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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.

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Disclaimer: See Chapter One!

Chapter Thirty-One

“Oh! Mind where you’re going!”

Feeling a large body rush past me and hearing the sound of hooves, I looked up slowly.

“What?” I muttered in a tired voice.

“I nearly ran over you! You crossed the road right in front of me, without looking left or right!”

I turned my head into the direction of the angry voice. It belonged to a man riding a chestnut horse, which had come to a halt some twenty feet away from me.

“I’m… sorry,” I mumbled automatically. “Sorry…”

I still didn’t know what had happened, nor did I feel any desire to find out. I turned around and walked away in the opposite direction.

“Monsieur!” the man called after me. “Are you all right? You could have been dead…”

That was the last I heard of him before I turned the corner and was out of earshot. Still, his last word was reverberating in my head. Dead… dead… dead… And now that I thought about it, I did feel dead. My arms were hanging limply at my sides, and I could barely muster the energy to lift my feet enough to walk. It was more of a shuffle. Even keeping my head in an upright position required much more strength than usual. Why was it so heavy?

´Don’t think about it´, a voice in my head told me sharply. ´Don’t think at all!´

Yet even as I listened to the voice, I realised that this was exactly what I had been doing all the time: not thinking. That was why I didn’t even know where I was or how I had come to be there. But why? What had happened?

And then it hit me. I came to an abrupt halt, right in the middle of the street, which thankfully was deserted. The memories didn’t come one after the other, the way they usually did. The images I had tried so desperately to keep at the back of my mind, far away from me, burst forth, all at the same time.

It was like being caught in a dream… or rather, a nightmare. Flashes of images and sounds chased each other in my head, making me dizzy. There I was, lying in bed next to Erik… but at the same time, I saw myself having breakfast with him… then I heard him tell me that he loved me, and my heart contracted with joy…

But even after that image had grown blurry, the feeling was still there, and it grew stronger and more and more uncomfortable. It was as if an iron fist had caught hold of my heart, squeezing it relentlessly, without mercy.

Then I heard them. Words, as loud as thunder.

I have not forgotten Christine! No one could ever replace Christine! No one!

So that was it. Erik did not love me. He loved only Christine.

I opened my eyes, surprised to see the world still standing around me, looking just like it always did. I started walking again, yet more slowly this time. I turned the corner and found myself in a more crowded street than the one I had left. I looked around curiously at the people surrounding me.

They were acting in a perfectly ordinary way. I could not understand it. How could that woman over there be shouting at her children because they were walking too slowly, even though they were already late for a supposedly important appointment? Didn’t she know how lucky she was, having children, who’d always love her back?

And that man, complaining loudly about the price of tobacco! He didn’t know what real problems were. He surely had a loving wife at home, and even if he hadn’t, he didn’t look as if he cared. Wherever I looked, I saw nothing but petty arguments and pointless conversations. Why didn’t everyone count their blessings?

Directly in front of me, a young couple had just started kissing. I pushed past them, shoving the man just a little harder than necessary. They didn’t break the kiss for as long as a moment. Looking back at them, I saw that they both had their eyes closed, seeing nobody and hearing nothing.

My heart gave a particularly painful throb. Oh, how well I knew that state of blissful oblivion! I thought back to what Erik and I had done on the stage, in clear view of anyone who might have walked past. It had felt so good…

But it had been nothing but a lie. It had all been a lie. Erik had said things he hadn’t meant, done things he hadn’t wanted. But why? Why had he done all that if he didn’t love me? Had it been nothing but a joke, a game to see how much I’d make a fool of myself before I’d realise the truth?

I thought hard, reliving our past encounters, trying to remember every conversation. I didn’t find a single sign that could have warned me that he was not being sincere. But then, everyone knew that the Opera Ghost was a good liar. He could have fooled anyone. I had been stupid to believe I knew him…

“Excuse me, Monsieur?”

Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I spun around. A woman clutching a large bag looked up at me.

“I thought you needed help,” she explained with an anxious smile. “You were muttering to yourself, and you look so pale and shaky. Are you ill? Shall I call for a doctor?”

It was the second time today that I was being addressed in the street by a complete stranger, and this time, I wasn’t confused enough not to realise how embarrassing it was.

“No, no” I replied hastily. “I’m fine. I’m… I’m on my way home.”

The moment I said it, I knew how right I was. I had to go home. There would be no one to comfort me either, but at least I wouldn’t attract the attention of strangers anymore. And I’d be able to cry.

For the first time since I had left the opera, I took in where my feet had carried me. To my relief, it was not far from where I lived. I gave the woman what I hoped was a reassuring smile and set off at a brisk pace. All of a sudden, I was desperate to get to the privacy of my own room. I needed peace and quiet.

Barely a quarter of an hour later, I walked through the gate and let myself into the house. With immense relief, I noticed that Philippe’s favourite hat and coat were gone. Despite his plans, there had always been the possibility that he’d change his mind and stay here after all. With my brother, one could never be certain of anything.

A door to my left was pushed open, and the cook appeared, carrying a sack of potatoes. Her kind grey eyes grew wide as she looked at me.

“M. le Vicomte!” she exclaimed. “What happened to you? You look terrible... pale and drawn!”

I suppressed a sigh. Apparently, the walk back home had not improved my appearance and made me look more healthy. I could count myself lucky that no other strangers had talked to me and recommened to call a doctor.

Slowly, I was growing angry. Why did all those people feel the need to comment on how I looked? Whatever problems I had, they were only for me to know and, if possible, to solve. No one else needed to hear about them.

I was about to give an angry retort, but remembered just in time who I was talking to. Our cook was one of the kindest people I knew. If she asked such questions, it was only because she was concerned about me.

“Something has happened, yes,” I replied truthfully. “But it’s really not that important…”

“Of course it is,” she disagreed with me. “It has to be, or you wouldn’t have arrived here looking like a ghost, after you’ve been gone all night. But,” she went on, before I could even open my mouth. “I know it is none of my concern. I’m only the cook. So I’ll do what a cook does: I’ll offer you a cup of coffee or tea. It can help with many problems, you know.”

I doubted that all the coffee and tea in the world could have helped me, but I didn’t want to turn down the friendly offer.

“Thank you,” I said. “A cup of tea would be very good.”

I put my jacket on the coatrack and followed the cook into the kitchen.

“I can serve the tea in the library or in the sitting room,” she told me as she bustled around, putting a cup and a plate of biscuits onto a tray while she waited for the water to boil. “Or would you prefer the garden? Maybe you should take advantage of the good weather while it lasts.”

“No, no,” I said quickly. “I’ll just stay here and drink it.”

She glanced at me with a slight frown, but nodded.

“Of course, M. le Vicomte,” she muttered. “Whatever you prefer.”

She poured the tea into my cup, then turned away to pick up the sack of potatoes. Putting some of them into a bowl, she started peeling one after the other.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she commented. “They have to be peeled now, or I won’t be finished on time. You see, since no one was home for lunch, I thought I’d make a warm dinner.”

“A good idea,” I mumbled. I wasn’t sure whether I’d be able to eat all that much, but I couldn’t tell her that.

We sat in silence for a couple of minutes. It was quite enjoyable, but I couldn’t help thinking about what I’d be doing now if Erik hadn’t said what he had said. Would I be drinking tea with him instead of our cook, or would we be engaged in other activities?

And what was Erik doing at the moment? Did he even care that I had left? Or had he merely continued wandering around in the opera? Maybe he was glad that the truth had been revealed. No more pretending that he felt something for me…

A sigh escaped my lips. At once, the cook looked up from her work.

“I know it is not my place to ask questions,” she started cautiously. “But I can’t help noticing that something seems to be troubling you. Is it Mlle.Daaé? My daughter and I always liked her. She was such a nice girl.”

“It has something to do with Christine,” I answered without hesitation. Here was someone who looked sympathetic enough to listen to me, and that was more than could be said about most people these days. “There is… someone else as well. But h…” I quickly turned the word into a little cough, then went on,” But that person doesn’t have the kind of feelings I had hoped for.” I couldn’t bring myself to uttering the word ´love´.

“One can never be completely sure about another person’s feelings,” the cook stated simply. “If in doubt, one should always listen to one’s own feelings. It usually works.”

I merely shrugged, unsure what to say. There was no doubt about Erik’s feelings, was there? He had expressed them plainly and clearly, right in front of me and many other people. But that kind of information would have been too much for the cook, so I kept my mouth shut.

Noticing that the woman was watching me closely, I decided to change the subject.

“How is Viviana?” I asked. “I haven’t see her in days.”

I knew how fond the cook was of her daughter, and how much she enjoyed talking about her. Yet to my surprise, her grey eyes grew slightly darker, and a frown appeared on her face. She looked at me, and there was a certain helplessness about her that I could not understand.

The moment passed so quickly that I almost thought I had imagined it all. She straightened up, and her lips stretched into a smile.

“She is fine, M. le Vicomte,” the cook replied cheerfully. “She enjoys her work very much. We both do.”

With these words, she got up from her chair and went to the sink. I heard the cluttering of dishes and knew that there had been something wrong with my supposedly innocent topic. At the moment, however, I was simply too busy with my own thoughts to ponder it. I looked down at the plate and, seeing the chocolate biscuits, I was painfully reminded of the chocolate cake Erik had once promised to give me for dessert, before we had been distracted by other things.

My eyes welled up with tears, and I knew I had to leave quickly.

“I should better go now,” I said hastily. “Thank you for the tea.”

I stood up and left the kitchen as quickly as I could without appearing suspicious. Fortunately, the house seemed deserted. I raced up the stairs and down the corridor, desperate to get to my room before the urge to cry overwhelmed me. The biscuits had been the final straw.

I opened the door and had to stifle a gasp of shock. There, sitting at my desk, was Erik, holding a book in his hands.

“You sure took your time,” he told me pleasantly.
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Emptiness