The Silence | ✔️

7. A

"Stellar Pines restaurant and bar. You're speaking with Jules, how can I help?"

"Jules, it's Arian."

"Hey honey. What's going on?"

"I can't come in tonight. I've come down with a stomach virus and I can't be around food for like forty eight hours."

"Damn Ari. That's like the fourth time this month. You know that you don't have any sick leave left, right?"

"Yeah I know. It's— it's fine. I'll be back as soon as possible."

"Okay girl. Let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks Jules."

I hung up the phone and exhaled a shaken breath. I hadn't been this beat up in a long time. Desmond had really done a lot of damage this time and I stared at the swollen abrasions on my forehead and temples in the mirror. I'd just stepped out of the shower and the towel around me didn't hide the black and blue bruises that coated my arms and chest.

When I opened my towel, I winced at the patches of bruising all over my ribs and stomach. I could hardly keep up right and I felt nauseous at the reflection staring back at me. It was such a stark contrast to the smile that I had worn for a brief few moments just last night.

Desmond had disappeared last night. I hadn't seen him since. He didn't come home, it was almost lunch and he was still yet to make an appearance. A part of me — a part that I believed was dark and damaged — quietly hoped that perhaps he'd drunk driven his car into a wall. As much as I despised the man that I was married to, I felt terrible for wishing such things.

But as it was, we didn't speak for two days. He came in and out to change and shower, not a word passed between us. He wouldn't even look at me as I laid in bed and attempted to heal. Not to mention that I'd been struggling to move so the house wasn't as clean as it should be. Still, he didn't complain. He just showered and left again.

I had to go back to work on Thursday night. I'd had the two days off but I wasn't as healed as I was hoping I would be. The bruises weren't impossible to cover. It just took a lot of concealer and leaving my hair down to cover my temples. The thought of wearing a long sleeve shirt again was disappointing. The temperature was impossible and as pathetic as it was, I sobbed a little as I hobbled to work.

"Excuse me," a middle aged woman gripped my arm as I passed her table and I winced, recoiling from her embrace. She seemed startled at the reaction but quickly pointed at her plate. "I ordered the eight scallops dish and this is the four."

"Oh," I frowned, I could have been sure that she said four when she first ordered. But there was no doubt that I was struggling to concentrate on anything. My entire abdomen was in pain. "I apologise. I'll get you a new meal. And it's on the house for the wait."

"Thanks sweetheart."

I smiled at the rest of the tables diners and went back to the kitchen as fast as I could. Each time that I tried to move a little faster or stand up a little straighter, my vision blurred and I felt as though I was going to pass out. "Dylan," I pushed the plate towards the chef. "I made a mistake. This person ordered a four scallops. Can you re make it?"

His brows furrowed as he glanced between the plate and me. "That is four?"

"Shit," I shook my head and leaned against the bench. "I meant eight."

He nodded and took the plate. There was a lot going on. As always. The other chefs were moving through the kitchen, cooking, preparing food and I moved over to the bench where the finished meals were sitting and waiting.