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Do I Dream Again?	By : LaurieBaker Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 10050 -:- 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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Mildred Hobbes had suffered jealousy plenty of times. Having lived a life always on the outside looking in, she had grown hardened to seeing beautiful women with handsome husbands by their side, riding in their fancy carriages while wearing expensive clothes. Indeed, poverty and jealousy indeed to go hand in hand.

Yet never had she felt so incensed as when she heard Christine’s soft sounds of pleasure coming from within the Phantom’s room.

Often, Mildred walked by his room on the top floor, the room of ‘Mr. Tomkins’, clearing out any refuse that may have been left in the hallways, dusting off the end tables and such. But she knew that she was drawn to linger outside, waiting for him to come out. When she heard a woman’s passionate cries behind his door, it did not take too much deduction to realize that the slattern was Christine Daae herself!

Mildred wanted to scream with rage and frustration.

What right had Christine Daae to enjoy the Phantom’s touch? Had she not rejected him in front all of Paris while engaging in a trap to have him shot down like a dog? As for the Phantom, he needed to see that there were other options for him. Better options. Options such as herself. She knew that she was no prize, but she had to better than that little missish Daae girl. She was a real woman and would give him a taste of real passion. And she would hold back nothing.

Mildred knew that she had to act and to act fast. So she took a very great chance, purposely setting the fire in the downstairs kitchen.

When she saw the Phantom and Christine exit from the top floor, all disheveled and perspiring, she could not help but smile in satisfaction. The Phantom looked predictably angry at being disturbed. But Miss Daae was a sight indeed, all blushing and disturbed with the most distressed look in her big blue eyes. She could not resist but to scorch her with the most condemning look.

Once she had persuaded the Phantom to put out the fire, she could not help but add fuel to the fire by whispering in Christine’s ear.

“I’m shocked, Miss Daae, a nice little Catholic girl like you carryin’ on so with a man in his room like that, livin’ in sin. What would your students think? I won’t ‘ave disgraceful carryin’ on goin’ on in my boardin’ house!”

Christine Daae went as pale as a sheet as she heard Mildred’s condemning words. She nodded dumbly before turning at once to leave and go back to the sanctity of her own room.

Mildred nodded with satisfaction. This was going to be much easier than she had thought it would be.

Batting her eyes furiously, she rewarded the Phantom with a big smile after he put out the fire.

“My hero,” she crooned, almost wanting to laugh when he practically growled at her before setting off to pursue Christine for the umpteenth time.

Let him go run off to her!

Mildred was confident that Christine would not take him back this time. She was all too well acquainted with those higher-than-thou religious types. Images of fire and brimstone were burning in front of Miss Daae’s eyes. And the Phantom would not be enjoying anymore of her favors this night.

Returning to her own room on the first floor, Mildred donned her most flattering and revealing robe. It was not made out of silk and satin, not one of those fancy affairs that she was sure that Christine owned. Yet it would get the job done should she receive her visitor. And she would receive her visitor soon. Oh, yes, she was counting on it.

Consumed with sexual frustration and rage, he would be a virtual tiger, ready to pounce at her. And she would be all too ready to take him. In fact, she was eager for it. So many nights she had spent dreaming of him that she would have him any way she could, even in an angry rage. In fact, the prospect of rough sex at the hands of the masked man made her shiver with excitement.

With the patience of a black widow spider, Mildred awaited her prey, admiring herself in the mirror, pinching at her cheeks and smoothing her hair. She even thought to put on a little bit of perfume. After all, she rarely had occasion to use the stuff.

Suddenly, there was a commotion in the hallway outside of her door. Although she was no actress, Mildred recognized her cue.

When she opened her door, she was not disappointed to feel the gloved hand once more at her throat. Her satisfaction was short-lived however when she was hurled against the wall of her own living room.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, she held back her scream.

“Just what was the meaning of that pantomime out there?” the Phantom snarled at her, his eyes ablaze with fury. “I know you are an idiotic woman, but even a simpleton such as you could have put out that fire!”

“Can’t seem to put nothin’ past you, can I, dearie?”

Mildred gazed at the Phantom hungrily. With his ruffled shirt slightly open, exposing the masculine hairs on his chest, he was indeed a sight for sore eyes. She yearned to lick at the sweat at his neck like an animal in heat. His hair (or was it a wig?) was in disarray all about. No more he was the prim and proper dark stranger in the shadows, but a furious beast ready to tear her apart. Lord above, how she wanted him!

“Stop looking at me like that!” he roared. “I do not want you! So cease your meddlesome interfering in my life before I kill you!”

“Killin’ me would be a very foolish thing to do, Mr. Phantom of the Opera,” Mildred responded with a small smile. “Oh, yes, dearie, I know all about you.”

He turned away from her in an effort for her not to see his shock at her revelation.

“Then you know I shall not hesitate to kill you!”

“I think not, Phantom,” she laughed. “What would that lady friend of yours, that little songbird, think if you were to be a nasty old murderer again? Besides, if anythin’ happens to me, the police’ll know about it real quick!”

The Phantom faced her in a rage and gripped at her arms tightly.

“You damned fool, I eluded all of the police in Paris the night I set the Garnier Opera House on fire! You think I am afraid of your threats?”

“I think you’re afraid of that fancy gentleman findin’ out where you are, right at the side of his sweetie...and I have his address...oh, yes, dearie...”

His grasp loosened.

“Oh, yes,” she grinned. “He’ll know all about where his lady love is and all about the evil monster come to trap her in the room above. ‘Ow long do you suppose your love affair will last then?”

The Phantom was silent, deadly so.

“What do you want from me?” he asked in low tones.

“I just want you to be nice to me, ducky,” she answered with a lascivious grin. “That’s all. Just to be nice to me.”

---------------------

Christine slept.

For a while, she slept deeply, exhausted from all of the violent emotions and the passions of the night. But in the wee hours of the morning, she once again began her ritual of tossing and turning. And Erik’s face was there before her more than ever now...

She had been a fool to take Mildred Hobbes’ words to heart so. What could the landlady possibly know of her relationship with Erik? She only saw them leave together in a state of undress. But she did not know the history of all they had gone through, of all that they had been to one another.

Erik was back. Hers at last. If she would just stop being afraid...of Erik...of going to hell...of herself...

Christine knew in her heart that he would never hurt her. She knew that if she loved him, he would no longer yearn to kill and hurt innocent people. She could not release him from all of his pain, but she could try to make him at least know a degree of happiness. And as for herself, perhaps she would find peace again. No longer would she be held captive to the strange wild yearnings in her body every time that she thought on him. No longer would she be consumed with regret and sadness for the past. Perhaps she too would be happy.

In their own way, they had become orphans lost in the dark. She was forced into solitude from the death of her father. He was forced into a life of loneliness from birth, cursed and hated for his face. They needed each other.

While his sadness tore at her heart, she could live with it for she understood it. She understood him. And he understood her. He knew her better than she knew herself.

If God truly did not want her to be with this man, why would He allow them to come together once more? Was it a test that she was meant to endure, using all of her will to resist him? Or was it a sign that they were meant to be together? After all, if their union was sanctified by marriage, would it be wrong? And could he not be reformed and find forgiveness for his sins?

Once more, she climbed up the stairway to his room. She had to talk to him.

“Erik?” she called softly.

There was no answer.

“I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you, Erik,” she continued, swallowing and trying to summon up her courage. “I never meant to hurt you. You must believe me. It is just that so much has happened, you see? And I am so terribly confused. It seems like I have been confused for such a long time now.”

When there was still only silence, she felt the panic rise in her throat that he was angry with her.

“I never married Raoul because I knew it was wrong, that I could not bear to be his wife. At the gravesite of my father, he confronted me and said that all along, you had been in my heart. And, Erik, he was right! God help me, he was right! And when I thought you were dead...if you only knew how I had suffered with regret and missing you...”

The quiet was a torture, tearing into her soul.

“Please know that I never meant to hurt you...please...my Angel...please...I love...”

She stopped herself, covering her lips with her trembling fingers.

Never before had she said those words to anyone, not since her beloved father passed away. Not even to Raoul did she say those words, although he had said them to her often. And yet now, it seemed so easy. As if the emotion and the words were all there just waiting for him and dying to come out.

“I love you, Angel...” she continued, determined to finally admit her feelings, both to him and to herself. “And I do want to marry you. We could make a fresh start here in London, just the two of us. And the past would not matter any more. We should never speak of it again. We could be happy, couldn’t we?”

Still, there was no stirring. Nothing.

Perhaps Erik was asleep. Perhaps she would never see him again. Perhaps...

There was no point in driving herself mad with further questions that would not be answered this night.

Sadly, Christine returned to her lonely bed.
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Do I Dream Again?