Phantom's Fate 《Phantom of the Opera Fanfiction》

7

A/N: In a couple of days, updates will be once a day! I'm so close to the end of the book, I can taste it :P  I hope you guys enjoy the chapter! Feel free to vote and comment ♡

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"Sorry for what?"

My skin nearly jumps off my bones, my heart flipping through my chest. I groan and grip my hair roughly, frustrated. "Why do you have to do that!" Calmly, I let out a breath and sit straight, glancing at the mirror. Squinting hard, I still can't see his figure through the mirror. "Where are you?"

"Right here," his voice sounds lowly right behind me, and I jump and whirl around to see him at the other side of the bed. He stands in an oddly simple button-down shirt and black dress pants, his gold eyes piercing through the white mask. I stare a little too long into his eyes, turning away and frowning. Seeing him brings back the pain of the bickering already.

The silence in the room hangs heavy, my thoughts conflicting viciously. Do I say sorry now? I shouldn't be so nosy, not after such a trauma for him. But I'm still angry with him for always snapping at me. I'm only trying to help him, and all he does is throw his guard up and recoil. It's aggravating.

"Do you...hate me now?"

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to ignore the horrible pain that just enveloped my chest. "No, Erik. I don't hate you." My voice is small and weak against his deep, rich one. Even so, I could hear the short waver in his tone.

"Maybe you should..."

"Maybe I shouldn't," I turn back to face him, but he is looking away. "Look at me, please." It takes a moment, but he finally obliges, his hooded eyes trailing to mine. I hold his reluctant gaze with my own. "I don't think I ever can hate you, you know. I don't have the heart to do it."

"Why not?" He keeps the emotion void from his yellow eyes, his lips a tight line. "Everyone else has. My own mother, Christine..."

He stops when he says her name, as if it tastes like poison. Pain flashes over his eyes, and he drops them quickly. Feeling another pang in my heart, I crawl over the bed and sit on the edge he is at. Slowly, I take his hands into mine. His cold hands startle me, but I try to get him to look at me. His whole demeanor is rigid, even his hands. I grip them tighter. "They just don't see who you really are. I'm not gonna lie, Erik, you've done some pretty horrible things." His eyes close, a frown pulling at his lips. "But," I start again, giving his hands another tight squeeze, "you do wonderful things as well. You make the most beautiful music I've ever heard. Well, sort of heard." Maybe his music is better in person than on screen. "Deep down, you have a caring heart underneath the anger and hatred toward the world. You weren't born evil, and you aren't evil. You just need someone to show you what life is worth."

"Nobody can teach a corpse to live," he mumbles bitterly. "Nobody will."

"If you let me. There's things from my time that will help even more, if you just let me try."

"There would be no point," he sighs and starts to pull away, but I hold on tight and keep him still.

"The first thing we need to do is fix that pessimistic mindset of yours."

He gives a grunt and rolls his eyes, but I can see it's not an angry one. I laugh a little, finding his expression amusing, and his eyes suddenly catch mine, very wide. I stop, waiting for him to speak, but he doesn't. He just lets out a breath and adjusts his collar, looking away. Was my laugh ugly? Or wait...was I not supposed to laugh? He didn't get the wrong idea, did he?

"Would you accompany me back to my home?"

My insecure thoughts die out, and I blink up at him, pleasantly surprised. I thought he would make some snide comment about my childish laugh, not ask me to go home with him. "Yes..." I stand and smooth out my skirt. "I would."