He widened his eyes in an almost comic expression, and whispered, "Excuse me?"
I was trembling by then, afraid he would reject me again, afraid of having gone too far.
I tried to smile as I insisted, "Would you...give me the pleasure of this dance?"
He looked completely astonished, trapped, and there was no mask to hide it. I tangled my fingers in my dress, trying to not show my despair at his hesitation.
The orchestra was playing a waltz, and the pairs had taken their places on the dance floor. Why didn't he answer me? Didn't he know how to dance? Was it not appropriate to the terror image he was trying to impose? Well, it was pretty inherent to the situation that he couldn't have the privilege of attending parties and dancing with women very often. Why was I doing that?
He looked at my face so intensely that I felt like running away. Away from his sharp look. I guess he could read all my thoughts, if only he wished to...
If I was confused, I could imagine what was going on with him. Why would he venture to show himself vulnerable to an ordinary girl from the Opera, who just like Christine had done, could come to despise him unexpectedly? But if I was to despise him, why did I keep following him, demonstrating that I cherished him and his company? I was asking the same questions to myself.
In a belated but regal gesture, he offered me his arm covered by a crimson sleeve, and finally answered, "The pleasure would be all mine," leading me to the middle of the ball room.
He placed his hand on my waist, tenderly, a little insecure, looking inside my eyes with an intensity that made me dizzy. He seemed to be scanning every inch of my soul, looking for any sign of deceivement or mockery I might give away. But that he never found, for the only thing that distressed me was the pleasure I got from the simple touch of his hands, leading me through the dance.
There were many things that Erik inspired in me, that I could barely admit to myself. And what frightened me more were the things that I didn't know how to explain, how to justify. It was mainly these things, that were beyond me, that seemed to control me, to compel me to act in strange ways, to show conduct that I failed in recognizing as mine.
More than treasuring the man, which I didn't know completely, I treasured what he could make me become, the things he aroused in me. It was frightening, yes, as anything that we are not familiar to. But it was also terribly challenging.
His features at first were unreadable, his eyes shadowed by his large and exotic hat, raising in me all sorts of doubts. As we started to move to the rhythm of the music, he pulled me closer to him, his hold strong and determined now, making me gasp at the proximity of him.
I couldn't tell if he had danced like that before, but his steps were certainly amazingly graceful and light, his tall figure moving in an admirably smooth way, in spite of the large costumes, both his and mine. Maybe the fact that he was a musician, and not only an ordinary musician, but a musician by heart, made every part of his body and soul have a singular link with sounds and melodies.
And I noticed that his eyes were shining a different light, something additional to their usual sadness, that I didn't know how to name. But I knew this new glow burned me, filling my heart with hope, hope that he could ever want me as I secretly wanted him.
At the end of the song, we found each other paralyzed, any word seeming inadequate, as if we just wanted to savor that moment for a longer time. I couldn't possibly take for granted what had happened that night. And I noticed he was still holding my hand...
Another song began, and we resumed dancing spontaneously,without a word, this time both of us feeling a lot more confident. This song was slower and sad, increasing my feeling of vulnerability.
I just couldn't allowed myself being deceived by my senses, or confused by his monstrous appearance anymore! His hands felt soft on mine, his feelings were genuinely human, taken to extremes of passion, hate and insanity, so obvious in every attitude of his!
The emotions were builiding inside me, leading to a climax I didn't know how to handle. Every turn we took, every glance he cast on me... I was burning inside, I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry, I was overflowing with happiness and longing for him. I stopped abruptly, looked upon his face, and an impulse far stronger than me struck me: I desired more than anything in this world to kiss him, not knowing exactly why!
For once in my life some sort of reason and common sense showed itself coming from me. Instead of kissing him, I gave him my most helpless and content smile, tightened the hold of his hands on mine, and said, a little out of breath, "I can't go on, Erik. I'm feeling...a little...dizzy."
Had I attempted to kiss him, I am certain he would have shunned me, thinking I was toying with him or something similar. I could never be so blunt with Erik, such a pure and somewhat inexperienced person he was, despite everything! Besides, bearing to look at his face was one thing. Actually touching it was another matter.
There was no way that he could have possibly mistaken my reaction. He was aware of the effect he had on me. Probably not to its full extent, especially because he thought I took his face as another mask, but he proved to himself and to me that, even without the mask, he could easily inspire something other than terror.
He looked at me, very still, smiling tenderly...and raised his hand, in an unsure and delicate stroke, reaching for a hair lock of mine that insisted in falling over my face. By now, both of us had forgotten his face, and I am glad I could help him with doing so. My heart was pounding madly, feeling as if it would rip free from my chest.
I was lost inside his eyes, so light blue, cloudy, hypnotizing! And so complex and sorrowful, as if mirroring his whole life in them. It was the most precious moment of my life, having Erik so close to me, so mine! And it finished in such a stupid way!
"Oh, Good Lord, it's Meg!!!"
The desperate scream, rapidly constrained, pierced my ears, startling me. I looked around and recognized Christine, pale as if to faint, being dragged away in a somewhat violent way by Raoul, the Viscount the Chagny.
The first thing that occurred to me, nonsensical as it might sound, was that Christine wanted to take the Phantom from me, to take my place to dance with him, or even better, take her admirer and tutor back.
My emotions were already confused after the dance, after everything, and I didn't need Christine, her least of all, to spoil what we had. Wasn't it enough, all the trouble he had gone through to convince her he was an Angel, to teach her, to be near her? That raised a wild rage inside of me, and I ran after her, without thinking any further.
I'm not sure what my intentions toward Chistine were that night, and I am afraid to admit I might not have been exactly nice with her, if only I had found her in the middle of the crowd. No, she wouldn't take Erik from me, not anymore!
I lost track of the couple, finding myself in the middle of the Ball room, disconcerted, surrounded by strangers, trying to remember what I was after. I touched my sweating forehead, wondering what fit of madness had taken over me. Taking a deep breath, calming myself down, I paced back to where I had left Erik, feeling a little ashamed for my insensible attitude.
He had slipped away.
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