"You feeling all right?" she asked, breaking my drifting thoughts, as I stroked my paintbrush up and down the fence at the community garden, Karate Kid style.
"Yeah. I just have a headache." I gave her a small smile and continued painting. We were on our second coat and nearly finished.
"Oh, okay." She paused then continued, uncertainty in her tone. "Because you haven't eaten much today, and you've been real quiet."
"I'm not hungry." I pointed to my head. "Headache, remember?"
She nodded, her disheartened eyes twisting my stomach. A tiny voice inside my head screamed, "distance", and I hated it. I hated that the voice was right and that I needed the painful reminder to do what was best for Danielle - what was best for the both of us in the long run, because distance now hopefully meant they'd be no need for distance in the future.
Placing the paintbrush down, I turned to her. "Actually, I might just call it a day."
"That's probably a good idea. I'll clean this up and follow you home, unless you want me to drive you bac-"
"No, no." I gave her a quick peck on the head to stop her packing up the paintbrushes and rollers. "You stay. I'll be fine. I think I just need to go home and lie down. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"
She went to object, but her body fell limp, her fight gone. It fucking killed me, but it was for her own good. I had to keep telling myself that. Just a little time and space so that she could adjust in her own terms. That's all we need. I can do this.
I couldn't do it.
And I knew it.
The next day, I had busied myself at work, which wasn't difficult considering the case I was currently working on.
Domestic Violence.
They were the worst, especially when kids were involved, which was more often than not. I'd always been fortunate enough to have a decent father figure in my life - up until the age of fifteen when Mum divorced Pete - and it saddened me that not all children experienced that same sense of acceptance, love, and security. Kids were the world's greatest gift and should be cared for, loved, and educated, not directly subjected to fear and cruelty by those they trusted the most. Family was precious. Irreplaceable. It should be treasured not damaged. So yeah, I fucking hated domestic violence cases and tried to avoid them like the plague.
Dropping my keys on the kitchen table after a shitful day, I was spent both mentally and physically. Between preparing for a deposition and thoughts of Danielle's nightmares weighing heavily on my brain, I just wanted to hit the shower and then hit the sack, which is exactly what I did, not realising I'd fallen asleep without calling or answering her worried messages until the next morning when I woke up to find yet another message on my phone.
Danielle: Just a simple, "I'm fine" or "Real busy" message would suffice. Surely, that can't be hard.
Fuck! I scrubbed my face with my hand and swung my legs out of bed while dialling her number.
My call went unanswered, so I texted her back.
Elliot: Why aren't you answering?
She didn't respond, so I got dressed and headed to work, stopping by Rebecca's desk on my way to my office.
"Good morning, Mr Parker."
"Morning, Rebecca. Do me favour? If Danielle happens to ring, interrupt me and patch her through, no matter what, okay?"
"Sure. No problem." Her left eye crinkled, displaying her concern. "Oh, and those subpoenas you wanted are on your desk."
I sighed but smiled. "Thanks."
"Cheer up. Today is going to be great. It's lemon slice day!"
Chuckling, I forged ahead to my office, calling back over my shoulder, "Sneak me an extra one when Lina comes by, yeah?"
"Already planned to," she called back.
Lina was the morning tea-cart lady, and Tuesday was lemon slice day. My favourite. Rebecca knew that because she was one awesome secretary, and, of course, that involved being great at her secretarial duties, which was why I had a stack of subpoenas to peruse and approve by midday.
Tossing them onto my desk, I settled into my chair and pulled my phone out of my pocket, staring at the screen, willing it to ring or display an incoming text from Danielle. But it didn't. It had been an hour and a half since I'd contacted her, and I was starting to get a little concerned. Shit! She's really pissed at me.
I couldn't say I blamed her. I had promised I'd call and hadn't. She'd been understandably worried about my headache - my fake headache - the one I'd used as an excuse to flee being in her presence and instigate Operation Distance for the Greater Good. Fuck! I felt awful, but I also had a shit tonne of work to get through. So, picking up the subpoenas, I tapped them on my desk a couple of times and flipped open the very first page, instantly slamming it shut again and reaching for the phone.