Dancing with Time

Hmm... Now that is your guilty conscious

Dedicated to: cassandrafirst

"Conflict avoidance is not the hallmark of a good relationship. On the contrary, it is a symptom of serious problems and poor communication." — Harriet B. Braiker

Forty-eight hours had bled by since their explosive argument. Keith's attempt at a truce - a lunch invitation delivered with a hopeful smile - had been met with a polite but firm decline. Anger wasn't the simmering emotion Juliet felt; it was a bewildered disappointment. He'd tried, bless his heart, with that designer disaster of a wardrobe. She had to give him credit for effort, though.

Two weeks had stretched into a desolate landscape. Juliet poured her energy into the Jacobsen project, its demanding schedule a welcome distraction. The construction site became her sanctuary, a physical barrier between her and Lucas. Their interactions were reduced to terse greetings in the hallway and the obligatory weekly progress meeting with Ray.

Any flirtatious advances from him were met with a steely silence, a wall she had built brick by agonizing brick.

The air in the mansion hung heavy, thick with unspoken words and the weight of unspoken apologies. For the past two weeks, Juliet had politely declined Keith's invitations - four lunches and seven dinners, each refusal a tiny, cold stone added to the growing wall between them. Their conversations had dwindled to clipped exchanges, devoid of the easy warmth that used to flow between them.

A ghost of their former routine lingered. Every morning, Keith would press a perfunctory kiss to her cheek, the touch lacking the usual spark that sent shivers down her spine. Weekends, once filled with shared laughter and adventures, stretched out emptily before her. Their usual cycling route remained unridden, their picnic basket lay forgotten in a dusty corner, and the inviting coolness of the pool mocked her with its stillness. Even the game room, once echoing with the cheerful chaos of their foosball battles, stood silent, a monument to their lost connection.

The change permeated the entire mansion, casting a shadow over its usual vibrancy. The usually chatty housekeeper, a woman known for her infectious laughter, now moved with hushed efficiency. The chef's once-present smile had vanished, replaced by a forced politeness that did little to hide his concern. Even the security guards, typically stoic, wore a grim air as if mourning a loss within the family.

Juliet, unable to bear the suffocating tension in the dining room, retreated to the library on the first floor. The room, once a haven for shared evenings spent curled up with a good book, now felt like a self-imposed exile. Meanwhile, Keith remained in his office, the rhythmic click-clack of his keyboard a constant reminder of his presence and their distance. By 10 pm, exhaustion would claim her, but sleep offered little solace. Closing her laptop, she would make the lonely trek to their bedroom, only to wake up inevitably tangled in his arms, a bittersweet reminder of a connection teetering on the brink.

This Saturday evening was no different. Keith had left for a meeting that morning, leaving Juliet adrift in a sea of silence. The television flickered with images from the Discovery Channel, but the informative chatter of the reporter did little to penetrate the fog of her emotions. She craved noise, anything to break the stifling quiet that mirrored the emptiness within her. A sigh escaped her lips, a wisp of sound swallowed by the vastness of the room.

A forgotten plate of pasta sat on the coffee table, a testament to her dwindling appetite. The chef had prepared it before Juliet had requested an early dismissal, a kindness that only underscored the growing distance between her and Keith. They hadn't shared a meal together in two weeks, and the thought of summoning the chef to prepare a solitary dinner felt pointless. The cold pasta lay untouched, its unappetizing appearance a reflection of her own despondency. The weight of their meaningless argument, two weeks old yet feeling like an eternity, pressed down on her like a physical burden. Pushing the plate aside, she silenced the television with a click, the sudden quiet amplifying the hollowness within.