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Affliction	By : Luv Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 2348 -:- 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
- 9
- 10
A great weight seemed to have been lifted from my employer’s – Erik’s – shoulders in the following dasy. He moved about his home with an ease I had not previously seen, and I could contribute it to nothing else than having at last spoken his name to another living soul. I wondered about the name, hearing it over and over in my head as I bustled about. I found myself in a rather cheerful mood, and as I straightened a sprawled pile of drawings I hummed happily.
Erik. Who had given him the name? His mother, presumably, but what had become of her? Dead? Estranged? How odd that solving one mystery should open up so many more. He had a name; therefore, he had a past. Who was Erik? What series of tragedies had plunged him to this hell?
Not that I considered it as much of a hell as I once had. I still longed for sunlight and the warmth of a spring breeze on my face, but I had my trips to the market on occasion, and that sustained me well enough. I had become accustomed to the sad place now; my eyes had adjusted to the dim candlelight, and I no longer was aware of the aromas that had once filled me with dread. Over time, I had paid less attention to the place itself and more attention to the unfortunate being entombed in it. And where I had once known only fear, I was beginning to realize acceptance. Perhaps even more.
My mind abruptly abandoned my musings as I looked on the charcoal drawing in my hand. It was of her, the woman that had come that night. I shuffled back through the stack then only to discover they were all of her, some with her eyes bright in happiness, and others - more disturbing - of her sound asleep, unaware.
“Have you finished there?” I dropped the pages, startled and then hastily squared the stack and set it neatly aside.
“Yes, sir.” I turned to find him sitting at the organ, looking over his shoulder at me. He was not angry, I could see that clearly, but he looked uncomfortable. I had been too long at the drawing table.
“Come, then,” he beckoned. “I have something to show you.”
I went to him and stood at a polite distance. The memory of the music lesson rushed back every time I came near the instrument. My ears grew hot at the thought.
“Closer,” he said with mild amusement. It was then that I noticed the empty wine bottles, two of them and a glass as well, all drained. I had gone to the market only two days ago, and yesterday I had noted that the wine was still unopened. I eyed him warily then. He was without his mask, and though the one cheek was of course twisted, scarred and bloodless, the other glowed with an inner flame I had never seen in the man before. His eyes were brilliant in the candlelight. They had darkened to a stormy hue. When I bent closer to see what he meant to show me, I could smell the wine strong on his breath.
“This,” he said with an uncharacteristic flourish of pride, “is my masterpiece.”
It was an opera, or so he told me, entitled Don Juan Triumphant. I stared at the scrawled notes and smiled with a nod. It meant nothing to me, but it seemed to make him exceedingly happy.
“Here!” He stood quickly, pushing the bench back with a scrape, and I watched for a precarious moment as he teetered and steadied himself on the edge of the organ. His balance regained, he rummaged through several leafs of parchment and brought one forth at last and thrust it under my nose. “Read,” he demanded.
The handwriting was erratic and hard to make out. I squinted and held the page close, but as I began to read, his voice spoke the words:
“You have come here, in pursuit of that deepest urge,

In pursuit of that wish which till now has been silent, silent.

I have brought you, that our passions may fuse and merge,

In your mind you’ve already succumbed to me,

Dropped your defenses, completely succumbed to me,

Now you are here with me, no second thoughts,

You’ve decided, decided.”
I lowered the parchment, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. His eyes were trained on mine, wild with an emotion I had never sensed in him before. It was the wine, surely, but there was something else, something newly unleashed, and I shuddered at the realization of it. He was not himself.
He paused for a moment, taking in the effect of his words on me, a maniacal look of pleasure on his face. He was breathing hard, his shirt had come open and his chest heaved. Then he turned like a madman and pounded out several chords on the organ. It frightened me to the point that I started to withdraw, backing slowly, not daring take my eyes off of him.
Sensing my attempt to escape, he moved swiftly to block my path, and I unwittingly stepped back against him. One hand came to my throat and held me fast, daring me to move, the other slipped around my waist. His bent his lips to my ear and sang.
“Past the point of no return, no backward glances,

Our games of make believe are at an end.”
I began to tremble madly, wanting to escape, and yet at the same time…his body was blazing with heat, and so solid behind me. I made a slight protest in an attempt to move away. His hand tightened, and I realized how easily my neck could be snapped.
“Past all thought of if, or when, no use resisting,

Abandon thought and let the dream descend.”
At this the hand about my waist began to slide lower. I gave a startled whimper and tensed in fear.
“What raging fire shall flood the soul?

What rich desire unlocks the door?

What sweet seduction lies before us?”
His voice was transforming. Unchecked passion growled behind the words. He pressed tighter against me. The hand at my throat stroked my skin seductively but retained its ominous presence. The other was still traveling lower, lower…
“Past the point of no return, the final threshold

What warm unspoken secrets will we learn?”
His hand reached its mark just as the words slid from his lips and without hesitation he pressed firmly enough that the presence of my skirt seemed trivial. His hand cupped between my legs and groped savagely, and I felt the hot, wet sensation of his tongue against my neck.
“No!” I exclaimed, finding my resolve with great difficulty and tearing myself from his grasp. I pushed him away with as much force as I could muster, and in his intoxicated state, he faltered and stumbled to the ground, taking the corner of his drawing table and its contents down with him. Parchment scattered over the floor like a thick snowfall.
He lay there, sprawled among the drawings, the overturned table just behind him, looking at me in shock. Any moment I expected him to scramble to his feet and retaliate, and I was already retreating in preparation to flee. But his expression of disbelief melted slowly into one of shame and regret.
We stared at each other for what could have been no more than a matter of seconds but seemed to span eternity. There was nothing to say. His guilt was undeniable.
I turned slowly, my hand was clutched to my waist; my heart was racing. As I walked away I could hear him beginning to move and shuffle, but I did not look back to see if he was alright. I went to the stove and stood motionless, staring at the kettle, my mind frozen in disbelief. Finally I took a deep breath and smoothed down the front of my dress in an attempt to regain composure. I patted at my hair, and cleared my throat, feeling somehow that the tiny gestures cleansed the feeling of indecency from my soul.
I refused to allow the true nature of my reaction to the assault permeate my mind. It was an unspeakable urge, a shameful desire that I consciously shoved down to the dark recesses of my being and locked away. Whatever fear I had felt, for my life, for my integrity…those fears paled in comparison with the fear of what had been awakened inside of me.
Never again, I swore to myself as I sat down with the silver flatware in front of me. I dabbed polish onto a cloth and went about my task. Never again.
- 9
- 10
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Affliction