Page 82 of Plight
“No! NO! Stay—”
I sat up and flipped the switch on my lamp, turning back to find Danielle thrashing in the bed next to me. She was still asleep, but trembling, her skin covered in perspiration.
“NOOOOO!” she screamed.
“Hey … ” I gave her a light shake. “It’s okay. Wake up.”
She stopped screaming but didn’t wake, her frantic state, slowly easing. I sat there, frozen with shock, not knowing whether to wake her or leave her be. Not knowing whether she would cry out again or not. 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 againrealised when the following night was no different. We’d made love, talked about the storm and our ‘gap years’ afterward. 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 and to stop blaming myself for us getting stuck in the drain. 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 — except this time, it was much worse and lasted longer, and I couldn’t wake her.
I didn’t know what to do. All I knew was that I couldn’t be selfish and be around her as much as I was if I was 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 between us 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 logical explanation. It was all I could think to do.
“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 hadbusied 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?
