Hybristophilia (Phantom of the Opera x Reader)

1

I shiver. It's late winter now, snow covering the ground outside. The house is silent, most of its residents still asleep. I stare out the window, feeling the emptiness inside me. The only reason I haven't left yet is because I can't survive on my own. I have no job, no money, and no other place to stay.

I hear noises from the kitchen, a sign that my father is awake. I open my door and walk into the kitchen, seeing my father brewing some coffee for the early morning. "Bonjour, père," I greet him. He glances at me and smiles, "Bonjour, petit renard." A tiny smile crosses my face at the nickname he's always called me. "You're working this early again?" I lower my gaze and began fixing myself something to eat. "Unfortunately," he took a sip of his coffee and then grimaced, the coffee burning his tounge, "It's been busy lately. Many people are coming in with a mild flu with the belief that they're going to die."

I chuckle quietly, hoping that would please him. "Speaking of busy, I've been practicing my violin a lot," I sneek a glance at my father's face, but it isn't showing any change in emotion. "I'd really like to be able to audition for an orchestra." My father turns to me, "As much as I love hearing you play, you can't stray from your studies." My mood drops, disappointment filling me. Neither of my parents are supportive of my dream to become a musician. They insisted my whole life that I should become a nurse, or rather, that I WILL become a nurse. They let me practice music as a hobby because it gave me something else to do. They never expected me to end up loving it.

"Father, please. It's what I want to do-" He cuts me off with a glare. "(Y/N), we have been over this. Your mother and I have spent so much time and money in hiring tutors for you and preparing you for the wonderful nurse you'll become." I grab the fabric of my nightgown, my teeth clenched so I don't start an argument, "Yes, father." Happy with my response, he returns to drinking his coffee.

I hear soft footsteps from the hall. My mother comes into the room. "Bonjour, mère," I can't get myself to start the conversation like I usually can. In the mornings, we usually discuss our dreams and laugh at the silliness of them all. My mother greets me with a smile and grabs something small to eat on her way to work. My mother and father work at different hospitals, but both have high positions. It wasn't common for women to be in a nursing job, but it's been in our family for a few generations. "Your test for the med course is next week," my mother reminds me. "I want you studying day and night until then. I want you to be the valedictorian of your class. Your father and I are expecting you to lead your peers and make sure our family name isn't tarnished." These words put immense pressure on my chest. If I didn't do as expected, my parents would be greatly disappointed in me. The emotion I hate the most is disappointment.

"Let's go," my mother took my father's cup and placed it on the counter, "you can clean that when you get home." She then bent down a bit to look me directly in the eyes. "We'll see you when we get home. We love you," she places a kiss on my forehead, soon followed by my father doing the same. "I love you guys too," I watch as they exit.

As soon as I know they have left, I drag my feet back to my room. My eyes rest on my violin, it's beautiful, glossy brown wood reflecting the light outside. Seeing it puts me in a trance, one where I'm on a stage, playing in front of a crowd. I snap back into reality, feeling the dread of staying here and being forced into a life I don't want to be a part of.

I place my violin in its case and pack a few small snacks and essentials in the front pocket. I change from my nightgown to black pants and a grey shirt with a dark blue coat on top. I tie my hair up and hide it in a black baker boy cap. These were clothes I was given by an old friend of mine in case I ever decided to run away. I never knew I'd actually use them for that.

Strapping my case to my back, I walk into the kitchen, my heart racing. Just as I reach the door, I stop, my hand still on the doorknob. I should probably leave a note so they know what happened.  I grab a pen and paper and begin writing.

'Mom and Dad,

I left to pursue my dream of becoming a musician.
Don't worry, I will still write to you.
I appreciate all you have done for me.

I love you.'

I leave the note on the counter and leave, the cold air hitting me like a wall. Guilt rips at my heart as I walk without direction toward what I hope is a bright future.