The Phantom's Revenge

Chapter 8: Praying for Death

My eyes were shut tight and my head low. Silence hung in the air. My throat was dry and my pulse no longer thudded in my ears. I hadn't heard them move from the sofa. Every now and again I was tempted to raise my head and look up at them, but I didn't. He was probably holding her in his arms as I once had. She was probably walking her fingers up and down his chest as she used to do to me. I shuttered at the thought and couched. My throat and mouth were drier than sand.

"Monsieur, p-please. I'm so thirsty."

I begged. There was no noise.

"Please."

I coughed. My words were barely audible. I heard shuffling and sighed. When I looked up there he was in front of me. His trousers hung low on his waist and he held the goblet in his hand. His body was perfectly sculpted. His milky white skin paired with the hard plains of his muscles reminded of a Greek statue. I watched as he bent towards the lake and filled the goblet. He held it to my mouth. There was a warm smile on his face he did all of this. I knew why as soon as I saw it. This made me angry, if I wasn't so thirsty I wouldn't have drunk from goblet purely because he was holding it. I guzzled it down and watched as he strutted back to the sofa where Christine laid. His cloak was draped over her, she had a warm smile on her face. I caught her eye and she glared at me. Still, I didn't understand what I had done to earn her hatred. I threw my head down and silently cried. Tears of anger. Tears of frustration. Tears of hatred. Tears of self pity. I yelled, hoping someone would hear and come to free me.

"There's no use Monsieur Vicomte. Nobody will hear you. We are the only occupants of the Opera Populaire! Besides, the tunnels are soundproof. How do you think I was able to compose music without exposing my location?"

Damn. He was right. I heard muffled whispers and the sounds of kissing. I huffed an angry breath and turned to see them kissing. He was helping her put her clothes back on. Kissing her as he did this. My heart ached as he did this. My blood boiled.

"She's mine. You monster!

Raoul, things have changed! I no longer love you."

I screamed again and he came trotting over to me. I yelled and shook my head in his face.

"Why do you struggle Monsieur?"

I glared at him and spit at his face. It landed on his chin and I bit my lip, holding back my laughter. He wiped it and started to beat me. He struck me in the jaw. It was horrible. I knew that after a few more blows to the jaw I wouldn't be able to talk properly. He kicked my gut, my groin and my face. When he was finished I could barely breathe.

"It will do you no good to misbehave. It will only kill you faster."

He looked at his hands and washed the blood from them in the lake. I struggled to keep my eyes opened. I sat there praying for death. If it came I would great it like an old friend.