(A/N: Gah! Okay. So this chapter hurts me. Like, really really hurts me. This is the stupidest thing I've ever had Raoul do. Really, the only reason this is even in here is because some people (mainly obsessive-Erik-phangirls and/or Love Should Die people) insist this actually happens. Me, I'm not so sure, but to keep them happy (Supreme Being knows why I even bother) this has become part of my headcanon... But I hate it...)

Disclaimer: Don't own nothin' but the clothes on my back.

7. Nobody Needs To Know

Raoul stood in the shadows by the imposing building, looking around in mild disgust. He supposed it was a testament to his character that he had managed go almost 30 years without once visiting this place. He knew it was certainly longer than most men managed. But then, what did it say about him now he had come here...? He sighed as his thoughts drifted back to his wife and the 7 year old back at home. He knew Christine would have Gustave tucked up in bed by now – dreaming up new tunes to play on that damned piano, he thought bitterly – but he couldn't help wondering if maybe, just maybe, she still cared enough to wait up for him. She knew about his gambling... Did she care enough to worry when he was out late? Wonder whether he was in trouble?

Almost as quickly as the hope entered his mind, the dismal surroundings and reality of his situation set about extinguishing it. Of course she didn't care. They hadn't shared a bed in almost a year; not since their last fight over his debts. Why the hell should she care about him? He was nothing to her. He never had been since that night years ago, underneath the Opera. He dragged his wrist across his eyes, wiping away a tear that had just begun to form, and took a long gulp from the bottle that now seemed to be permanently clutched in his fist. It was strange to think that just 7 years ago, he had been so happy, so naïve enough to believe he would live a perfect life. How times changed...

He was broken out of his thoughts by the low sound of a woman's voice and he took a deep breath before taking the girl's hand and letting her lead him to a small filthy room, with a wooden bed and stained mattress. Raoul wrinkled his nose at the sight and frowned as the girl lit a candle close to her and he saw her illuminated. Thin straw-coloured hair, matted with dirt, that fell in lank clumps around a pale gaunt face, which had been garishly painted to resemble something close to beauty in the shadows; a dress with rips that seemed almost strategic in their locations, which clung to an unhealthily thin body. The more Raoul looked at her, the more differences he noticed. Her eyes were too sunken, her skin was too pale, her body was too thin, her hands were too shaky, her manner was too passive; everything about her seemed to scream warnings at Raoul that he shouldn't be here, that this poor girl was not Christine...

As the girl moved towards the bed, he caught her wrist and released her just as quickly as she instinctively jerked away from him. Wordlessly, he merely shook his head and pressed the expected amount of money into her trembling hand and backed away towards the door, an apologetic look in his eyes. The girl stared at him, a glimmer of gratitude in her eyes as she quickly slipped a couple of coins into a torn seam in the mattress. Raoul watched her for a moment before turning and fleeing the miserable place. It wasn't until he was back amidst the lights of the inner city that he stopped for breath and tried to regain his composure. He straightened his waistcoat and jacket and smoothed down his windswept hair before turning and slowly heading back home. The least he could do to show his love for his wife was to spare her the pain of infidelity. It was his job to be hurt by that.