Meg awoke with the morning sun in her eyes and cold air creeping under the bed clothes, wrapping its icy fingers around her ankles. Her body ached fiercely. Shielding her eyes from the light, the parlour came into focus; the parlour floor specifically. The sofa was to her left, mere inches from her face. Why am I on the floor? A glance over her shoulder revealed a slumbering Opera Ghost. Meg touched her somewhat swollen lips, smiling to herself. Ah, right. Meg's cheeks grew warm recalling the night before. Hesitant exploration, neither wanting to overstep unknown boundaries. Bewilderment had clouded his eyes every time she touched him or sought out his touch.
"No one has ever wanted to touch me, Cricket." He'd told her before she unbuttoned his shirt and traced lazy patterns on his cool skin. Amazement lit up his face as he watched her kiss the places her hands had touched.
She guided him in his endeavours and showed him where and how she wished to be touched. Heat pooled in her belly and she wondered how they'd managed to stop. They fell asleep in one another's arms in a tangle of limbs and linens on the floor.
Meg stretched her legs carefully and slipped out of the cocoon. Once on her feet, she stretched out the rest of her and padded quietly to the water closet. Erik was still sleeping when she returned to the parlour. While the thought of a morning spent in his arms made her spine tingle, she was restless to make her arrangements and leave Paris behind. Which meant she had to resign from the ballet.
"I could just vanish into the night." No one alive in Paris would actually care about what happened to the prima ballerina at the Palais Garnier. It would make for a delicious gossip piece in Le Petit Journal, maybe even two, but the news cycle was always looking for the next scandalous thing and Meg wouldn't be thought of again. "Until I resurface in another company on another continent anyway."
Meg sat down at the escritoire and sighed, slipping a fresh sheet of paper out of the drawer. She didn't have to do this; how well known could she possibly be in America that they would care that she abandoned her last post. "You don't have to dance either. You could do something else." She absently tapped her pen on the paper. Outside of a theatre, Meg feared she didn't have a lot of useful skills; she was determined to pull her weight. "I do want to dance again." She sighed; handing in a formal resignation was the professional thing to do. "But what does one write in these letters? Dear Sirs..I regret to inform.. no, I don't regret it. Dear Sirs, please consider this my formal resignation..hm."
"Cricket?" Erik called, his voice thick with sleep.
"Right here, Maestro." She answered, staring angrily at the blank paper, willing the proper words to appear before her. How dare this letter not compose itself? He was suddenly behind her, a light hand on her back. The pen clattered to the desk and she straightened in her seat.
"What are you doing?" His free hand swept her hair aside, running his fingers down her neck and along the curve of her spine.
"I'm trying to resign from my job."
"Trying?" He breathed into her ear, nipping her earlobe.
"You're making it rather difficult."
"The paper was blank already, Cricket. It is not all my fault." He kissed the nape of her neck.
"Erik." Her tone was admonishing even as her breath grew shallow.
"Meg." He murmured against her skin. "What is making this difficult? Aside from me."
"I don't know what to say." She slumped back in her seat. "I've never written a resignation letter before."
Erik leaned against the wall, considered his words. Meg watched as his eyes clouded over with a far-away look.
"Maestro, where have you gone? You are a hundred miles away." A vague hint of colour touched his cheeks. She wondered if he was thinking about last night too.
"Hm? So sorry, Cricket." He studied his fingernails. "I've never written one either." Erik smirked. "Though, if I had to write one, I'd keep it short and to the point."
"Dear sirs, regrettably I must resign for I am to run off to America with my lover?" She deadpanned and arched an eyebrow.
"Are we lovers then, Cricket?" The shyness had crept back into his voice.
"You know we are."
"I don't understand it." He gestured feebly at himself as if to explain why it could not be so.
"Do you need to? Can't we just fumble through this together and enjoy ourselves?"
"If that is what you want."
"But is it what you want?"
Erik knelt beside her and kissed her hand fervently. "Oh yes." He whispered and, suddenly overwhelmed, hid his face in her lap. Meg laid her hand upon his head, unsure of what to say. She still found it unsettling when his mood shifted so swiftly. The slivers of innocence that occasionally made their way to the surface to overtake the world weary man. The little boy he used to be should've had more love than other children; the deformity be damned, his intelligence outstripped his emotional intelligence and his spoiled mother was allowed to warp him in whatever ways she chose. It made her blood boil to think about it. Erik was certainly not guiltless in the paths his life had taken, the decisions he had made. But how much of it might have been different if he'd just been cherished as he should've been? It was a fool's exercise; the past couldn't be changed. Erik couldn't be changed either, not completely. One silly little ballerina couldn't undo a lifetime of hatred and Erik wouldn't let her. But she was determined to protect whatever scraps of innocence were left behind in his damaged heart for as long as she breathed. With an unsteady hand, her other still upon his head, Meg scratched out her resignation.
"Dear sirs, I cannot continue on here any longer. I am tendering my resignation. Thank you for this remarkable opportunity." Meg signed her name with a sloppy flourish and sealed the letter.
"It's done."
Erik lifted his head and kissed her hand again. "You look uneasy."
"I confess I'm afraid to deliver it." She shivered, chilled for having sat so long in only her chemise.
"I will take it. I have some things to look after at home anyway." He sat back on his heels. "You are cold." He sprang to his feet and grabbed one of the blankets. "That's better." Meg gave him a small smile as he wrapped the blanket around her shoulders.
"Thank you."
He dropped a light kiss on her forehead and buzzed about the room; cleaning up the remains of their nest, folding blankets and dressing himself. Meg was fascinated and not just a little bit annoyed by how quickly he could button his shirt when it had taken her so long to unbutton it.
"You're absolutely certain about this?" He asked once his evening jacket was buttoned and his mask was back on.
"Yes, Erik." She replied testily. "Do you want me to change my mind?"
"I don't want you to throw your life away."
"Is that what I'm doing by going with you? Erik, I don't see it that way. You would have gone away eventually and I will not be without you." She sounded sterner than she meant to. "I'm leaving Paris, for somewhere, whether you take me with you or not."
Erik opened his mouth to retort but closed it. He took her hands and squeezed them gently. "As you wish, Cricket."
"I need you to trust me, Erik, when I tell you that I want you and I want us. I don't expect it to happen overnight, maybe not ever, but please try to believe me."
"I don't understand." He said helplessly. "You are so…lovely and kind to me. No one has ever been kind." His eyes were wet with unshed tears.
"That's not true."
"Even Christine was kind out of pity for her poor monster. You don't pity me."
"No, I do pity you but that's not why I lov-" the word caught in her throat and she tried to cover it with a cough. "My romantic feelings are not because of the pity I feel. I could make a list if you'd like but I think we should get moving on our day."
Erik's expression was harder to read with the mask on, now that she'd grown accustomed to him without it. He leaned past her and pocketed the letter then wrapped his arms around her. "Consider the missive delivered." He pressed his forehead to hers. "I'll finalize our departure and we will leave for La Havre in a couple of days. Pack your trunk."
Meg smiled wide, relieved that she would soon be far from the reach of Monsieur Desjardins.
"Leave an evening gown out though. I'd like to take you out. One last night in Paris."
"Out?" she echoed. "Out where?" The last time they had gone out, it had been midnight in the Bois and the dress code had been less… formal.
"It's a surprise. I'll return before supper." With a swift kiss and a short bow, Erik was gone, leaving Meg amused but bewildered, as he so often did.