This chapter is so short, I'm sorry everyone, and I'm also sorry that it has taken me longer to post. I've been in poor health the past week and I am starting to really getting into planning my wedding, so updates may take longer than I'd like, but I'll do my best. Anyway, enjoy.
Chapter 7
Though she remained calm on the exterior, Meg's heart still raced frantically at the sight of Erik in her bed. Willing herself to calm down her girlish nonsense, she quietly stepped to Erik's bedside and set down the nourishing meal she'd prepared, consisting of boiled carrots and peas, and a beef sandwich. He looked at it quizzically, as if second-guessing Meg's culinary expertise, and then glanced up at her.
"Eat it. Or don't, but if you don't touch that, you'll not be receiving any supper," she admonished coldly.
His eyebrows rose in surprise at her drastic change in character, and he shook his head at her abrupt, contrasting mood swings. "How am I expected to get anywhere with this woman?" he thought hopelessly.
"Why are you so miserable all of a sudden?" he quipped.
"I have no response to that. I have told you how I felt, poured my heart out to you as I have done with no one else, and you thought I was crazy. You irritate me with your rationalizations and attempts at sincerity regarding my mother, but you are selfish. Now either eat or I'll take it away."
"I thought I was to be your lover, and now I am solely your captive?"
There was a twinge of sadness and denied longing in his voice, and Meg thought that perhaps Erik was starting to come around in his feelings. Her bitter heart was slowly starting to shine again, though she refused to allow herself false hope.
"You have brought it upon yourself," she chastised. "I had been warm and receptive in the beginning, even patient, but I grow tired of your ungratefulness."
"Patient? I have only been here for one day and in that time, you really only seem to want to fuck me!"
She gasped at his words and flushed in both anger and embarrassment. It was true, she had thrown herself at him like a desperate hooker even though she knew that Erik, though desperate for sexual intimacy, was not the type of man to give it freely.
"You misinterpret my intentions, for I do desire not only sex, but a lifelong relationship with you. I wanted to show you what a good wife I could be by cooking and cleaning and surrendering my body to you," she admitted softly as she sat down on the edge of the bed, ringing the plump satin duvet in her hands.
"I feel sorry for her. It's like she is two different people, caught between right and wrong. She keeps repeating herself, and I feel that if she does not snap out of this, her depression will lead to a very early death."
"I wish there was something I could do," he wondered aloud.
"Understand me. And love me," she replied, her eyes filled with tears and her voice cracking.
She had always hated crying around people, after her mother had told her that tears did little to solve her problems, and they weren't going to make Erik love her either. She sniffled and wiped the few tears away with the back of her hand, the white skin still smudged with soil from her previous cleaning duties.
Without a word, she got up and lay down on her side of the bed, curled up and facing away from him. Erik, feeling a little sorry for seeing this woman in tears begrudgingly brought the cooling vegetables to his mouth and slowly ate the healthy meal that Meg had prepared.
"She hides her pain so well, no wonder she is such a good dancer; that is how she releases her frustration. With her father dying when she was so young and her mother directing her attention to anyone but her, she really has lead such a pathetic life. I suppose that if I had been there when she was a baby and been a better friend to Antoinette, I could have been a father figure to her, another person for whom she could seek comfort with. Hell, I suppose I would've become a different person as well. She seemed to have been happy when she and Christine were younger, but when Christine blossomed into a singer, Meg was left with no one."
Sensing her despair, even as she slept, Erik extended his hand just far enough to be able to gently stroke her hair.
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"Meg, what do you think you're doing, you nearly crashed into Pauline!"
"Sorry, maman."
"Don't be sorry, don't do it again!"
I hated to make mother mad, especially to the point where she would strike me. I would stay behind after rehearsals were done and I would stumble and practice on bleeding toes and sore legs until I got it to mother's satisfaction.
The practice today was halted early, to my surprise, and mother ordered that I put on a pretty dress and tidy up my disheveled appearance.
"Why, maman?"
"We are receiving a new ballerina today, Marguerite. She is an orphan from Sweden, coming to us because I knew her late father, and she is being entrusted to our care. I want to make her feel welcome, so be nice and befriend her, all right?"
"Yes, maman."
But from the moment of her arrival, Christine absorbed all of the praise and adoration that should have been mine from my mother. She coddled her and always listened to Christine's constant whining and crying, whereas my tears earned nothing but scorn. Mother disciplined her when she danced in the ballet corps, but never as harshly as she yelled at me.
It bothered me little, at this point, because I was always the better dancer, and in our youth, Christine was still a good friend.
But that all changed when the Viscomte de Chagny returned into her life ten years after she appeared in mine. I had heard her talk for years of her Angel of Music, but she had to choose between the two, I finally unleashed my rage.
"Poor Christine, la diva, trying to decide between two lovers, what a difficult life you must lead," I mocked.
"Meg, what do you mean? My life has been very difficult," she said with a little too much drama.
"Don't give me that! Yes, your father died, but so did mine, and at least you have a mother's love."
"My mother is dead-"
"My mother, you idiot! Don't you see how she dotes on you but practically ignores me? Once you came here I was all but forgotten!"
"But you are the principle dancer, and you get so much attention from the other men and wealthy suitors, and your mother is very proud of you-"
"Oh shut up Christine! If only we all could have a dramatic flourishing singing career, a noble fiancé and our own Angel of Music! You are a spoiled rotten diva, worse than Carlotta, because you pretend to be innocent and naïve when you are truthfully cold and calculating so that you can get whatever you want and everyone thinks you deserve it because you are a poor orphan. Stop being so into yourself."
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As Meg slept, Erik took advantage of the quill and parchment provided and began writing down his thoughts, trying to create an escape plan, for lack of anything else to do. He wrote the words in Arabic, a skill acquired from his years in Persia, and during a break in thought, he would periodically glance over at Meg. He was worried about what kind of thoughts were drifting through her head, as she would sometimes twitch or shiver.
"I never really credited her much for her acting abilities, but she certainly hid her pain well. I wish there was a way to make her realize her self-worth, and that her mother genuinely does love her. How befitting that we were the two closest companions to Christine, and she casts us both aside as if the sacrifices that we made for her meant nothing."
"Perhaps we truly are meant for each other," he mused quietly aloud.
"Companionship alone might be enough to set me free. It is not necessarily a lover that she seeks, but someone who will listen and who won't abandon her." He gathered his quill and ink-scribbled papers and began to write feverishly once more.
