Like Father, Like Son | Phantom of the Opera

xxxv. Accidental Unveiling (Part II)

tw: mention/reference to self-harm

if you would like to avoid this section of the chapter, but would still like to read the rest of the content, look for the asterisks; they will mark the beginning and the end of this chunk of the chapter <3 

if you or someone you love is struggling with mental health/thoughts of self-harm/suicide, please reach out to someone that you trust or a local helpline in your area. you are loved and you are worth it.

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JANUARY 1923

GUSTAVE

Papa had told me when I called that morning that he did not want anyone visiting him that day. He may have been a good liar, but when it came to me, he was no actor. I had heard in his voice alone that he was definitely not as alright as he was claiming to be, and besides, he should have known better than to think I would have believed him.

When I knocked on his front door I received no answer besides the sound of him yelling at me from the inside: "Gustave, I told you on the phone that I wasn't feeling up to having visitors today!"

I tried to stifle a laugh at how foolish he was being as I tried my hand at the doorknob. "You had to have known I was going to come to see you no matter what you said," I replied. When the door proved to be locked, I stepped off the porch and lifted the rock in the garden where Papa hid the spare key, having left my own on at home, and unlocked the door.

Once I was inside, I was greeted with a sight I don't think I will ever forget. Papa was a mess, to say the least; he was sprawled out on the couch with a whiskey glass in hand, his mask was on the floor and his hairpiece sat crooked on his head.

He did not even look at me as he pleaded, "Please leave me alone."

"No, Papa. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to leave you alone, especially not in this state," I said with a sigh.

"I'm fine. Just go." He still wouldn't look at me.

"You're not fine, Papa. You're drinking and you look like a mess," I replied as I took the decanter from the coffee table and the glass out of his hand. I hadn't seen him open it since I told him the truth about what had happened while I was gone during the war, so I certainly never thought he would be one to use it in excess, but there was a first time for everything. "Dare I say you're the opposite of fine."

"Gustave, don't get smart with me. I'm in no mood." His tone was erratic, I noticed. He couldn't keep his voice level; he was undoubtedly at least somewhat drunk.

"I'm not being smart, I'm being honest." I walked into his line of vision and held the almost empty decanter out towards him. "How much of this have you drunk?" I demanded.

He waved me off and tried to get up to leave. I was steadily growing angrier as the minutes passed; I couldn't handle seeing him the same way I saw...

Lost in my own memories, I slammed the decanter on the table; I was lucky it didn't shatter. "Papa, answer me. How much?!"

Papa jumped at the sound and finally looked me in the eyes as he spoke: "I wasn't keeping count, Gustave. Not enough, evidently, because I can still remember what happened last night."

"Don't go down that road, Papa. We both know that it won't end well." I was trying to be level-headed but he was angering me with how little he seemed to care.

"I don't see how it could get worse at the moment. Your Uncle is one of the only people in my life who actually gave a damn about me when I was alone and now I have angered him so much I might never get the chance to admit that I was wrong," he said as he raised his hands in surrender before he turned to try and walk away. "Why shouldn't I just throw an abundance of alcohol into the mix?"