Here's my part two! Thank you for the reviews, you guys! This chappy might be iffy, so I'll make the next one better!
For what seemed for an eternity, neither of the two moved, save but Christine's heavy breathing and cascading tears.
Erik couldn't move his eyes from Christine's belly. Not possible… he thought, scanning the other's face. The child is Raoul's, the child is Raoul's, the child is Raoul's…
"Erik?" Christine whispered, moving her hand to his. "Please, I need you…Your child needs you-"
"IT," he began sharply, "Is not mine."
That seemed to break Christine even more. "Raoul said the same thing," she whispered, shrinking back from him and gazing at the ground.
"You mean that you two…" he began, but trailed off, daring to think that the boy had not had his way with her.
"No," she said simply.
Erik looked at her with almost a worshiping look. She was still his, not The Boys….
But he snapped out of his happiness when he realized that Christine must have been cast out some time ago, for she looked as if she'd been on the streets for ages. He knew he had to get her and the-the child to safety before any harm came to them.
"Come with me," he said gently. He took her hand before she could say another word, and lifted her into his arms. She curled close to him, protecting her unborn child against Erik's body.
She's so light, he thought, treading back to his home. Her sobbing had subsided, and she appeared to be sleeping in his arms.
When he arrived at his home, he lay Christine on his bed, and covered her with a blanket. Her breathing had slowed, and she looked so frail and sick in the fading light the fireplace was giving. He departed from the room, with a heavy feeling in his heart as he gazed once more at the sickly body.
He rushed to the kitchen, and began to slice a loaf of bread, and prepare some broth. As he worked, his thoughts were spinning around his head like a hurricane…
She's Come back to me!
But she had no where else to go…
She loves me!
But she was alone on the streets because of YOU.
Erik stopped short when he thought about that. It was his fault…
But he would right his wrong. He would care for his Angel, and-
And the child? A cruel voice in his head sneered, The Child, who will probably look just like it's father? A Devil's Child…?
He slammed down the knife he was cutting bread with, and braced himself against the table. His head was spinning so fast…
BEHOLD, MADAMS AND MESSIOURS, THE DEVIL'S CHILD! The cruel voice shouted in his brain, replaying his own childhood memories of his existence in the circus.
Devil's Child…
Devil's Child…
"No," he murmured, "It will not look like me."
He turned toward his bedroom, where he though he heard Christine stir. He strode to his room, and when he opened the door, he found Christine standing up, wrapped in the blanket he gave her. She looked frightened.
"I thought I was dreaming," she said, "I thought you might have died…
"Christine, you should be laying down," Erik simply stated, looking down at the floor.
"You look extremely ill."
"As do you," she whispered, taking a tentative step towards him. "Erik, why won't you look at me?"
He had no answer. He looked up slowly, and said, "Are you hungry? You must be, lie back down, I am preparing food for you."
He left the room, and closed the door behind him. His thoughts turned back to the child. Angry and shameful tears began to trickle down his face.