Chapter 33: Recovery Time
JANUARY 11, 2014
“Please,” Freyda begged, “I just want to make a call. Why can’t I have my phone?”
Claudine’s tone was patient. “You know why. The last time you were given phone privileges, you misused them. You’d promised that you were going to call only your father and your friends—not Eric.”
“Why can’t I call whomever I want?” Freyda cried out defiantly. “Isn’t this still a free country?”
“We’ve talked about this before,” Claudine reminded gently. “You were free to call anyone—except for the Northmans. But within an hour of having your phone back, you called Mr. Northman.”
“But he’s the father of my baby!” Freyda shrieked. “Of course, I wanted to call him—needed to call him!”
“Try to be calm,” Claudine said evenly.
As the lead on Freyda’s case, Claudine had been called in to consult with the psychiatrist on duty when Freyda had become inconsolable. Due to her pregnancy, the medications they could use were quite limited. Two weeks before—right after Christmas—Freyda had seemed to be getting a little better and had behaved in a calmer manner, even seeming to accept that Eric wasn’t her child’s father. But—as Claudine had worried—her calm had been a façade, and Freyda had been hoping to achieve the use of her phone only so that she could contact Eric.
As a precaution, Claudine had phoned Eric before giving Freyda her phone. She’d asked that if Freyda’s number came up on his caller ID—that he not answer it and that he contact Claudine immediately.
The therapist had been hoping to create more trust between Freyda and herself, so she’d given her privacy to use her phone. However, that trust had been misplaced.
“Please,” Freyda wept. “I need to talk to Appius. He promised that Eric would be mine.”
“Appius is dead,” Claudine reminded softly. “You know that.”
Freyda’s eyebrows furrowed. “Oh—I remember. But—then—Eric needs me even more! He needs me to comfort him through this. He loved his father so much. Please—my baby and I can get him through this!” The distraught woman’s tone changed on a dime. “Not like that cunt who’s pretending to love him and pretending to be the mother of his child! That kid’s not even Eric’s! It belongs to Bill Compton!”
“How do you know that name?” Claudine asked.
Freyda smiled. “A friend told me that the cunt had had Bill’s baby and was trying to pass it off as Eric’s. Don’t you see?” her tone changed again as she begged. “Eric needs me to protect him from that she-devil!”
Claudine held in her sigh. She’d rarely seen a more delusional patient than Freyda de Castro. Her bi-polar disorder had been made even worse by people around her feeding her delusional state. To Freyda, her manic—or seemingly “happy” state—was all tied up with Eric Northman and the child she thought was his.
The depressive state that had led to her suicide attempt had come when the therapist that her father had working with her had been a little too harsh in trying to get the troubled woman to accept the truth that Johan was, indeed, Eric’s child.
“Freyda,” Claudine said gently, “I want you to try to take some deep breaths and think of your baby girl—okay?”
Thoughts of her daughter always seemed to calm her.
“You’re right,” Freyda breathed. “I need to think about her. But—please—won’t you at least get a message to Eric. So that he knows we’re okay and really want to see him. I promise that I’ll be good if you do.”
“Freyda,” Claudine said calmly, “you know I cannot do that—not with the restraining order in place.”
Freyda’s face fell and huge tears began to run down her cheeks.
Claudine looked over at the nurse. “Daphne, let’s get Freyda some Doxepin—to help her get a little sleep.”
The nurse nodded and went to get the meds.
Freyda’s crying continued, but she accepted the medication and lay down when the nurse helped her. For the last two weeks, Freyda had been on suicide watch again, and Felipe had hired a specially-trained private nurse to stay with her constantly.
Claudine sighed as Freyda calmed. She was—undoubtedly—personally invested in Freyda’s case. She felt as if Freyda was another victim of Appius’s, and—for Eric and Sookie’s sake—she wanted to see the woman well. She was also very concerned about the child Freyda was carrying.
But there was nothing more she could do for Freyda that night, so she left to get ready for the NP party at the MET so that she could support Eric and Sookie.
Freyda lay back and let the nurse that her father had arranged tuck her in. She held in her smile. She’d managed to trick her fucking therapist yet again. Claudine Crane thought that she was crazy, but she wasn’t!
She knew what everyone was trying to do to her—and to Eric.
Eric was being kept away from her by Sookie Stackhouse—who had drugged him into believing that they were married and had a child.
It was sick!
But Freyda knew it to be true. Her friend, Michelle—who was Sookie’s own mother—assured her that it was! Since Appius had died, a whole bunch of people—including Claudine Crane and Freyda’s own father—had been conspiring against her and Eric.
Freyda was certain of it!
So she had set her own plans into motion. She’d quickly ascertained that her nurse could be bought. And, through Daphne, she’d been able to use the phone again—as often as she’d wanted—though she’d not risked calling Eric again. Clearly, his phone was being controlled by Sookie!
However, she had been able to contact her one true friend, the person who made sure that she was given updates on Eric’s condition.
Freyda closed her eyes. She needed to get to Eric soon—before he was brainwashed to believe all the lies that Sookie and the vultures around him had been feeding him.
She shook her head a little, trying not to allow in the stray thought that it might already be too late to convince Eric that he’d been manipulated by everyone, except for her and Appius.
She resolved that if it was—indeed—too late, that she would have to take desperate measures, making sure that Eric was freed.
After all—she told herself—he wouldn’t want to live imprisoned by lies!
But the truth was that she wouldn’t want him to live—at all—if she couldn’t have him.
“You look good,” Sookie said, as she finished tying Eric’s tie. “You’re handsome no matter what, but I do like the shorter haircut better.”
Eric gave her a wry smile. “It’s ironic that it was my hair that was pretty much the last thing to get back to normal.”
“Yes—pretty much,” Sookie agreed somewhat flirtatiously.
Sookie chuckled. Indeed, nearly four months after being shot, Eric was almost back to normal. He’d been lucky—incredibly lucky. He’d stayed in the hospital another three weeks after he’d woken up, mostly for physical therapy. The bullet to his brain hadn’t hit anything vital—thankfully—and Dr. Thomas Cooper was the best in his field, so the damage that had been done had been virtually erased.
Sookie considered it a miracle, and every day, she thanked God—and Eric’s doctors—for her husband’s quickly returning health.
In the end, it had been the bullets to Eric’s aorta and his spleen that had come the closest to killing him. Had he not been in a hospital already, he would have likely died from bleeding out. And—if Dr. Ludwig hadn’t been there almost immediately after the shooting to revive him and control his blood loss—he would have died.
Eric had stayed home with Sookie and Johan for another month after he’d been released from the hospital, though he had started working from his home office a little bit during that time. Mostly, however, he’d passed his first month out of the hospital by enjoying his family and finishing Johan’s playroom—with Milos doing any heavy lifting.
Eric kissed Sookie gently on the lips. “You look so beautiful,” he whispered.
“This dress isn’t too much?” she asked with a little smile.
“That depends,” he answered with a quirk of his brow.
“On what?” she responded.
“On your definition of too much.”
“What’s your definition, Mr. Northman?” she purred.
“It all comes down to one thing,” he smirked.
“And what’s that?”
“Whether I want to rip it off of you,” he whispered, his eyes now burning into her.
“And do you?”
“Oh yes,” he responded.
“You can’t,” she said, somewhat teasingly.
“I know,” he half-frowned and half-pouted. “It’s against doctor’s orders.”
“No,” she said coyly, “it’s not.”
“What?” he asked.
“Thomas called earlier with the results of your tests,” she said breathily.
“Oh?” he asked, suddenly even more interested and very—very—hard.
“We’re all clear for lift off,” she whispered.
Immediately, he had her hoisted against the wall.
“Eric,” she said with concern, “be careful. Don’t hurt yourself.”
He chuckled. “You did say lift-off, lover.”
She giggled. “Still—don’t you think we’d better take it easy?” she cautioned. “It is your first time back,” she finished with a giggle.
He grinned and inhaled deeply. “I know.” He growled. “God, now I really want to rip this dress off of you.”
“Okay. Then rip it,” she said.
“Pam will kill me,” Eric said with concern in his voice. “She’s been going on for a week about this dress.”
Sookie smiled coyly. “Not this dress. She’s been going on about the vintage Chanel in the closet that she insisted I had to wear. This is a cheap Marchesa knock-off which I got to be,” she paused and bit her lip, “Eric bait.”
“Oh, lover,” he growled even as she heard a long rip of lace. “I’ve been wanting you for so long it hurts.”
“I know what you mean,” she whimpered as she took one of his earlobes between her teeth.
He literally shook from her ministrations.
Between her pregnancy and premature delivery and his gunshot wounds and recovery, they’d not had sex in five months.
More cheap lace ripped as he exposed her beautiful neck and collarbones and leaned down to kiss them.
“The baby?” he asked.
“Pam,” she gasped.
“Pam!” he responded, somewhat concerned.
“No. Johan’s with Mormor at Pam’s,” Sookie amended quickly. She smiled up at him. “No one else is in the house, except for him,” she said gesturing toward the bed.
Ned seemed to roll his eyes, but to the cat’s credit, he remembered that he needed to get scarce when his people started to get frisky.
Another rip of fabric exposed Sookie’s breasts. “Jesus,” Eric moaned as he leaned down and took one of her already hardened nipples into his mouth.
“No foreplay!” she commanded as she went to work on his trousers.
He couldn’t help but to chuckle. “Impatient?” he asked.
“We’ve had only foreplay for months now,” she said lifting an eyebrow. “Are you really gonna argue with me?”
“No, ma’am,” he said, ripping more scraps of cheap material off of her body. She wasn’t wearing panties. “Sookie,” he groaned, trailing his fingers down her chest to her very wet center; his mouth seemed to be following. “You will be the death of me yet,” he muttered.
She yanked him up by the tie she’d just tied. “Don’t you say things like that, Eric Northman. Don’t you dare!”
“Sorry,” he said breathlessly.
“You don’t get to die until we both are ready to go! Do you hear me?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“Say it!” she demanded.
“I love you.”
“Thelma and Louise,” he said reluctantly. “Except I’m not a woman and you’re not a redhead.”
She giggled. “That’s right. You and I go out like Thelma and Louise—together.”
He rolled his eyes, even as he rolled her nipple with his fingertips. “Except you don’t get to sleep with Brad Pitt—ever.”
“Neither do you,” she grinned.
“Agreed,” he said as he claimed her lips in a bruising kiss that only increased their hunger.
Despite being pressed up against a wall, her dexterous hands and one of her nimble feet had managed to remove his pants and boxer briefs enough so that he was free of their confines. She tightened her legs around his body, and he thrust into her at just the moment when neither of them would have been able to take the physical separation of their bodies for another second.
“Sookie!” he yelled into the room.
“Eric!” she was yelling right back.
“Oh God,” he gasped. “I’m so sorry,” he managed to say as he began to move in and out of her.
“For what?” she asked.
“I’m not going to last long. You feel too fucking good,” he groaned as he moved his fingers to her clit.
“Oh God!” she yelled in pleasure, as she exploded with an orgasm, which seemed to have been waiting for months to happen.
“Thank God!” he yelled, following right behind her with his own happy moment.
They were breathing heavily—gasping into each other’s mouths—when they next had a coherent thought. Her dress was in tatters. Thankfully it hadn’t been designer. His pants and underwear were around his ankles, and his dress shirt was still on. One of her hands was under it, her nails against his back. Her other hand was holding his tie with a death grip, holding him to her.
“Sookie,” he panted. “Jesus. I’m sorry. That was great, but . . . .” His voice trailed off.
She giggled. “Fast. Wow!”
“Yeah,” he said apologetically. “I don’t think I’ve ever—uh—done it that fast.”
She looked at the clock. “I decided to seduce you only five minutes ago,” she said with a giggle.
“You succeeded,” he said, still panting. “But I feel like a fucking teenager.”
She giggled again. “I never had sex with one of those.”
“Well—now you know what it’s like,” he said with a grin.
“You know—this is good practice,” she grinned.
“For quickies. You know how your son is—how he is not sleeping where he is supposed to be sleeping.”
Eric grinned. Johan only slept through the night when he was on Eric’s chest. “Well—now that I have been cleared to perform, he’ll have to adapt.”
“I don’t know,” Sookie said with a raised eyebrow. “He’s a little stubborn.”
“He’ll learn,” Eric returned, bending down to kiss Sookie’s lips lightly. “Now that I can have you again, he’ll have to learn. After all,” he waggled his brows, “I need to reacquire my stamina, and you’re the only one who can help me.”
“You bet your fine ass I am,” she said with a grin.
They both felt his cock stirring to life inside of her, and she rocked her hips a little to encourage its inclination.
“Ungh!” he grunted in pleasure as he rocked back and took them toward the bed, his pants still dragging around his ankles causing him to waddle awkwardly. “You know, min älskare, there was one really, really good thing about being a teenager.”
“What was that?” she moaned as she felt him growing larger and larger inside of her, filling her once more as her own arousal increased.
“Recovery time,” he smirked a little, as he brought them both to the bed, and then began moving in earnest.
A/N: So—most of you are thinking it’s Grace that’s working w/ Bill, though some of you suspect Michelle. Now I’ve had to go and add Freyda to the list. Some of you had forgotten about her—hadn’t you? Could she be pulling Bill’s strings?
Until next time,