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Born Ugly: book Two	By : KassandraRamsey Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > AU/AR Views: 1616 -:- 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 to my reviewers! I’m relieved to know that at least a couple of people are enjoying this.

Chapter 4: Unwanted Affection

Margo was very contrite, apologizing profusely for being so thoughtless that night. I assured her that it was all right. She’d had a major disappointment; there was no way she could have known that my father would die that night.

A social worker visited a few times, and Erik always warned me, before her visits, that I needed to show her that I was truly happy here. Otherwise, I’d be sent to live somewhere else.

I did my best to convince the lady that I wanted to stay here. I guess I did a good job, because when we went to court, the judge granted Mrs. Peterson custody of me right away.

During the next two months, Margo and I shared Erik’s room, while he worked all night on remodeling most of the upstairs area. When he was finished, Margo and I each had our own rooms and bathrooms, something we appreciated a lot when we got older. He’d moved most of my furniture from my old room at my dad’s house into the new room, and had even built me more himself. A desk and a large bookshelf were just a couple of the things he’d made.

I loved my room, and felt instantly at home when I moved in. My favorite thing was the rather large portrait that Erik painted of my family. As a Christmas present, he’d taken an old photograph of my mom and dad, and then a recent one of me, and painted us all together. It seemed so real, and I felt as if they were really watching over me as I slept at night.

As much as I missed my father, I didn’t have much time to dwell on his death. Between school and rehearsals I had barely any time to myself.

I refused to rehearse or study on Sundays. It became mine and Erik’s day. We’d get up early and go have breakfast at Waffle House. Then he’d take me to the local florists where we would pick out the perfect flowers and take them to my parent’s graves. After that, we’d usually go to the park. We’d either walk around the trails or fish in the pond. If it rained, he’d take me to the movies.

On Sundays, I wasn’t Dorothy. I wasn’t a student or a struggling ballerina. I wasn’t an almost-six-year-old orphan who had no living relatives. I was just a little girl having fun with someone who loved me. On Sundays, I let Erik call me Christine.

However, the rest of the week, I had to be Dorothy. I had to go to school, then straight to ballet. Then, it was back home to do homework, and another hour of practicing with Margo in the studio. She danced so well in rehearsals that the director allowed her to have her own dance solo. She was ecstatic and seemed to forgive him for not casting her as Clara.

Margo would continue to practice dance, while Erik and I would work on my voice. Then it was time for dinner, a bath, and bed.

I settled easily into the routine, and I hate to think how I would have handled things had I not befriended Margo on that first day of school.

The production itself seemed so short compared to all the long hours of hard work we’d put into it, but it was a lot of fun. I only messed up once, but Erik assured me that no one in the audience could tell.

After Christmas, things slowed down quite a bit. The next production would be a play, and there were no parts for ballerinas. Since we now had extra time on the weekdays, Erik had us enroll in the children’s chorus at the theatre. I loved singing, and delighted in the fact that I was so much better at it than Margo. I never told her that though.

The next year, Margo and I decided to go our separate ways as far as the theatre was concerned. We were still the best of friends, but now I focused on my singing exclusively while she continued to concentrate on ballet.

Over the next few years, I had many solos and began to love being in the spotlight. Erik had me start acting lessons. He said I’d love doing musicals, but I’d never get a part if I couldn’t act. Margo took them with me, so it was easier to loosen up and enjoy them.

When I was in fourth grade, a little boy in my homeroom class developed a huge crush on me. His name was David Bishop, and he was nice enough I guess, but I wasn’t interested in boys at all yet. He made me very uncomfortable—sending me love notes and little gifts that I didn’t want. No matter how many times I tried to tell him to leave me alone, he just became that much more persistent. One day, he even asked me to marry him.

I was very upset, and pretended to be ill so that I wouldn’t have to face him the next day. I hated going to school because of him, and I knew that my grades were suffering.

Mrs. Peterson sat me down, and told me that if my grades didn’t start improving, I’d have to give up my singing lessons. I was terrified! Singing was the most important thing to me, and I ran to Erik and cried out my troubles to him.

He became furious with Mrs. Peterson, and assured me that he’d never allow her to prevent me from singing.

“But Angel, why are you having such trouble with your grades? Is the work too difficult for you?”

I shook my head and stared at my shoes.

“It’s hard to pay attention in class, when I’m trying to hide from David,” I mumbled.

“Who is this David?” he asked, his teeth clenched in anger.

I cried again as I told him of this problem, and he held me, promising protection.

He made me study with him every day after school. I learned much more from him than I ever had from my teachers, and soon my grades reflected this. However, school was still a humiliating and embarrassing place for me, as the other kids had begun to call me Mrs. Bishop. Margo wasn’t in all of my classes as she had been in the past, so I had no one to stick up for me. It didn’t matter how much I denied it; the other kids didn’t believe me. David was happy, and always tried to hold my hand or put an arm over my shoulders. The teachers thought it was cute.

One day, I got so upset that I said I wasn’t marrying David; I was marrying someone else.

The teasing stopped, and the group that had been picking on me turned quiet and speculative.

“Who?” David asked, looking hurt.

I smiled smugly, “Erik.”

End Chapter Four
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Born Ugly: book Two