Guardian Angel

Chapter 11: Taste of Heaven

An excruciating throb woke Erik from his sleep, reverberating from a tender spot directly above the base of his skull. He forced the heavy lids of his eyes open, groggy mind reeling as he attempted to focus his blurred vision on the armchair next to the bed where Christine sat dormant. His feeble efforts to sit up were in vain, as every time he tried, a scorching pain would shoot to his left side and cause him to collapse back into the sheets. It was pitiable and he was at least thankful that Christine was not awake to bear witness to his struggles.

After a few more tortuous pushes, he was upright, legs swung over the side of the bed in preparation to stand. It was something he was unsure he could even do, given that even the slightest movement made the room into some sort of twisted subterfuge. Carefully, he gripped the edge of his night table and hoisted himself up, doing his best to combat the undue groans that resulted from it. Once on his feet, albeit unsteadily, he stumbled to the washroom where he turned on the tap and scooped handfuls of water into his mouth.

Glancing at his reflection, his heart fell to the pit of his stomach. The marred flesh, the bane of his existence, had been on display to his Christine. An entire night enduring his damnation, yet she stayed. His gaze flitted up the mirror, catching sight of the heavenly creature who was still fast asleep in the chair, wool blanket tucked under her chin. Her head, fallen against her shoulder, moving in time with the steady rise and fall of her chest; the book she had been reading resting on her lap. What he had done to be privy to the sight, or even to be fortuitous enough to have his life salvaged by a creature so pure, was beyond anything he could conceive.

The fact that a woman such as herself had made a willful decision to breathe life back into a man who had done nothing but bring her harm gave him hope. If what she had said of wanting to marry him was true, was it so difficult to believe that her heart might grow fond of him and, in time, she would love him? No, it was a fool's wish. Any woman sane of mind would never love a man like him, even if with the trade of a beautiful home and bodily protection. It was impossible.

With a heavy sigh, Erik closed off the tap and dried his hands then crept back into the room. He felt only slightly sturdier than before so he decided that he would afford Christine the bed for the morning, if only so she could obtain a more comfortable sleeping position. Carefully, he crouched down, being sure not to bend at the waist and slid his arms beneath her, the blanket pooling to the floor. She stirred for a moment and mumbled something incoherent, then settled back to sleep. He waited until her snores returned before lifting her, clenching his jaw and breathing deeply through his nose to combat the pain. With Christine fitted into his chest, he gently lowered her into the warmth of the bed and tucked the coverlet around her snugly.

Content that she was comfortable, Erik made use of the discarded blanket and occupied the armchair, resolute to watch her until she woke. The first time he stayed with her as she slept, he did his best to not to gawk at her like a simpleton but now, he didn't care. She was his wife, and if he was to never invoke a certain right in that regard, then he would not be adverse to the others. He would watch her for a lifetime, consuming each of her sweet snores, all of her little mewls that would make her brow furrow, but mostly the twitching of her lips as she smiled at some hidden dream.

In all his selfishness, he could at least not feel guilty about imagining that she was dreaming of him. He knew it was pathetic to even think it, but if he was to have one thing in this marriage that kept him completely and utterly happy, besides the very presence of his wife, it would be the private musings of what they could be. While Christine would never love him in the way he loved her, there was at least solace in the idea of it.

Erik reluctantly closed his eyes when a wave of nausea swept through him, brought on by the sudden spinning of the room, and he couldn't help the loud groan that escaped his lips. When would this torture end?