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Emptiness	By : Josephine1881 Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Slash Views: 8257 -:- 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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- 12
Disclaimer: See Chapter One!

Chapter Eleven

I walked with Erik down the corridor, then down another one and into a third one. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable place for taking a stroll. It was cold, much colder than outside. Now I understood why he was always wearing a cloak. I had assumed it was supposed to add to his menacing appearance, but in truth it probably just kept him warm. I wished I had a cloak, too.

Yet at least I was in no danger of landing on the ground anymore. Erik held my hand in his firmly.

“For your own security,” he had said, and still I thought he also liked it, at least a little. If he felt but a tenth of the sensations that had settled in my stomach, I was more than content. I had always enjoyed holding hands, even since I had been a child. It gave me a sense of belonging together with someone else.

He only let go of me when we reached the underground lake. My momentary feeling of loss was replaced by awe. The lake was even bigger than I remembered.

“And this time you don’t even have to swim in it,” he remarked, giving me an ironic smile. Were my thoughts really that obvious, or was he just good at guessing them? I was inclined to assume the latter.

“That’s very comforting,” I gave back, shivering at the memory of how cold the water had been.

“Instead, we’ll take my gondola,” he said, gesturing at a boat tied to a pole at the shore. It had just the right size for two people. Maybe we’d have to sit a little closely together, but that prospect only made it more appealing. “You can sit here,” he instructed me, poiting at the front part of the boat. I complied, finding the wooden bench not to be very comfortable. I could only hope he was a fast rower, or the consequences for my back would be serious.

He entered the gondola as well a moment later, after he had untied it, stood behind me and pushed it away from the shore with the pole he apparently used for rowing.

“I have to get a second boat,” he told me.

“Why?” I wanted to know. “This one is not broken, is it?” Involuntarily I glanced down to check whether there were already puddles of water at my feet. Yet it was too dark at the bottom of the boat. At least my feet weren’t wet yet, which surely was a good sign.

Erik chuckled.

“No, it isn’t,” he assured me. “But when I’m home, it is at the other side of the lake, so you can’t use it. You can walk around the lake, of course; it’s just not comfortable and also takes a long time. No, I’ll get you a second gondola. Do you know how to row?”

“My brother and I had a boat when we were spending the holidays at the sea as children,” I replied. “I had to do most of the rowing, or he wouldn’t have taken me with him at all.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” he muttered. “But the important thing is that you have experience in rowing. I don’t want to fish you out of the lake because your boat has capsized. It’s rather cold anyway – too cold for my sensitive little Vicomte.” I ignored the ironic undertone in his voice, for I was too busy enjoying the fact that he had called me ´my Vicomte´.

We didn’t talk much for the rest of the journey. The boat glided through the water smoothly as it made its way towards the other shore. I tried looking around, but it was too dark to see much. So I concentrated on what was going on inside the gondola. I leaned backwards till my back met Erik’s legs. They were long, hard and about a comfortable as the bench I was sitting on, but I liked feeling him.

“Do you mind?” I asked in a low voice.

“Not at all,” he gave back. His voice sounded as if he were smiling.

After a few minutes we had reached our destination. Erik jumped out of the boat and tied it to a pole, just like it had been done at the other side of the lake. I couldn’t help imagining a second one next to it. It was as if he were building a bridge for me, a bridge towards him. Leaving the gondola I felt the key in my pocket. It was another stone of the bridge.

“So… this is the shortest way to my home,” he said as he led me to his house. “Do you think you can find it alone?”

I made an indefinable sound in my throat, hoping it was the right answer. As much as I liked the fact that I was able to visit him now, the thought of walking through the underground passageways all alone made me uncomfortable. What if I lost my way and he didn’t search for me because he didn’t know I was coming?

“I take it as a ´no´,” he told me, throwing me a sideways glance. “Well, then we’ll just have to walk the way together a few more times.”

There were moments in which I didn’t know whether he was being annoyed or sympathetic. This was one of them. However, I didn’t have time to think about it, for we arrived at the house.

Erik opened the door; he had been right about it not being locked.

“Come in, come in,” he said with an inviting gesture, and I did what he told me to.

The corridor I entered was just as dark and unfriendly as I remembered it from my last visit. Involuntarily I shivered. How could anyone live like this? Yet once he had lit a lamp, it looked better. I could see everything now, the wooden floor, the walls and the doors leading to the different rooms. There even was a coatrack next to the entrance door.

It were those little details that made me feel less cold at once. They reminded me that this no longer was the house of a madman to me. It was the house of a man who meant a lot to me, though I still had difficulties in telling him that. I watched him as he shrugged off his cloak and put it on one of the hooks. To my horror it was followed by the Punjab Lasso a moment later.

“Do you always carry that around with you?” I wanted to know warily.

He nodded.

“It’s for my protection,” he replied. He didn’t seem to be annoyed by my question. “People aren’t searching for me anymore, but one can never be too cautious about such things. Going up there once without it could be my death. They haven’t forgotten me yet, and hatred is an emotion that lasts for a very long time.”

He looked at me sadly, and I understood: It was true that he cared little about other people’s opinions of him, yet that didn’t mean he didn’t care whether they wanted him dead.

“I no longer hate you,” I reminded him softly. “Maybe they’d learn to like you as well…”

“I don’t think so,” he said simply. “And it’s not necessary either. I’m not someone who needs being liked by everybody. But they need me. They need me to hate me. Have you ever regarded the matter like that?”

I shook my head. Of course I hadn’t. It was a thought too peculiar to have ever crossed my mind.

“It makes things easier for them,” he went on after a moment, when he had realised I wouldn’t say anything. “Hatred, like love, is a basic feeling. Yet, unlike love, we are forbidden to have that feeling. Our parents tell us hating is wrong. Yet they forget that we need it. In order to love, we have to hate as well. One cannot exist without the other. It would be like having a pair of scales with just one scale. We need the other one, so that we can see the difference. So we need to hate someone, and I happen to be just right for that position. We’ve learned that hating another person is wrong, so who would be better than someone who isn’t really a person?”

I gazed at him in utter fascination. Never before had someone explained such a complex matter to me without patronizing me. My father had had a particularly annoying way of treating me like a little child, yet although my siblings had tried not to be that bad, they had occasionally fallen into the same traps. Suddenly I believed that Erik had been a good teacher. If he spoke of music the way he had just spoken to me, he had to be fantastic.

Erik seemed to take my silence the wrong way, for he added:

“You see that I have had a lot of time to think about all this. Was it very boring for you?”.

“Not at all,” I assured him. “I enjoyed listening to you. But I do hope you don’t expect me to talk like that as well. I’m afraid you won’t be able to have conversations about such complicated topics with me.” I gave him an apologetic smile, assuming it was best to tell him right away.

“Nonsense,” he growled. “You talk about yourself as if you were the most stupic person in the world. But you’re not.” He cupped my face gently, and I held my breath, waiting for him to kiss me. Yet the kiss never came. He was merely gazing at me. I felt his amazing eyes search every inch of my face, and it made me blush. No one had ever looked at me that intently. “I can see it,” he declared atfre a few moments. “It’s all in your eyes. You’re an intelligent and loving boy… man, I mean. If you weren’t, I wouldn’t even bother talking to you at all.” He kissed my lips briefly, then took his hands away from my face.

At last I dared breathe again. The last moments had been so intense that I had forgotten everything else. Yet now I couldn’t help feeling very flattered. Erik thought me intelligent and loving? That was something I didn’t hear every day. I revelled in his praise. He was a person who meant what he said, which only made his words more precious. I swore myself to always remember them.

I was so absorbed in that activity that it took me several moments to realise Erik had slipped out of his jacket and was trying to help me out of mine, seemingly unaware that he had said something special. Quickly I took it off and handed it to him. When it was hanging on the coat rack, next to his cloak, he led me down the corridor and into a room. To my surprise I found myself in a kitchen.

“I thought a cup of tea would be good for both of us,” he explained, pouring water into a kettle and placing it on the stove. “I know how cold those passageways can be if one isn’t used to them. Christine… well, she was always cold in my home. But that could have had other reasons as well…” He gave a deep sigh.

I didn’t know what to say. He looked so sad that my heart contracted painfully. Or was the memory of Christine causing it? Whatever it was, I didn’t want him to be in that mood. I walked up to him and wrapped my arms around him in an awkward embrace.

“I’m sure she liked it here,” I whispered into his ear. “And so do I.” I brought my lips to the side of his neck, kissing him softly.

Within the blink of an eye he had turned around in my arms and was facing me.

“Stay here with me tonight, Raoul!” he breathed. “Please…”

I didn’t hesitate for as long as a second. I had managed to make up an excuse why hadn’t come home once, so I’d be able to do it again.

“I’d love to,” I replied, making him smile. “But you told me yourself that you don’t have a bed. Where am I… where are we supposed to sleep?”
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Emptiness