Chapter 0002

Since that moment, he had been diligent in minimizing his contact and interactions with her. Despite her attempts to sweet-talk and reconcile, he had consistently kept her at arm's length. At his workplace, he meticulously handled pending tasks, rescheduled his flight to Amsterdam, and engaged in a lengthy conversation with Steve.

With a bit of room left in the duffle bag, he retrieved his trekking sandals from the closet and added them to his luggage.

It was at this point that the sudden cessation of sobbing and hissing behind him caught his attention. It was quite astonishing how adept she was at toggling her emotions on and off.

Joe noticed from the corner of his eye that Liz had stood up from her chair.

"You'll need to return eventually," she calmly remarked, her voice now surprisingly composed.

"No, I don't," he replied, keeping his gaze fixed on the bag in front of him.

"Well, what about the company? Are you planning to escape from that as well?" she inquired.

Ignoring her, he retrieved the sandals once more, slipped another sweater underneath, and carefully placed the sandals back on top.

"Or perhaps you're considering moving into your office now?" she chuckled. "It might seem a bit pitiful, but given your role as co-owner, why not, right?"

Joe turned around, giving her a stern, cold look. "No, I have no intention of relocating to the office. Besides, your brother can manage the company on his own for a while. I don't need to be there."

Her expression morphed into one of puzzlement. Clearly, she had been convinced that she had deciphered his supposedly doomed plan. Now, it seemed that the plan might be an entirely different one altogether. Suddenly, a hint of panic crept into her expression.

Joe relished the brief respite, stating, "I'm taking a moment to collect my thoughts," he declared plainly. "Your brother has already approved of my decision."

"Oh, you've consulted with Steve already," she retorted with a hint of disdain.

"The business aspect, yes. This predicament, no."

"You can't just walk away!" she shouted, taking two swift strides toward him. She grabbed the bag and attempted to yank it from the bed, her face contorted with anger.

"Stop it!" Joe seized the bag's strap with his left hand, forcefully pulling it back to its original position, giving her a stern glare. However, Liz clung to the flap of the outside pocket with one hand and teased, "Take it if you dare."

Joe shook his head and, using his left hand, reached for her hand on the bag. He was cautious not to involve his right hand in the struggle. Blocking her with his right arm, he managed to prevent her from grabbing the bag with her second hand, carefully prying her fingers off it one by one.

"Release my hand," she whimpered, attempting to pull away from his firm grasp. Their eyes locked, and he gave her fingers a measured squeeze as a warning.

Relenting, he let go of her hand, swiftly circled behind her, and wrapped his arms around her waist. Despite her protests and kicks, he guided her out of the room and into the hallway, finally retreating into the bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind him before she could follow.

Breathing heavily, he collapsed onto the bed.

He took a deep breath, covering his face with his hands briefly, attempting to regain composure.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, there was the sound of something breaking, possibly his coffee mug. A second bang, likely a juice glass.

Shortly after, he could hear Liz moving around the kitchen. A minute later, her footsteps drew closer to the bedroom door.

Then, a metallic noise emanated from the keyhole, and the key that Joe had recently used to lock the door fell onto the bedroom carpet. Oh no, had Liz discovered another key?

After a brief moment of the second key fumbling within the lock, Joe discerned the metallic sound of something hitting the hallway's tile floor. Clearly, frustration had caused its holder to drop it, as it hadn't matched the lock.

Massaging his forehead, Joe propelled himself off the bed with an urgent need to depart this place.

Outside, Liz's voice was laced with expletives, followed by vigorous banging and kicking at the door, accompanied by a string of derogatory names hurled his way.

Swiftly, Joe zipped up his bag, snagged his jacket from the hook on the door, threw it on, retrieved the fallen key from the floor, and deftly inserted it into the lock. Surprisingly, it held firm even when subjected to another of Liz's door-rattling kicks.

Joe checked his jacket pockets to ensure his wallet and car keys were still in place. He briefly pondered the existence of a spare car key within one of the living room drawers but dismissed the thought, as retrieving it was currently not an option.

He suddenly had a different idea and returned to the bathroom. He retrieved an unopened package of painkillers from a drawer, opened it, removed one of the two blister-pack sheets and the accompanying leaflet, tucking them both into his jacket.

Upon returning to the bedroom, he gave a quick once-over and confirmed that he had everything he needed. The laptop and iPod were already in the car, and his new mobile phone rested snugly in the back pocket of his jeans. Liz had destroyed his previous phone during a tantrum just last month.

He slung the duffle bag's strap over his shoulder, grabbed the suitcase, and removed the clothes bag from the hook on the door.

It was time to go!

As he gently placed the suitcase on the floor, his senses heightened by the unusual silence outside, he steeled himself for a potential threat, ready to employ the suitcase as a defense. Swiftly, he inserted the key and swung the door open.

To his astonishment, Liz sat calmly in the kitchen across the hallway, not lurking by the door, poised for an attack. As he made his way to the front door leading to the shared stairwell, the sound of Liz's chair scraping against the tile floor reached his ears.

"Joe, I—" Her voice took on a pleading tone as she approached.

He extended his hand to the door handle, just about to push it down, when she caught up with him, grasping his right hand in a desperate attempt to hold him back, preventing him from leaving.

He hastily withdrew his hand from her grasp without considering the consequences for his injured fingers. The sudden, searing pain shot from his hand to the top of his head, serving as a harsh reminder. For a brief moment, he was momentarily dazed.

Taking advantage of his temporary immobilization due to the pain, Liz tried to position herself between him and the door to impede his progress.

"Please, Liz, just move aside!" he pushed her gently to the side and continued on his way.

Dressed in a pink kimono and barefoot on the tile floor, she trailed him as he headed toward the common stairwell.

Despite her unintelligible muttering behind him, he pressed forward. Then, unexpectedly, in a composed and clear tone, she said, "Ah, now I understand!"

He continued walking, displaying no interest in her recent discovery.

"You're heading to Innsbruck, staying with your sister, Sarah, right?" She probed, but he remained unresponsive.

"I'm certain Sarah will be delighted," Liz remarked with a hint of sarcasm.

Joe sighed in annoyance and continued walking.

"And her name is... Danielle," Liz taunted, drawing out the name. "Isn't it? Danielle. Perhaps she'll be quite pleased to see you. Who knows, maybe she'll reconsider!"

Joe came to an abrupt halt, causing the suitcase to dangle perilously close to her legs.

Caught off guard by his sudden change in direction, she teetered on the brink of losing her balance. Fortunately, she managed to clutch the handrail just in the nick of time, preventing a stumble.

Now standing face to face with him, a mischievous grin crept across her face. She cocked her head and locked her gaze onto his eyes, clearly relishing the provocation.

Joe released a tense exhale through gritted teeth. He shook his head, turned on his heels, and descended the stairs. There was no way he was opting for the elevator today, as that would mean spending six excruciating seconds locked in a confined space with an undeniably unpredictable woman.

Liz trailed behind him, her silence at the moment rather unexpected.

He finally arrived at the garage door, pushed it open, and made his way towards his Volvo.

Liz followed closely, her screams resuming. "Won't it be nice to see Jack again? Now he and you can discuss notes about me..."

"Please, just be quiet!" he whispered sharply. "Do you honestly think I want to share what's happening here with anyone?" He tossed the bags into the car through the driver's side door, fearing that if he took the time to stow them in the trunk, she might intervene or devise another scheme before he could even start the car.

With that, he settled into the driver's seat, swiftly closed the door, and secured the car from the inside. It might have been an overreaction, but he preferred to err on the side of caution.

Liz stood a few meters from the car, wearing an incredulous expression. It was as though she had just realized he wasn't bluffing.

Joe initiated the engine, bracing himself for the possibility of her doing something impulsive like throwing herself at the car during his reverse. He couldn't predict how he would respond in such a scenario.

However, to his surprise, she continued to gaze at him from her spot. After he had completely exited the parking space, she pivoted and stormed off toward the entrance they had recently used.

As Joe pulled out of the garage, he noticed his hands shaking, making it challenging to shift gears. The brace on his right hand and his inability to give it the much-needed rest only added to his difficulties. Ever since the altercation with Liz, a persistent throbbing pain had traveled from his broken fingers to his elbow.

He drove for a quarter of an hour, putting some distance between himself and Liz. Eventually, he parked the car in the vast lot of a grocery store.

Reclining in his seat, he took several deep breaths and briefly shut his eyes. Finally, he had accomplished it. It was all behind him now. He couldn't believe the overwhelming exhaustion he was experiencing.

As he opened his eyes once more, he peered out of the front window, observing the bustling flow of people entering and exiting the store. Among the crowd, there were individuals dressed in professional attire, young mothers with their toddlers, an elderly lady leaning on a cane, and a couple locked in a tender embrace, sharing occasional kisses. Joe averted his gaze.

Despite the intense tension that had gripped him in the past few days, he felt a slight easing now, as though a weight had been lifted. This feeling had been slowly eroding at him over the past two and a half years, much like the effects of prolonged exposure to a toxin. The consequences didn't dissipate immediately after the exposure ceased, and some damage might prove irreversible. Perhaps the indifference and cynicism he had acquired would persist. Only time would reveal the truth.

He exited the car, transferring his luggage from the passenger seat to the trunk. His right hand throbbed with pain, particularly the two fractured fingers affixed to the rigid plastic brace using a padded black Velcro strap, which now appeared even more swollen than earlier in the day. His entire hand seemed inflamed. He gently loosened the straps on his broken fingers and wrist, as everything felt uncomfortably tight at the moment. It occurred to him that he should perhaps consider taking the prescribed painkillers from the hospital. Up until now, he hadn't required them, as the medication they administered right after the injury had proven potent enough for the initial days. However, last night, he had accidentally bumped his hand against the sofa's metal frame while making his bed, and the recent argument with Liz had exacerbated the pain.

Using his left hand, he retrieved the packet of pills and accompanying leaflet from his jacket. Carefully unfolding the leaflet, he skimmed its contents, noting a range of unpleasant side effects, from drowsiness and vomiting to hallucinations and, worst of all, the possibility of heart failure. The prospect of taking medication was something he loathed.

Flipping the page over, he couldn't miss the bold warning cautioning against driving a car or operating heavy machinery following pill consumption. With a frustrated growl, he returned the pills and leaflet to his pocket, resigning himself to enduring the pain for the time being.