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Memoirs of a Monster	By : Luv Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 2993 -:- 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
- 8
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Slightly over a year earlier, my life had been altered forever by the kiss of one woman. I had stood knee deep in water, my life completely devoid of any semblance of sanity. She had been my world, my obsession, my all. There was nothing but her, and I had given my very essence to her, wanting only to be near her and against all odds, hoping she would echo my desire. The young Vicomte was in a precarious position, his life to be bartered for her love. How ironic to look back now and realize that I had thought myself in control; nothing could have been farther from the truth.

With an invocation to God, asking him to give her strength (for it would take as much to brave my bared face), the woman that held my heart and soul captive had waded out to me and done what she must to free her lover. To be sure, in some facet of my being, I knew the true motivation of her action, but when I felt her lips, trembling with revulsion and fear, brush against mine, then her cold hand pressed against my grotesque visage, I lost all coherent thought. There was only the kiss; the taste, the feel, the sweet beauty of the kiss. And my poor mind was tricked, thinking mercy the same as desire. I kissed her back. What right had I? How could the pitiful creature of darkness (I believe that is what she called me) possibly presume to return the kiss of an angel? But I had done it, and she had allowed it. And just like that, my will had been broken; shattered into countless pieces. Perhaps because I counted the kiss more than I ever deserved, more than I ever could have hoped for, I freed them both. The reality of my crime had come to me in a single kiss.

Here I was again, my face exposed, a beautiful young woman before me, and once again I found myself lost in a kiss. This time, however, there was no young lover fighting for his life, there was no mention of God, and the only trembling was my own. She kissed me fully, a deep and willing kiss that filled me with warmth instantly. Her mouth was tilted up to mine and when her hand came against my cheek, I felt the soothing stroke of her thumb ever so slightly. My eyes were closed, but a large tear squeezed from under my lashes and collided with her hand. Even when the kiss ended, I dared not open my eyes and look at her, I sat merely wrapped in the sensation she had so generously shared with me.

“Erik?” Her soft whisper brought me back to myself and I opened my eyes slowly. Though I could hear her still close, and knew she was right next to me, I had the horrible fear that she would be gone. But she was so near, her hands on me, her breath against my cheek. “Are you alright?” she asked.

It was a good question, and one I was not quite sure I knew the answer to. On the one hand, I was more alright than I had ever been. My body throbbed with happiness at the intimacy of the moment. I felt oddly empowered, sensual, and sexual; all traits I knew lied somewhere inside my façade, but had never had a chance to express. If it weren’t for my strong reservation due to a lifetime of scorn and abuse, I would have taken her against me, pressed her under my body against the bed and made love to her. I would have shown her the passion and tenderness that no one has ever dared to find in me, that I have never allowed myself to reveal. I would have redeemed myself from the humiliation in the alleyway with the whore, and the subsequent shameful episode at the meadow’s edge with only Cesar to look on. I would have taken her fears away, wiped the memory of the detestable Lachenel and his brood of thugs far from her poor mind and loved her as a man is supposed to love a woman, serving her with not just all of my body, but all of my heart. Oh, how I longed to do these things! To become a complete man!

Yet again, I was not alright. My heart raced and my breath stuck somewhere deep in my throat. I could feel the rivulets of sweat coursing under my clothing, and down my temple. For whatever I might be on the inside, there was no changing what I was on the outside. And what was I? A man with half a face. I possessed a deformity so great that I was not allowed to live among society. When my face was given light, the multitudes cried out and demanded my ridicule. I was not meant to be loved; it was as simple as that. These were not merely the musings of a self-conscious hermit, who chose to avoid life rather than live it. These were the tenets of my existence, brought to me at my earliest memory when my own mother had cursed the day I was born. It was only later, after coming to the opera house, when I looked back on my days in the cage, that I began to blame God. He and I had never come to terms with each other, and though at moments I wept and cried out with need for His guidance, I still couldn’t find it in my heart to offer Him my full forgiveness. I somehow doubted that I had been made in His image, but instead, had been made as an oddity to appease the morbid curiosity and sick sense of enjoyment for His cruel children. It was with this deep rooted sense of anger and hatred, both of myself and God, that I fought constantly. It was this reason that I could not truly find happiness, and was wary when the prospect of it arose. I trusted no one, least of all myself.

But the pain of such an existence for a soul like mine was insufferable. There are individuals in the world who do not seek out love and companionship. They are content being alone and find solace in their solitude. But believe me, I was no such creature! Despite my deplorable encounters with mankind, I secretly desired their acceptance and comfort. I alone was aware of my boundless capacity for love and life. I sat alone, for days on end, dreaming of what it would be like to guide a young woman about a dance floor, to hold a child in my arms, to take a walk through a sun filled park. I imagined what it would be like to clasp a friend on the arm as we laughed together over a drink. I wasted away the hours, talking to people that could not hear me, smiling at people that could not see me, and loving people that could not love me. In my mind, I was Erik, a gentleman of Paris who loved music, friendship, laughter and cherished friends. In reality, I was the much feared opera ghost, an insane genius, a murderer, a hideous freak of nature who used fear to secure his survival, such as it was.

“Erik, say something.” Again Maddy implored, bringing me out of my contemplation. I looked at her; a growing expression of concern clouded her wide brown eyes. She had straightened slightly, distanced herself from me though she still looked deeply into my eyes. “Did I offend you?” she asked tentatively, withdrawing her hands from me.

“Offend me?” I could not hide my shock at the question. Offend me? How could she even think it? My mind raced and I quickly deduced that no one had ever posed this question to me in my life. While certainly I offended everyone I ever encountered by merely existing, the very idea that a delicate, beautiful, sweet creature such as Madeleine could ever offend anyone, much less me, was unfathomable.

“I just thought that,” Maddy faltered, her voice getting lost in her throat for a moment, she looked down and studied her small hands in her lap. “I was afraid that maybe,” she looked back up at me, tears threatening to spill from her liquid eyes. “I shouldn’t have kissed you,” she stammered out at last. She dropped her eyes immediately as tears dripped onto her cheeks.

“Why did you?” I asked this with no expectation of what the answer could be. As I watched her, the overwhelming desire to reach out and comfort her was held in check by the more persistent need to know the answer to my question.

She looked at me for some time, her tears finally subsiding as she wiped at them with the back of her hand. She sniffled and looked more than ever, I thought, like an innocent child. She was so small, and so vulnerable, and yet it was I that felt helpless in her presence. Whether she knew it or not, she had complete control over me at that moment.

“I don’t know why,” she said at last. “Does there have to be a reason?” She managed a little smile, the corners of her mouth twisting in a confident smirk. I found such comfort in the gesture that felt compelled to return it.

“But,” my voice shook with uncertainty. “How could you? How could you stand to?” At this she looked at me with such a genuine expression of confusion that I could not suppress a sob. Her face hid nothing; she honestly did not understand what I meant. It was then that I reached for her.

“Thank you,” I whispered as I pulled her against my chest. She willingly melted against me, pressing her cheek against my shoulder and slipping her arms around my waist. She was supple and warm and so soothing to hold. I buried my nose in her short cropped hair and exhaled a sigh of relief and contentment. I knew she had no idea why I was thanking her, but she didn’t say a word.

We sat together, holding each other for the longest time, hearing nothing but the beating of our hearts, the softness of our breathing. She broke the silence first.

“Erik?” (She said my name so often now I was actually accustomed to hearing it.) She sat up, breaking the heavenly contact of our bodies, leaving me nearly in pain for want of her against me again. She looked at me, placing a soft hand against my ravaged cheek and delicately tracing the scars. Then she took the other hand and ran a finger across my bottom lip. Instinctively I opened my mouth slightly wanting to taste her. She answered by reaching up with her sweet mouth and kissing me again. It was brief, just the lightest breeze fluttering across my eager lips. Then she closed her eyes and leaned against me once again so that her mouth was inches from my ear. “Erik,” she said my name again, and I felt a wave of heat shoot up my spine and wash over my body as though I had just caught fire. Her hands ran smoothly over my shoulders and traced down the muscles of my back as I awkwardly tried to respond by caressing her in kind. “Make love to me,” she breathed, her mouth so close that at the last word she placed a kiss just by my ear.
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Memoirs of a Monster