Scripted in Love's Scars by Michelle Rodriguez

Author:Michelle Rodriguez [Rodriguez, Michelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-08-29T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Christine~

If my morning rehearsal was ‘mediocre’, then my afternoon was pathetic. I had no concentration for notes and melodies when my head was a vortex of musings and questions.

Erik was back. I couldn’t quite wrap my mind about that fact when I’d felt abandoned for so long and had surrounded my heart in brick walls and iron bars in his absence. I had tried so desperately to give up an anticipation for any sort of return, and now… My God, what was I to do? What was I to feel?

Singing was a chore I didn’t want to be doing when I was eager for answers, and every scene I was not a part of thrust me back into visions from the past. He’d loved me once, and then he’d left me without explanation or choice. He’d run away when things imploded and hadn’t stayed to fix them with me. I hated him for that.

The more I pondered our situation, the more my anger grew. I owed him nothing, not now with his prodigal resurrection, not when my heart had meant so little that he’d left it behind. I would have been content never to set eyes on his masked face again, but no. He’d flipped my world upside down. He had no right. I was the prima donna, and he’d chastised me like a child. I was engaged, and he’d tossed my fiancé out of the theatre. Infuriating, arrogant Opera Ghost! He was convicted to controlling my existence once again, and I wasn’t about to stand for it. He’d surrendered the spot already.

As I sang my final scenes, they were supposed to be laden in love and then salvation, but I filled every note with an aggression I couldn’t keep to myself and noted the many confused expressions turned in my direction. Oh, I hoped Erik was listening! He’d threatened me with an understudy. Well, let him hear my fire and rage and know I was not defeated so easily!

Rehearsal ended with frantic comments from the musical director. Typically, he let little mistakes go, but now under Erik’s management and push to excellence, every faulty detail was mentioned along with an insistence to have each fixed by the morning in case our manager stopped in to observe. Only I knew that he’d likely never left and had certainly overheard every error with his analytical musician’s ear. He was going to be the hardest to please of anyone, and the first manager we’d ever had unafraid to put his opinion first. It was a terrifying possibility.

The second we were released, Meg came rushing to my side. “Christine! Oh my goodness! Our new manager is…the Opera Ghost!” she gasped the words quiet and yet resonant as if I hadn’t realized that point myself and would give a shock I had no energy even to pretend.

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” I insisted as I had during the ghost’s former reign. “Our new manager is a mortal man, Meg. He only has the power to frighten if you give it to him.

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