Spanish Angel (Phantom of the Opera)

Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Empty. Lonely. Cold.

Tick. Tock.

The cold tea glared at him and the shattered teacup snarled from its place near the wall. The last flickers of flame disappeared, leaving reddish coals burning in the fireplace, removing the main source of light.

Not that it really matter.

He could see in the dark after all and no one else needed the light.

No one else at all.

Cold seeped into his bones, easily entering through the thin shirt that draped about his skeletal body. moving his eyes from the flame, he glanced down at his hands and lower arms, noting the thin layer of fat that clung there precariously.

She had tried to take away the skeleton in the only way she knew how.

Three meals a day, even if he refused to eat at least one of them on principal once a weak.

Tick. Tock.

His traitorous stomach growled, reminding him how delicious her food had been, while his mind reminded him of her playful banter over the dinner table. Until he had started to ruin things, their relationship had been perfectly wonderful. Until he had started to feel, she had been happy.

He hadn't missed her weary eyes during the past month.

He hadn't forgotten anything.

Tick. Tock.

Something had drained her and it had to be him.

She must be so happy now.

Curling closer to himself, he balanced his boney chin on sharp knees and wrapped his arms about his legs, effectively turning himself into an angular ball.

Tick. Tock.

His pocket watch reminded him again of the passing time. He snatched the thing from his pocket and hurled it against a wall, blocking away the sound. As the silence once more resumed, tears trickled down his cheeks.

Time passed slowly, his face itched occasionally but he ignored the feeling, preferring to remain curled in his chair in the silence.

I am a monster.

I ruined her.

With that thought, he remembered the first time he had ever met his Spanish fireball. She had slept so peacefully in Christine's bed. So quietly. She had been resting perfectly when he had restrained her, demanding she declare her presence.

She had merely snapped at him, declaring a gentleman wouldn't restrain a lady.

It had been her only flinch. She'd never batted an eye at him.

That mad little Spaniard.

Every time he grew angry with her, she had matched his temper. His harsh words hadn't brought tears to her eyes...until now.

She'd been crying when she left his home. Did she think he hadn't noticed?

A monster he surely was but unobservant wasn't a fault of his.

He loved her, of course he would have noticed if she cried. If only he had a few of those tears to hold close to his heart. A last memory of her. What was there left to remember her by?

His mind panicked for a moment as he couldn't remember if she had dimples or not.

No, she had not.