Chapter9 : Reciprocal
Doubts and Hopes
Erik
couldn't believe his ears... had Meg just said what he thought she had? He stared at her with a sort of
uncomprehending stupor and his breathing had all but ceased.
"Meg..."
he managed to whisper after a long pause.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm
saying that... I'd like to live with you... provided that you wouldn't mind me
being around." Meg replied, blushing hotly at her own forwardness.
"Mind?"
Erik repeated incredulously. "Dear
child, you know how I feel about you."
"Do
I?" Meg asked. "You've never
actually told me anything, Erik."
"No...
you're right." Erik nodded.
"In that case, I'll tell you.
But first things first... we must get you out of this damp cellar and
home. We can talk there."
"My
home or yours?" Meg asked hopefully.
"Ours,
Meg... ours."
@>------,------'----------------------
Madame
Giry rose with the sun, stretching as soon as she was out of bed, as was her
habit. Five minutes later, she was in
her small kitchen, fixing a little breakfast for Meg. The poor thing had been
through a lot, she reflected... perhaps she had been a little harsh with her
the other day. Resolving to apologize
to her immediately, she carried the tray of food in Meg's room.
It was
pitch black inside; a result of Meg's recent habit of pulling down all the
shades at night in order to block out all light, both natural and
artificial. However, upon opening the
door, a shaft of light from the hallway illuminated Meg's little bed,
It was
empty.
Giry
quickly set the tray down on top of the rumpled covers, searching for some sign
of struggle or anything to that nature.
Meg's nightgown lay on the wooden floor in a dejected-looking heap and
one look into her closet showed that she had dressed swiftly, not even
bothering with her corset or her heavy cloak.
Obviously she had left in a hurry... but why? What could've compelled her to just up and leave in the middle of
a chilly night?
A scrap of
paper on Meg's hand-me-down vanity caught the ballet mistress's eye and she
quickly snatched it up, recognizing Meg's hasty handwriting upon sight.
Maman,
Have gone to see Erik. Please don't worry.
I'll see you as soon as I can.
Love,
Meg
So... she
had taken her old mother's advice and gone to reconcile with Erik. Good girl, Giry thought with pride,
relaxing. It's time for the poor
man's suffering to end... and God knows he's suffered for a long time. She shivered, involuntarily remembering
the sight of Erik locked in a cage, people flocking about him and gawking at
that terrible face of his. They had
thrown stones at him, poked at him with sticks, walking canes... sometimes even
knives or gun barrels. They had called
him all sorts of names; freak, monster, spawn of Satan, and thousands of other
things that Giry couldn't repeat. Not
one person besides herself had shown him any mercy or compassion. But now, he was free of the restraints of
performing like that... now he had Meg.
@>-----'-------,-------------------
Meg gasped
silently as she and Erik entered the house on the lake, for it was plain that
he had neglected both himself and his surroundings since that deadly encounter
with Delacroix. The pipe organ was
covered with a thick layer of dust, as was most everything else. The kitchen was almost completely devoid of
edible food and Meg knew that Erik probably hadn't eaten very much in the past
two weeks or so.
They had
not left off holding hands since leaving the cellars, except for briefly while
Erik poled the boat across the lake, and Meg's little hand still rested within
Erik's. His hold was firm, but
gentle... gentle enough that if she had wanted to release herself, she
could. But there was a certain tenacity
to his grip; as if he were afraid that if he let go, he would never be able to
touch her again.
With
purpose, Meg turned to face him, bringing his hand up to her mouth and softly
brushing her lips against the back. He
tensed at the first contact, but gradually relaxed, daring to let one of his
long fingers trace her bottom lip with a reverence usually reserved for
religious artifacts.
"Meg..."
he whispered, volumes of need voiced in that single syllable. How often had a dreamed of a moment such as
this? Woken up in the nightmarish
center of the night, alone in his cold bed, reaching out for someone whom he
fervently believed did not exist.
Poured out his passion into music because there was no other
outlet? Had to content himself with
self-pleasure as a result of that horrible face? Many times he had reflected on how secure and sweet it would
feel, simply to be held and touched by another human being.
Now, here
was his chance to sample a bit of that forbidden, never before tasted
experience. Would he be bold enough to
take this chance? And if so, was he
even capable of giving as much as he was given? Murderer, assassin, drug addict, and many more hazardous titles
he may have... but he was still, for all intents and purposes, an
innocent. He would be clumsy and would
have to learn as he went... let his instincts guide him. Just as Nadir had told him all those years
ago in Persia...
After
witnessing a particularly brutal rape perpetrated by the shah himself against
the daughter of a Babi dissident, Erik had flown off into a rage, thoroughly
disillusioned with the human race. He
was indifferent to wars and battles that claimed the lives of soldiers and kings,
but his compassion was always aroused when women, children, or animals
suffered. Women especially; they were
all caged, figuratively perhaps, but caged nonetheless... and no one knew more
than Erik the humiliation of being treated like property. Even the furthering of the human race entailed
only pain for women, he had thought. It
was Nadir who told him that it was not necessary for the woman to feel pain
during copulation, that it was quite possible for the woman to feel as much
pleasure as he man. And although Erik
had scoffed at the idea of ever needing to know such things, Nadir had
explained to him the skills of loving a woman... not merely taking her, but
loving her.
Erik was
immensely grateful for those long-ago lessons, as he gently drew Meg into a
tight embrace that pressed her breasts into his chest once more, kissing her
with passion and uncertainty all at once. Quite on their own, Erik's hands
fastened themselves around Meg's slim waist, then drifted to her lower back,
gently kneading her flesh through the thin fabric of her blouse.
Meg
couldn't help but push herself against Erik more fully, she had no idea what
had gotten into her. All she knew was
that she wanted to be close to him, wanted to feel his touch on her body. She felt unbearably hot, but was quivering
uncontrollably, as if she had a chill, and no matter how she tried, she
couldn't stop. Her heart was pounding
furiously in her chest and she ached as she had that long ago night after Erik
had dinner with her. This man virtually
reeked of sensuality and his graceful hands were etching magic on her flesh,
how could she possibly resist him?
For that
matter... who said she wanted to resist him?
She wanted
him, this much she knew... but did he want her? Her mind wandered back to what he'd said in the cellar... that he
would tell her of his feelings. Perhaps
he was afraid to tell her, or had just forgotten in the heat of the moment.
"Erik..."
she said softly, pushing him away only slightly in order to look at him. "You said you would tell me... how you
feel about... me?" she stuttered nervously.
"Ah...
yes... I had forgotten." he nodded, relieved that she hadn't been pushing
him away out of disgust or some other equally punishing emotion. "Come, my dear... sit on the couch. Do you want some tea for those shivers?"
he inquired thoughtfully, leading her to the couch.
"Yes,
please." Meg agreed, her skin now acutely cold now that Erik was no longer
touching her.
"Wait
here... I'll heat up the samovar." he nodded, roaming off to the kitchen
and leaving Meg behind to let her imagination run wild.
What on
earth was she going to do if he confessed the same desires that she herself
held close? What would she do if he
didn't? She was merely 19, she had
never experienced the kind of longings that hold a man captive, had never
wanted to be intimate with a man before, had always devoted her energies to her
dancing. Now, suddenly, she was faced
with a very potent desire for this elegant, troubled man. But, she had no idea how to go about healing
his pain; Erik needed someone to give him her entire self, mind, body, heart,
and soul. Meg was not doubtful of her
ability and desire to do give Erik those very things... but would they be
enough? She was an innocent and had no
tutoring in sexual matters, everything she had done so far was on pure
instinct.
Well,
perhaps that was it. Instinct would be
her guide... along with Erik's reactions and responses. There had to be a way to learn through
doing, particularly with this experience.
She only hoped that Erik would understand if she made mistakes or was
clumsy in her learning.
On the
other hand, if he didn't return those agonizing, yet exquisite feelings for
her... what would she do? The
possibility was there; Erik was an older man and might possess desires as yet
foreign to her 19-year-old mind and body.
She was just starting to understand sexual desire... while he had been
accustomed to such feelings for the better part of thirty-five years. Perhaps he found her the immature child that
she surely was and wasn't all that sexually attracted to her.
Get a
grip, Giry! Meg scolded
herself. What are you blathering
about? Of course he wants you in that
way! Remember the time you deliberately
aroused him while dancing? Plus, he
wouldn't have responded to your kiss and touch the way he did if he didn't want
you! Now stop panicking yourself!
Erik chose that moment to return to the drawing room with
two fine china cups of tea for Meg and himself. Meg's gaze wandered exactly where it shouldn't have and she
turned away, blushing hotly. Oh, he was
not indifferent to her, that much was certain, for he was quite obviously
aroused, his black trousers bearing a telltale bulge of... appreciation.
Erik
placed the cups on the coffee table in front of the couch and sat next to Meg,
unaware of her new insight to his emotions.
With the air of a terrified boy, he took both of her hands into his, his
eyes never quite reaching hers in nervousness.
Where to begin? His feelings for her were beyond vast... the phrase 'I
love you' didn't even begin to cover it to any degree.
"I-I'm not certain that you'll want to hear all that I have to say, Meg... but rest assured that I will be completely honest in all I tell you. When I'm finished, all final decisions rest with you."