The Man Clad in Black (Phantom of the Opera)

He Was a Good Man - Chapter 16

It had been a few days since your father was shot... and it was also opening night for Il Muto.

André and Firmin gave you a free ticket to cope with your loss. It was kind of them, yes - indescribably so - but you began to wonder if had truly done more harm than good.

As you sat in one of the boxes, you could hardly focus on what was happening on stage. Your eyes burned too much to watch. Every second that you wanted to escape reality and immerse yourself in he aria, your vision blurred.

You could only remember that your father was dead.

During one of La Carlotta's songs, which would normally cause you and your father to burst out in laughter as she screeched the high notes, you found yourself being pushed over the edge.

You began to sob.

Your cries were silent, yes...

But that didn't mean that they went unheard.

You hid your face in your hands and gasped for breath. Tears stained your cheeks as your lips trembled, and you were almost certain that your eyes would be bloodshot. As you continued to try and collect yourself, La Carlotta let out another shriek, and you found yourself breaking even more. You nearly got up (as to not disturb anyone) before you felt a hand lay comfortingly on your shoulder...

You let out a gasp. In essence, you thought that it would have been Matthew... after all, he did say that he would try and make the show for your sake, and he seemed to be the only person who would be available to console you.  Both Meg and Christine were onstage. Madame Giry was yelling at the ballet dancers (or reprimanding them silently,  as she wouldn't want to interrupt the show). The Vicomte was busy getting a bouquet to surprise his beloved...

However, despite the endless amount of clues led to this being Matthew, it was someone else... in fact, it was practically his polar opposite.

Erik.

You could only stare at him. Was this real? Why did it take him so long? You wanted to run up, hug, and kiss him, and yet, you remembered that you were (at least supposed to be) mad...

So you did the only thing you could do:

You slapped him.

You were just as shocked as he was. It wasn't at all a light slap, either - it was a full-forced, wound-up, and unbelievably hard hit. For a moment, you wanted to apologize, but you clenched your jaw and remained silent.

Erik wasn't amused.

He spent no more time waiting. Harshly, he grabbed onto your wrist (of the hand that you had slapped him with) and yanked you from out of your seat, causing you to let out a slight gasp before he began to lead you off.

Once you were out of earshot of the audience, you harshly pulled your hand from out of Erik's grasp, and you gently rubbed your wrist as if it would suddenly bring it back to life. That was definitely his grip... it was the same one he had used with you the first time that you had met, but this was far from nostalgia - you began to regret it.

"What on earth are you doing, Erik?" you said softly. You wanted to make sure that you wouldn't be too loud as to interrupt the opera... after all, it was a full house tonight, and you didn't want to sabotage any future ticket sales. "I was watching!"

"No, you weren't," he muttered. "Come. I need to speak to you - it seems that the only place that won't be occupied after the show is on the roof."