WE ARE ONE: Volume Two

by Jewel, Bella

  Legs, arms, body, heart, and sole.

  Chapter 18

  “So, you’re afraid of storms and water, too, huh?” Danielle asked, as she draped her arm across my chest and snuggled into my side.

  Her skin was soft, warm and tacky from sex, and I fucking loved how her breasts peeled from my chest every time she shuffled to get comfortable.

  Holding her tighter, I admitted what I knew she would understand but something I seldom admitted to anyone. “Yeah. I find it really difficult to be outside during a storm. But at home, twenty-five stories above ground, it’s not so bad.”

  She lifted her head and stared at me, comprehension bursting from her sad eyes. “Is that why you live in the apartment? Because it feels safer?”

  I didn’t have to say yes; she knew the answer.

  “I’m terrified of storms, especially at night. I have to turn my iPad on and listen to Metallica as loud as I can stand just to block out the thunder and sound of heavy rain.” She shuddered. “I hate them. I really hate them. I want to move to a dessert.”

  “Chile. There’s a port city there that experiences little to no annual rainfall.”

  She giggled. “You’re so sexy when you’re all brainy and shit.”

  “Really?” I waggled my eyebrows at her. “Want to know what it’s called?”

  “Sure.”

  I leaned down and whispered, “Iquique.”

  “What? Did you just say ‘I’m kinky’?”

  “No. E … key key. Iquique. It borders a dessert and ocean. We should go live there right away.”

  She giggled again and traced a circle around my navel. “I don’t mind rain. Just not a lot of it all at once.”

  Nodding, I focussed on the ceiling fan as silence settled over us.

  “Lots, do you think about the storm drain often?”

  My answer was instantaneous. “All the time.”

  “I don’t. At least, I haven’t for a long time. Ever since seeing a doctor about it in my twenties, I’ve managed to keep the horror of our experience out of my head. The nightmares lasted for a while longer, though. But even they stopped eventually.”

  “Nightmares?” My heart began to beat erratically at the thought.

  “Yeah. They used to be so bad, so debilitating. Dr Emmerson helped, and over time, we found ways of increasing my sense of security, together with thinking about the experience less.” She shrugged and drew another circle. “The nightmares eased. I haven’t had one for over a year.”

  Hearing Danielle open up about her posttraumatic experience tore a hole in my chest, or more accurately, tore the one I already possessed, wider. If it hadn’t been for me, she’d never have endured those nightmares in the first place.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, kissing her head.

  “Lots, don’t.”

  I didn’t say anything, and yet I felt as if I needed to say everything … not that there was much I could say. It was one of those moments where you held your breath and hoped by the time you needed to exhale that you would. So, instead, I just quietly absorbed the moment of her in my arms, where I’d always wanted her to be.

  “I mean it. Don’t,” she repeated, her voice noticeably more stern.

  It made me chuckle. “Okay. I’m not … doing anything.”

  “Good. Now, can we go to sleep? We have a fence to paint tomorrow.”

  I stopped fighting the pull of my heavy eyelids and smiled the type of smile a man smiles when he finally has the woman of his dreams.

  * * *

  “NO! DON’T!”

  I jerked awake to Danielle’s desperate pleas, my eyelids shooting open, my heart pounding so hard it hurt my chest.

  “No! NO! Stay—”

  “Danielle?” I gave her a light shake. “It’s okay. Wake up.”

  She stopped screaming but didn’t wake, her frantic state, easing. I sat there, frozen with shock, not knowing whether to wake her or leave her be. The muscles in her face had relaxed and she was once again breathing normally. Peacefully. Like sleeping beauty without a care in the world. My breathing, on the other hand, was akin to that of a marathon runner. Laboured. Nostrils flared. Fuck! She’d just had a nightmare, something she was adamant she didn’t have anymore.

  Easing down the bed to lie beside her, I propped my head on my hand and watched her sleep, dread squirming its way through my body. What if I caused this? What if being with me has triggered her nightmares again?

  I scrubbed my face with my hand, that notion unthinkable. Naaa. this has got to be a once-off. I couldn’t be a trigger. She’d said so herself that it wasn’t my fault. Unless she doesn’t truly believe that and is only saying it for my benefit?

  Swallowing heavily, I calmed myself down, moved closer and kissed her shoulder, careful not to wake her. She was peaceful, safe and sound, and that’s how I wanted her to stay.

  * * *

  My fears were once again realised when the following night was no different. We’d made love, talked about the storm afterward, and I’d asked her about her nightmares again, if they really had stopped, and that she could tell me otherwise if they hadn’t. She got pissed at me and swore blind that they had stopped then told me not to worry. But I was worried. In fact, I was scared shitless because, that night, the same thing occurred — Danielle crying out in her sleep and shooting terror through my bones when it woke me.

  I didn’t know what to do. All I knew was that I couldn’t allow myself to be the reason for her nightmares returning and causing her pain and distress. Maybe I’d come on too quickly, my initial we’re-engaged-whether-you-think-so-or-not approach too strong? Maybe I’d not allowed enough time for her subconscious to process my being in her life again, and maybe it was all just a bit too much for her?

  Not wanting to but knowing I should, I had to create some distance until it all settled down. Perhaps allow some time for her to fit me into her life once again instead of just pushing my way into it. Whether I liked it or not, distance and time were the key. It was all I could think to do.

  “You feeling alright?” 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. “Head ache, remember?”

  She nodded, her disheartened eyes twisting my stomach. A tiny voice inside my head screamed, “distance”, and I hated it. I hated that it 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’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. 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, lov
e, 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. But 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 Tuesdays were 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.

  “Pick up, pick up,” I murmured to myself, as I dialled her number again, and, again, she didn’t answer.

  Stubborn, little, chocolate-headed … faaaaaaark!

  Unable to help myself, I sent her another text.

  Elliot: Danielle, if you don’t answer, we can’t talk. And if we can’t talk, we can’t discuss what we need to discuss.

  I was about to place the phone down when it chimed an incoming message. Yes! Thank God!

  Mum: Why haven’t you called? Why’d you leave the garden so suddenly on Sunday? Are you okay?

  Damn it! Not now.

  Elliot: Been really busy at work, Mum. Everything is fine. Call you tonight.

  Mum: But why’d you leave early? Did you and Danielle have a fight? Seriously? The woman was better than any Customs sniffer dog.

  Elliot: No. I’ll call you tonight.

  Mum: Yes, please do. Jeanette said Danielle is upset and she won’t tell her why. I’m worried. We both are.

  Jesus fucking Christ! Maybe I should just pass my message on to mum who can then pass it on to Jeanette who can then pass it on to Danielle and vice versa. Because at the rate I was going, Danielle and I would probably communicate better that way.

  Elliot: Everything is fine. Stop worrying.

  As I was about to put my phone down and headbutt the desk continuously, it chimed again. MUM ARGH!

  Danielle: We don’t need to discuss anything. Clearly, you would’ve discussed what needed to be discussed if anything was worth discussing.

  Her smartarse retort made me smile despite the circumstances.

  Elliot: Of course I want to discuss things with you. I’ve just been busy. Work is ridin’ me hard at the moment.

  Danielle: Sorry to hear. Hope it settles down soon. Feel better.

  Elliot: Please don’t be like that.

  Danielle: Like what? Like me?

  Bloody hell! She possessed more defence than a porcupine. I should put her on my legal team.

  Elliot: You know what I mean. You’re dismissing me. I want to talk to you. Will you answer the phone if I call again?

  Danielle: Fine.

  Dialling her number yet again, relief flooded me when she answered … until I heard her tone of voice.

  “Make it quick. I only have a minute. A customer just came into the store.”

  “Should I call back then?”

  “No. You didn’t really need to call in the first place.”

  “What are you talking about? Of course I needed to call. You’re upset. I want to fix this.”

  “Elliot, let’s just say it like it is.”

  I shook my head, confused. “Like what is?”

  “Look. I can’t talk. I have to go.”

  “Danielle, like what is?”

  She didn’t answer before disconnecting the call, which left me sat there, dumbfounded, staring at my phone, the screen lighting up when her incoming message flashed across the screen.

  Danielle: Friends should never fuck.

  WHAT?

  Shit! My plan had backfired.

  Fuck!

  Fuck!

  Fuck!

  * * *

  As soon as I was able to leave the office, I did, and drove like a perfectly legal madman to the Essendon Football Club merchandise store, catching Danielle as she was locking up.

  “Danielle!” I called out, slamming my car door shut in my hurry to stop her from leaving without seeing me.

  She spun around, startled, a gust of wind blowing her hair around her like a fan at an 80s hairband concert. “Elliot, what are—”

  “You’re right,” I said, interrupting her, a little puffed from my jog. “Friends shouldn’t fuck.”

  Her chin trembled for the slightest of moments, distracting me from finishing what I had to say, which was at the exact moment my stupid phone rang, displaying Rebecca’s name.

  “Sorry.” I cringed, knowing I had to answer it so held up my finger, apologising. “I have to get this. I’ll just be a minute.”

  Turning around, I answered the call. “Hello, Rebecca. I’m just in the middle of something right now. Can I call you back?”

  “Sure. It’s not urgent. I can emai—”

  “Excellent. Thanks.” I hung up, abruptly, and turned back to Danielle, only to find she was no longer standing there. “Shit!” I cursed, my stomach figuratively plummeting to my feet.

  Frantically scanning the space surrounding me, my searching eyes bouncing from traffic to storefronts and dodging pedestrians as they passed by, I spotted her shutting her car door, tears streaming down her face.

  “Danielle, wait! I didn’t finish what I was saying,” I called out.

  Her tyres screeched as she reversed out of her car space, and the look of utter heartbreak she met me with before she sped off nearly brought me to me knees.

  “Wait!” I called out, my voice lacking its prior volume. Friends shouldn’t fuck … unless they’re in love, and in that case, they should definitely make love.

  Chapter 19

  I knew it. Every intelligent particle of my body had tried to tell me not to fall for and have sex with Elliot Parker. Every. Single. Fucking. Particle. But like
the stupid idiot I was when it came to sleeping with my friends, I’d chosen to bathe in ignorance and let its false sense of security cloud my amenable mind.

  Because it felt good.

  Because a lie that suited your purpose always felt good.

  Wiping my tears, I drove home as quickly as possible, which didn’t take me long considering I only lived ten minutes away.

  “You stupid, stupid idiot,” I berated myself, slamming my hands on top of the steering wheel. “You never fucking learn.”

  I was so angry, so hurt … so ashamed. I’d done what I swore I would never do again, and I’d done it so easily. How did I get it so wrong? How did I get him so wrong?

  It had felt different this time around. Elliot had felt different. Our connection seemed incomparable to the others. It seemed real; it always had. Every second we spent together as friends was consistently effortless. But maybe that was the problem? Maybe we were only ever supposed to be friends? That notion her hurt my heart because it meant I’d royally fucked up the best thing I’d ever had … twice.

  Pulling into my driveway, I got out of my car, rushed inside and slammed the door shut only to hear Elliot pounding on it moments later.

  “Danielle! Open up. We need to talk.”

  “No, we don’t,” I shouted from my position half way up the stairs.

  “We do! Please just open the door.”

  “Open the door? Just like I ‘opened’ my legs? No. Fuck off.”

  Dudley appeared at the top step and slowly hobbled down until he was in patting distance. “It’s okay, baby. Mummy is just angry at the stupid man outside.”