So we're back at the staring line, Erik thought to himself as he nudged a plate of cheese and bread before Margarieete, straining in his attempt to stay clear of touching her, from behind. He'd been careless when he'd approached her with the simple meal, coming from behind and planning to bring it over her shoulder and set it in front of her. She'd jumped when she glanced his hand over her shoulder, but thankfully did not run. Erik shook his head and almost huffed at the thought that the Phantom of the Opera was acting the part of a waiter.
The girl politely waited for him to sit down and started picking at her food, taking tiny bites out of her bread. Erik almost growled his frustration. It was almost as if she were trying to starve herself. The past three days she hadn't finished her meager meals, and no matter how much smaller he made her portions, she ate even less every day. What was she try9ing to do? Why was she denying herself food when he knew she was hungry? He'd heard her stomach growling all night.
"Aren't you hungry?" he asked gently, keeping his voice soft. The girl's head snapped up, fear shifting in her oak eyes.
"I- I am," she stammered. "I just…"
Erik waited patiently, but sighed when she didn't continue, simply staring down at her food. He bit hard into his slice of thick bread and chewed, grinding his teeth. He wasn't angry with her, just frustrated. How was he to help her when she was so terrified of him?
Margareite shook uncontrollably, feeling the frustration rolling off or Erik in title waves. She was sure that he was unaware of just how easy it was to read him mood when he felt something so strongly. But this mood she did not understand it's reasoning. …frustration? Why frustration? Because she was scared? But wasn't that what they wanted? Fear?
Flashes of memory scrambled her mind momentarily, her heart surging to life in rapid succession. The anger that had surfaced the other night broke to the surface, focusing on Erik.
Erik felt the spears of rage slam into him as her eyes rose and focused slowly on his form before her. His mouthful of food caught in his throat, and he swallowed painfully. What had he done to trigger he anger? All he had done was ask if she was hungry. His brows pinched together as he looked at her. He wasn't afraid of her. He could certainly defend himself against a little girl. What he did fear is what he might have to do to her if it came down to physically subduing her. An accident might cause a twisted ankle or wrist. And that would do him absolutely no good in the trust case.
"Are you planning to use me?" a velvet voice darker than the blackest night in the lair sang out from her, causing shivers to tremble down his spine. HE hated it when she used that voice.
"W-what?" he stuttered, caught off guard.
"Are you going to use me as your pet?" she repeated darkly. "To give you pleasure when you wish for it?"
The sight of the food on his plate before him, made Erik want to gag. SO that's what she thought of him. The cold pit that had formed when he had thrown her away rekindled within the depths of his stomach. He had never thought of doing such a thing to the girl, but how was she to know that when that was all she had known?
"No!" he exclaimed raggedly after choking on the last bit of food going down his throat. "Lord, no! Margareiet, why ever would I do that?"
The girl looked at him across the table, terrible hate waving out from her and washing over him. Her eyes never blinked, simply stared straight and true into in like knives extended into his heart.
"Think about it Monsuire Erik," she answered slowly, like a black widow approaching it's pray. "You're down here alone all this time-" don't remind me, Erik thought dryly-" and now you have a girl down her to your pleasing. What more could you want?"
Erik's mouth opened and closed many times before he managed to apply his vocal chord's to his mouth's movements.
"You are a young girl, a child," he assured her brokenly, his voice tight. "I am a grown man. Grown men don't lust after young girls," then, after a moment he added, "Respectable, righteous men. Honorable men. Not those monsters that hurt you."
The girl eyed him warily, coldly, but the anger was ebbing away. Erik's relief at this slightest of change rumbled through him and he almost smiled but caught himself. He didn't want her to misinterpret the smile. HE nodded to her with a firm nod the put a definite meaning to what he had said.
Margareiete stared at the male before her, utterly confused. She didn't understand. What else could he possibly want her for? Slavery? And yet…. He was so deceivingly kind and gentle. NO! she soldered herself. She could not allow herself to trust him. The last time she had trusted a man, he had done to her what the others did. And so it had only hurt more when he did it. He had betrayed her trust. Her love. She had given her child's heart to him, and he had slashed a dark wound within.
Monsuire David Cowelle had been from England, taking to living in Paris after his mother had died in London. Hoping to get away from the death, the young man, who was in his late twenties, had come to board in the house that Margareite had been hiding out in for two weeks. No one knew she was there, and blamed missing food on stray dogs and rats. But it had been Monsuire David that had caught her one day, snatching food from his plate when he ate outside one day and had momentarily left his plate sit. He had willing ling allowed her a fair share of his meal and slowly gained the child's trust. Soon she came every day to talk with him and was given the privilege of calling him by the formal nick name of Davey.
Sometimes the young man would take her up to his room and read to her from books, and even taught her some of the alphabet. He had been a good kind teacher, and she had come to fear the man in no terms whatsoever. But after three months, he started becoming too close for her comfort, though at first she paid it no mind, her child's love for Davey enamored with the gifts he bestowed upon her. As time went on his advances towards the young girl became more than uncomfortable until one day she had clearly told him she didn't like it when he laid his hand between her legs when she was on his lap. The young man's first show of rage had burst out in all its hideous glory, and he had done to her that night what the pothers had done before him. She swore to herself that night that she would never trust nor love again.
Margarieite stared at Erik before her now without a clue as to how to define this man. Since when did her being a child matter to males? Honorable men? Davey had been what one could call an honorable gentlemen and yet he had still lain himself upon her. Then a sudden thought came unbidden o her mind in a flash of resentment.
"How dare you call yourself an honorable man?" she asked harshly, unable to control her words. "When you threw me aside, what that an honorable thing to do?"
Erik looked at her as if she had struck his face. Utter surprise, then guilt played coldly across his face. He looked down at his plate, sighing.
"I do not proclaim myself an honorable man, Margareite," he answered her quietly. "There are things I have done in the past that I regret more than anything and were all but gentlemanly behavior. But I have never raped a girl."
Rape. Such a strong word. Cold, harsh. Even to the ears, it was not just a meaning, but a harsh word. Everything about the word and its meaning were terrible, and he hated using the word. Almost as terrible as his face it seemed. As the years had gone by, Erik had judged everything against his face, how much better or worse it was than the deformation that marred his skin, and he wondered if he would do that until his dying day.
But he needed to defend his rezoning for throwing her aside in a need to protect his mask from being separated from his face. If the girl saw his face….
"When I threw you aside Margareite," he continued in a guilt ridden voice," I had reason to believe you wished to remove my mask. And for reasons that I rarely discuss with others, I prefer to keep the mask on. It hides from the world a terrible thing that I prefer stay hidden. But I never meant to hurt you Margareite."
Margareite looked at him, unmoving, eyes questioning, but not focusing upon his mask, yet rather on his face as a whole. She jerked her head from her stiff position that she had held the past few minutes, with a slight shake of her head.
"I never wished to remove it, Erik," she said, her voice slightly forgiving, or so he hoped. "It is just…part of you. I never wondered what was underneath."
Erik's brows pinched in a questioning look.
" What were you doing then?" he asked, now genuinely interesting in her reasoning for being so close, propping his chi on his hand.
The girl looked down uncomfortable, starting with several, "ah"'s before finally answering,
"I don't really know. I saw you sleeping there… and I was curious and I guess I wanted to see what a male's face was like up close. I never really got to see a male's face up-close without him moving."
Erik almost laughed, but didn't when he realized what double meaning the words could take on. He did find it extremely ironic however that all o this had been over such a simple thing. Such a simple thing that would still have a long way to healing and he knew it. The problem was, did Margareiete know that it had a way to go at all?