Chapter 6
Erik did not trust Madam Badeau's diagnosis of Meg's injury.
"What does she know of medicine?" he had asked himself.
Eric rushed back down to his chambers, where he had been spending very little time recently, and quickly got some pain remedies from a box near his book shelf. In no time, he was back up at the theatre level of the opera house waiting for Liana and Darcel to get out of Meg's room so he could check her injury properly.
"Do you think it is okay to leave her here alone?" asked Liana.
"You go ahead back to the dorms, and I'll stay with her for awhile and then meet you shortly," said Darcel.
Erik watched intensely as Darcel affectionately stroked Meg's hair while she slept. How dare he touch her! What made him think he had the right to lay a hand on her? The only reason Erik didn't burst though the mirror and mercilessly kill the little rodent of a boy was the fear of frightening Meg any further.
"I am afraid your dancing career is going to be cut very short, Monsieur Ballet Rat," Eric whispered, grinding his jaw.
Darcel leaned over and tenderly kissed Meg on the forehead, then got up and left the room.
Erik snapped the candle in he was holding right in half. But he would have to deal with Darcel later. He buried his fury inside him, as he had done so many times before, and composed himself. He quietly entered the room. As he gazed at Meg's soft features while she slept, his rage seemed to melt away. She was, in every way, perfect.
Erik nervously reached out and gently touched Meg's face. Her skin felt like silk to his gloved hand. He began to breathe erratically just being this close to her. He had not touched another woman since the night that Christine had left him.
He inhaled Meg's intoxicating scent. It was merely the remnants of her lavender soap, but it was almost more than he could endure. Her fair skin was looked like porcelain in the soft light that penetrated the small window in her room. He wished he could capture this moment and keep it with him always.
Very slowly and carefully, Erik lifted Meg's head and examined the swollen bump that he could feel underneath her thick waves of blond of hair. After feeling the wound, he knew then that she would have no permanent injury.
"You will have quite a headache when you wake up, Marguerite," he whispered.
He placed a few drops of the pain remedy he had brought on her velvety, pink lips. He could have watched her for eternity, but he feared that her friend and that pest of a boy would return at any moment. He brushed his hand across her cheek one last time, and forced himself to return to the mirror.
"Monsieur," he heard as he walked away.
Eric was frozen in his retreat. He slowly turned around to face Meg. He couldn't tell if her eyes were open or closed.
"Monsieur," she said again.
This time Erik walked back over to her bed side. Meg's hazel brown eyes opened slightly as she looked up at him. Erik waited for the panic and fear to come across her face. He waited for her to cry out for help as so many others had before, but she did not.
"You're leaving me, Monsieur," she inquired pitifully.
Erik found himself astonished by the calmness that Meg exhibited despite waking up to a masked villain in her bedroom. She must have really hit her head very hard, he thought.
"You must sleep now, Marguerite, you need your rest," he softly, but firmly told her.
"Yes, Monsieur….but please, don't leave me."
The words cut through him like a thousand jagged blades. He was immediately transported back in his mind to the night he had tried so desperately to keep Christine from leaving him. But, she abandoned him.
He knelt down at Meg's side, and held her fragile hand in his.
"I will never leave you, Marguerite, never."
