The Friend Shop (Phantom of the Opera)

Chapter 18

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

You have @Christine-1990 to thank for this chapter coming out tonight. I've been super late about editing it so...she reminded me. Thank you! I am in the middle of getting ready for a move to college so I don't know what is going to happen. I will try to keep posting and you can be guaranteed I will not abandon this story. I just may not be able to post until I'm settled. I will do my best and wish me luck!

sarahlet2999

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Chapter 18

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The digital clock glared red at her from the nightstand, taunting her with time that seemed to drag slower, taking forever to change from 2:59 to 3:00 am. Dalir had already succumbed to the pull of sleep, sitting hunched over in his chair. A tiny line of drool escaped his half-open mouth. His empty coffee cup hung precariously from the tips of his right-hand fingers, rocking closer to the falling with every shift in his position. Christine glanced at her own full cup of brown sludge and wrinkled her nose.

Sleep tempted her but too much weighed her mind down, keeping it from drifting away into the problem-less world of dreams. Namely, what was she to do when he woke?

I've made up my mind. He will have to leave it behind. I won't watch him waste away in the clutches of that vile drug. But, will he leave it? Will he do what is necessary to rid himself of it? She looked down at the gray hand that rested in hers. Purple vessels bulged the skin, carrying the drug-infused blood to the tips of his fingers and back to his heart.

Following the vein, her eyes ran over his arms, like they had a hundred times during the night. Her heart spasmed again as she imagined him, coming out of the morphine haze, groping for another needle and piercing his skin with the cold metal. She had a mild fear of needles, disliking the feeling of the needle resting in her skin. The days when she had sold her plasma to make ends meet were still nightmarish in her memories.

She tore her eyes away from the bruising and onto the masked face. This mask covered everything in a ghoulish visage, more macabre than reality. She couldn't explain why the scowling eye sockets and downturned mouth, all frozen in hard plastic tormented her so much. It reminded her eerily of the ancient masks worn by actors of the Greek period, the hell-like features that covered their real expressions.

Why did a mask upset her more than the face beneath it?

He is very ugly. I couldn't lie about that. But, has it grown on me? Have I secretly wanted to see his face for so long that now, no matter what it looks like, I still want to see it?

Her mind tried to imagine emotion written on the skeleton canvas. How would the skin around his eyes wrinkle if he smiled? How would a blush stain his gray cheeks? How would his golden eyes look no longer hidden by the mask's empty eye sockets? What expressions could he show without the covering of cloth or plastic?

Her fingers twitched to take off the mask, but she resisted. He wouldn't want even Dalir to accidentally see. I don't know if he'll even forgive me for seeing.

Lightly stroking his bony fingers, her thoughts landed on the chapped, broken lips that barely sealed his mouth from the outside world. How would those feel against mine? A shock ran through her as that thought assaulted her brain. A heavy blush spread over her cheeks, and she thanked all sacred that both Dalir and Erik slept on while she struggled with her embarrassment.