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Born Ugly: Book One	By : KassandraRamsey Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > AU/AR Views: 1149 -:- 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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A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews. I’m glad to be getting such a good response from this fic. It’s a little short today, but I promise that tomorrow’s will be longer. Like ten pages or something.

As always, thanks to Michelle beta-ing this!

Chapter Three

Mrs. Peterson was a wreck; I couldn’t leave her by herself. I called my grandmother from the courtesy phone in the library.

“Of course she’s welcome to stay here, Daniel, but you’ll have to give up your room,” she pointed out.

I grinned into the receiver.

“As long as I don’t have to go back to the drawer,” I said with a chuckle.

I had expected to hear her laughter, but silence was all that greeted me.

“Grandmother?”

She sighed.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” she said, and hung up.

Did she feel bad about the drawer? I shook my head. It didn’t matter now, not really.

The next six months were the most wonderful of my life up to that point. I spent my days at Mrs. Peterson’s house, overseeing the building. I kept up the pretense of being her son, and was allowed to closely follow the project.

I over-heard some of the workers talking about me one day.

“He’s a prodigy, you know. Graduated from MIT at ten-years-old,” one said.

“Get out! MIT?”

“Yeah, that’s why the boss don’t mind him hanging around. The kid actually caught a mistake yesterday that would have set us back several weeks,” the first man continued.

“Why does he wear that thing on his face?”

“I heard he melted off half his face in a science lab.”

I didn’t like them speculating about my face, but I had to admit that the MIT rumor was convenient. It spread quickly through site, and soon no one dared to question my authority. Some even came to me for advice or approval. It was wonderful.

I left the house before dawn every morning, walking the ten miles to the work site. I worked hard all day long, only taking an occasional break to sit by the pond and snack on whatever Grandmother packed for me.

At five every evening the workers would leave, and I’d work alone until Grandmother or Mrs. Peterson arrived to drive me home. Once home, I’d shower and then fall into a deep sleep on the couch. The next morning I’d be up and out the door before they awoke.

I avoided looking into mirrors whenever possible; no one could blame me for that. On the night before my thirteenth birthday, I fell onto the couch ready to sleep and was startled to realize that I had suddenly become longer than the couch.

I quickly went into the bathroom and took a good look in the mirror, awed by how much I had changed. I was taller, and much more muscular from all the hard work. My skin was quite brown from being outside in the sun all day, and my chest was much broader. I ran a finger over the slight stubble on my chin and grinned. I might have been only thirteen, but I could pass for sixteen easily.

My callused hands automatically reached for my mask, and then I hesitated. Mentally, I knew that what lay beneath it couldn’t possibly have changed. However, after seeing the dramatic change my body had undergone, I felt a surge of desperate hope that my face had fixed itself.

I removed the mask and stared at my face for a good twenty minutes before putting it back on and returning to the couch.

Yes, I still looked like a monster; a mistake of nature.

My gaze landed on a few snapshots scattered on the coffee table. They were of Mrs. Peterson’s unfinished house.

Right then, I promised myself that though I might be ugly, I would dedicate my life to creating beautiful things.

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The finished house was gorgeous. It was two stories tall with a full basement, wrap around porch, and impeccably manicured lawn. The long concrete driveway that ran all the way to the street was lined with magnolia trees, Mrs. Peterson’s favorite. The house itself was plantation style, like something you’d see on Gone with the Wind. Although you’d have to come up the drive quite a ways before you could see it. seclusion is what held the greatest appeal for me.

The finished was very lovely, and I was near bursting with pride as I showed it off to Mrs. Peterson and my grandmother. We were walking through the empty house waiting on the interior decorators to arrive.

Mrs. Peterson was near tears as she gazed over her new home, and I felt a very curious warmth spreading through my chest when I saw them. My grandmother was impressed, and began making suggestions of what she should buy to go in certain places.

Grandmother went outside to meet the decorators, who had just arrived, while Mrs. Peterson and I went on to look at the basement. It was a very large room with high ceilings and a stone floor.

She looked at it for a few minutes, and then nodded as if she’d just made up her mind about something.

“Daniel, the house is more wonderful than I could have ever dreamed! I could never repay you, but I hope that you’ll allow me to give you something in return,” she said, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

I nodded, feeling a lump form in my throat.

“I don’t need this basement because you built me such a large attic. You should make this your own place,” she told me.

My jaw dropped, and I began looking at the room as if I was seeing it for the first time.

“You… you want me to live with you?” I asked, incredulously.

“Well, it’s a big house, and I’ll be all alone in it. You wouldn’t have to live with me, just stay over every now and then. You could make yourself a workshop--maybe we could get you a bookshelf, and a desk with a computer…” she trailed off and stared at my face.

I raised my hand to make sure that the mask was still on, and was startled to feel tears. I hadn’t even realized I was crying.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded and cleared my throat.

“I just…I’ve never had a room of my own before,” I admitted.

“But the room I’ve been staying in-”

“That’s the guest room.”

She gave me a pitying look.

“You’ve spent your entire life as a guest in your grandmother’s home?”

I looked at the floor and nodded.

I stiffened when she suddenly pulled me into a hard hug. When a few moments passed and she didn’t release me, I relaxed and rested my head on her shoulder.

She was soft and warm, and I could smell the hairspray that she used to style her gray hair. I’d never had a hug before, and it made me sad to get one now. Now, I knew what I had been missing. It hurt.

“You should have been mine,” she whispered so softly that I didn’t think I’d heard her correctly.

We broke apart guiltily when we heard the basement door open.

My grandmother called us to come up and talk to the decorators.

We didn’t speak of the basement again. Mrs. Peterson simply told them that she wasn’t going to do anything with that room for a while. Grandmother and the decorators didn’t think much of it, but I knew that it was just her way of telling me that she’d hold the room for me until I wanted it.

The only times I really saw Mrs. Peterson after that was in the library. She invited me over constantly, but as the weather turned colder, I went less and less. It was too long a walk for a simple visit, and though she’d never admit it, Grandmother was showing signs of jealousy over the time I spent with the old librarian.

I planned on spending a lot more time with her when summer rolled around again, but then I learned that her son Andrew had been laid off, and had moved in with her<,> bringing his baby daughter along with him. I came over a few times, but only when I knew that Andrew wouldn’t be there. He didn’t like me, and didn’t bother to hide that fact.

The last time I came to visit Mrs. Peterson, she was alone with the baby. Her name was Margo, and she even let me hold her for a few minutes. I liked Margo immediately because she had her grandmother’s warm brown eyes.

Andrew had come home to find me holding his daughter, and had lost his temper. He threw me out, and forbade me to ever return.

Mrs. Peterson had apologized profusely when I came into the library the next day. But when I asked her how much longer Andrew would be living there, she only shook her head sadly.

Although I saw her almost every day in the library, and we acted as if nothing had changed, I quit visiting her at her home after that.

End Chapter 3
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Born Ugly: Book One