Chapter 3- Changing Tides.
'Hello Sweetheart,' said Raoul, one hand placed gently on Christine's shoulder the other removing his hat. She glanced up at him, with a soft expression, from the piano seat and smiled, patting his hand. He smiled at her and kissed her nose softly. 'How was your day?'
'It was fine, I'm trying to keep busy. You know how bored I get.' She replied, and, regretting the statement immediately, she stared at the piano keys frightened to look up and see the hurt in his eyes. She could feel then burrowing into the back of her head, burning through to her mind. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean that the way it sounded.'
Raoul glared hard at her, his body and soul willing her to turn around and face him, to see his anger, to see his frustration with her! He tried hard to suppress the burning rage in the pit of his stomach, bubbling in the acid which his tongue ached to spit out. He tried to push it back down to where it belonged, gone, but it was no good. Oh, good natured Raoul. Kind hearted Raoul. Not a care in the world, Raoul. Oh, but what they didn't know. And the more he tried to dig himself out of the anger the worse it seemed to become, the deeper he found himself in its gaping jaws, he could not kill it and before he knew it the words were out.
'I'm sorry I took you away from your precious Paris, your bloody opera. The only thing you ever seem to care about! What about me?? What about my life? My part, my business and life? Does that matter?!? AT ALL'
And as he yelled he felt Christine's heart ache and as she turned he saw the pain shoot across her face, and the tears were there but he knew they would not come. They never did anymore, he didn't seem to warrant that kind of emotion anymore.
She sat perfectly still but felt her soul jump inside her body. Oh, Lord, she did not mean to anger him, she never did, but it appeared that everything she did or said angered him lately. They had been married for a little under seven years now, at first they were good and spent in Paris, in their home, but they had turned into seven long years. And still she had loved him with just about everything she could give but these moods were becoming impossible and she just didn't understand. In a heart beat his mood would snap back on itself and he would be furious at the smallest things. It was true that she missed the opera, it was true that he had taken her away but that had not mattered as much as their love so she had gone along with it. However, it was also true that she got terribly bored, there were only so many times she could walk the streets of London. They were really not that safe and shouldn't she be able to talk to him, her husband, her friend about this?
'I'm sorry,' She whispered and in that moment he stopped and turned away. With his back to her he simply said.
'I should not take it out on you'.
Take what out on me? She thought, as he left her alone.