A New Beginning

Chapter 18

(Raoul's POV)

The next morning I woke up fairly late, it had been a long night after all, so when I went to the kitchen to make breakfast, I found Christine was already awake. She sat at the kitchen table, with a cup of tea almost untouched in her hands. I sat down next to her and stared at her. I took her hand in mine and kissed it. Then, I took it in both of mine and looked at her until she turned to look at me. I stared into her worry-filled eyes as she stared back at mine. "Are you alright?" I asked her, and she responded with a slight shake of the head. I pulled her close to me and embraced her in my arms. "Everything is alright, he is back with us," I told her and she gave me a faint smile. "He will be waking up soon, why don't we make him some breakfast?" I suggested, pulling her gently to her feet.

We did as I suggested and brought a tray full of food upstairs to Erik, who was starting to wake up, just as I had predicted.

"Good morning," Christine spoke softly to him with a tender smile. She sat down on the bed beside him and started stroking his cheek and forehead, "how are you feeling?"

It was clear he was in pain, but he did seem a little bit more calm than he had been the night before. Still, he looked happy to be back home and to have Christine with him again.

He placed his hand on top of hers, which had been currently resting on his cheek and smiled softly. He then kissed her palm and replied softly, "Good morning."

That whole day, Christine took care of him, occasionally singing him to sleep and making sure he was comfortable at all times; at least as comfortable as he could be.

One week later, Erik was almost completely healed. He still had a few cuts, but he definitely looked better. There was just one thing that kept me from believing he was actually doing better; something was off with him.

"Erik, will you join us for breakfast downstairs this morning?" Christine asked him as she gently stroked his hair and kissed his forehead. She was so caring towards him that now I knew why Erik thought her an angel.

Christine had been having nightmares about that night when we found him, so it occurred to me that maybe it was simply that she thought his mind was as scarred as hers, but I knew how strong Erik was. He had learned how to live with it, but Christine was too innocent to have to bear seeing the man she loved to death being treated that way. I could only pity the girl who once was my Little Lotte.

Erik shook his head. "I am a little tired," he told her, and she nodded.

Erik had not got up from that bed even once during the whole week, which seemed rather strange to me, knowing, from what little Christine had told me, that he had had it a lot worse as a child. Then again, it probably sounded worse because only a filthy animal would treat a child like that.

Christine nodded at him and turned to go make breakfast, but before she left the room I spoke up, "Erik, you should join us for breakfast. When was the last time you had breakfast with us?" He stuttered a few words. "You can't even remember," I said.

"Raoul," Christine told me softly, grabbing my arm, but I pulled it away.

"No, this is not right, he is not even trying, Christine! Look Erik, if you don't come, then say goodbye to your wife because I'm not going to let her keep acting like your servant," as I said this, he looked at me with fire in his eyes, and I knew what he was thinking. I shook my head and explained to him, "I am not going to take her away from you." He relaxed at these words. "She will be living in that room next to mine, so I will not allow her to come to you anymore. If you want to see her, you'll have to come yourself because that's the right way to treat a woman," I finished firmly. He gave a loud sigh, he knew I was right.

"Will you please give me a minute? I am going to freshen up and I will meet you down in a bit," he said. With that, he kissed her hand and she gave him a tender smile before I led her downstairs. I was determined to find out what was with all this strange acting of his.