Page 24 of Plight
That lie stung. I’d just given her the perfect opportunity to come clean and she hadn’t, and I didn’t understand why. Yeah, I was a hypocrite for telling her I didn’t care if Chris was her boyfriend or not, because I fucking well did care. I cared a lot. She just wasn’t giving me any choice but to lie in return. Ironically, it was the best way to get to the truth.
Turning my back on her, I continued to collect the smashed up pieces of shed from the ground. “Yeah, you’re lying, and I’m not sure why. You’ve already told me I’m not your type. Fair enough. You’re not my type either. I guess I’m just wondering why you’re continuing to lie to me, you know?”
She stared at me, her mouth dropping open, tears welling in her eyes before she quickly turned away. Fuck!
“Danielle, I—”
“Let it go, Elliot. Let’s just do what we’re here to do, okay?”
I didn’t argue and let it go. For now.
Mum and Jeanette gave Danielleand I wide berth for the remainder of the day. My guess was that they could tell things were tense between us. The funny thing was it was the perfect opportunity to set the record straight yet neither of us did, which only strengthened my determination but also confused me further. I needed answers, a resolution. It was what I aspired to day in and day out.
Leaning on my shovel, I surveyed the site, taking in the mess we’d made during the demolition phase. There was shit everywhere: piles of wood, dug up garden beds, weeds … mounds of dirt. We needed a mini excavator.
Just as I was about to pull my phone out to look into hiring one for the following weekend, I heard Danielle curse.
“Damn it! Stupid splinters!”
Scouting the site, I found her flapping her hand as if she was performing the chicken dance.
“Owwwww,” she whined, and placed her finger in her mouth then pulled it out and flapped it again.
I removed the distance between us and walked over to where she was dancing about. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s just a splinter.”
I held out my hand. “Show me. Just a splinter or not, it needs to come out.”
“It’s nothing. I’ll get it out later.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes, I will.”
“Danielle, you hate the sight of blood, let alone digging through your own skin and flesh.”
Her skin paled and she wobbled a little, so I steadied her by taking a seat on a nearby log and pulling her onto my lap.
“What are you do—”
“What does it look like? I’m getting this splinter out.”
She tried to wrench her hand from mine. “Oh no you’re not!”
“Yeah, I am. I promise I won’t hurt you.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
My eyes shot to hers. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” she murmured, glancing down at where my fingers were gently stroking hers.
I, too, took in our caressing hands, such a simple action yet one that had the ability to say and mean so much, because … well … because touch. You didn’t need words when you communicated that way. And we sure as hell were communicating.
“Lots, please stop, ” she whispered.
“Why?”
