become of him.

Margo gave me a sympathetic look, and then smiled again.

“So, what kinds of things do you like to do?” she asked, and it was as if the sad conversation we’d just had had not taken place at all.

“You mean like hobbies?” I asked and she nodded.

“Well, I like to read and watch television. My dad plays the violin sometimes when he’s feeling okay and I sing along. I like to play with my mother’s dolls. She collected them from all around the world, and told my dad to give them to me when I turned four. I’m always very careful with them though,” I said, and realized I was rambling.

“What about you?” I asked sheepishly.

She giggled.

“I love ballet! I take lessons three days a week, and almost every night Erik will play music so that I can dance at home,” she gushed, her brown eyes sparkling.

Erik.

I shivered at the name. There was something so familiar about it, and yet it filled me with an odd sort of uneasiness that I couldn’t quite explain.

“Who’s Erik?” I asked, trying to sound calm, though my heart was racing and my palms were getting sweaty.

“He’s- Um, he’s just Erik,” she said and giggled again.

“What?”

“Sorry, it’s just that I don’t really know how to tell you about him. He lives with Grandma and me but I don’t think he’s actually related to us. He’s lived there as long as I can remember. Grandma says he built our house, but he doesn’t look old enough to have done it. But then again he can do a lot of things that you wouldn’t think he could.”

“How old is he?” I asked.

“Um, he’s a teenager. Sixteen or Seventeen I think. I’ll ask him tonight,” she said.

The teacher called everyone to attention and school began. It was a surprisingly pleasant day, and it seemed that barely any time had passed before the three o’clock bell rang and everyone started leaving.

My anxiety about my father returned full force when I saw Mrs. Colbert in the car waiting on me. Suddenly, I felt guilty for not thinking of him all day.

“See ya tomorrow, Margo!” I called, already running for the car.

“Don’t forget to ask your dad about ballet lessons!” she hollered, and I waved to let her know that I’d heard her.

Dad was sitting up in bed when I got home. He smiled at me and listened indulgently as I rattled on about my day.

I could tell he was tired, so I tried not to go on for too long.

He patted the bed next to him, and I eagerly hopped up and hugged him. He ran a hand through my hair and sighed.

“I’m glad you had a good day, sweetheart. I wish I could spend some more time with you, but I’m just so tired,” he said, the unshed tears shining in his eyes unnerved me.

“That’s okay, Daddy. You rest, and I’ll come say goodnight later,” I said, followed by a kiss on his cheek.

“Oh, Daddy? My new friend, Margo, invited me to come and try her ballet class on Wednesday. Can I go?” I asked, knowing that Margo would be cross if I didn’t at least ask.

“Ballet? Do you know anything about dancing?” he asked skeptically.

I shook my head.

“No, but I want to try it. Please? Who knows, maybe I’ll be really good at it,” I said.

He smiled and nodded.

“Have Mrs. Colbert work out the details with Margo’s parents,” he said, then shut his eyes.

“Thanks Dad!” I called and ran off to find my nanny.
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Born Ugly: book Two