literature

Take Three

Deviation Actions

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Literature Text

The tennis ball hits the door.  Back and forth, an unfaltering rhythm beats consistently against chaotic thoughts.  Emma sits; denim clad legs, one bent at the knee, stretch along cold tile floor. Short blond hair falls in her face, she is long past trying to keep it pushed away from the light brown eyes currently fixed on the returning tennis ball.

Each time the ball hits the tile on its way to the door, a pair of blue eyes blaze before her; and each time it clunks solidly against the metal she feels the open hand hot against her cheek. When the worn felt covering hits her hand and she hurls the ball back with all the force she can muster, she is once again at the receiving end of a stinging blow—leaving a mark that refuses to fade from Emma's memory, even as the swelling on her face subsides.

The ball finally rebels against the abuse it has taken and strays from its path, landing not back in Emma's hand, but amidst the overflowing laundry basket.  She struggles to her feet, crosses the entire five feet from her position to the basket and leans over to retrieve the errant ball.  As she reaches for the ball her hand brushes a well-worn hoodie, and Emma abandons her original target in favor of the faded Tennessee sweatshirt.  She hugs the material to her, buries her nose deeply into its warmth, and allows one strangled sob after another to wrench lose.  She stumbles back and falls into the already rumpled bed, lets the events of the day come flooding back as she clings to a hoodie that still smells like Casey.



The four of them were sprawled about the room. Casey was sitting with her back against the bed rail, Sam laid against her chest between outstretched legs. Emma had pulled over her desk chair and her roommate was cross legged on the bed with a textbook in her lap. Emma ran her fingers over the familiar planes of the xBox controller. Casey muttered a curse as her character fell victim to Emma's sniper. Casey paused the game and leaned forward, attempting to pull off her Tennessee sweatshirt. A growl came from somewhere in the layers of fabric as Casey struggled to get out of the hoodie. Finally freeing herself, Casey threw the hoodie across the room, where it landed half in the laundry basket. Sam let out a soft chuckle at Casey's obvious annoyance. Casey tried to pull an intimidating face, but only succeeded in getting a full fledged laugh out of the small redhead. Casey wound her fingers in shoulder length red hair and gave a sharp tug.  A yelp of pain and Sam was turning around to slap Casey's shoulder.  Emma sat, mostly forgotten, as the two girls on the floor dissolved into a fit of giggles. She tried to ignore the vaguely nauseous feeling rising in her stomach as Sam leaned up to steal a kiss from Casey. She pulled herself out of the chair, pretended not to notice the way Casey's eyes lingered on her when she stretched. The knot in her stomach tightened. She grabbed her room keys and started towards the door.

“I'm going to class. Probably won't be back 'til late. Gotta practice that damn waltz.”




Tables and chairs had been pushed against walls, leaving the middle of a too small room clear.  Atop one table sat a small CD Player, scarred and battered, dusty with disuse.  Standing beside the player, trying to coerce it into compliance, was a girl.  When pulled to her full height she stood a head above average. College filled out the lankiness of youth, left behind the soft curves of a woman. Light brown eyes focused on the stubborn CD player, mouth pulled into a firm line of concentration, tip of a tongue just peeking out.  She pushed her hair back violently, stamped a foot in frustration and finally gave the table a fierce kick.  Whether it was this act or the ensuing curses and yelps of pain she didn't know, but the CD player chose that moment to come to life—bringing forth strains of a slow and stately waltz.

Emma took a breath, looked to the closed door and dimmed lights, turned the volume up and moved to the middle of the room—a whole four steps to the right.  She began to move, arms up in classical waltz position, head down, staring at uncooperative feet.  She was a picture of awkwardness, fumbling about in a way sure to make any potential partner wince and wish for steel toe boots.  Her concentration was such that she didn't notice the girl leaning in the now open doorway. The girl's eyes, a brilliant, propane-flame blue, never left Emma.  Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, bangs brushing dark rimmed glasses.  Her shoulder was jammed against the door frame, hands shoved deeply into her pockets.  As she watched Emma stumble about in a sad parody of the waltz she attempted, a smile came unbidden—stretching all the way to her eyes.  When Emma managed to trip over her own sock clad feet the girl couldn't quite contain the soft chuckle that threatened. The small noise jerked Emma out of her trance, her head snapped up and her eyes immediately met those of the voyeur.

“I'd ask what you're doing, but I'm afraid I have a pretty good idea as it is.” The girl didn't even bother trying to keep her smile at bay as she spoke.

“Shut the damn door Casey! Bad enough you're here watchin' me make a fool of myself! Get that damn smirk offa your face! It ain't funny dammit! I'm gonna fail this stupid class” Emma's voice was tinged with the accent of a Southerner trying desperately not to sound like one, and in her excitement she was losing the battle. “YOU said this would be easy! Said it'd be a great filler class! You” the quiet click of the door shutting did nothing to stem the flow of Emma's words, but Casey's hand on her arm did.

“Breath.” A pause as the order is followed. “Good. Now. Was that a waltz you were murdering? Y'know what, you don't need to answer.” Casey sauntered over the the CD player and restarted the music.

“It would work fine for her.” mumbled so softly Casey couldn't hear it two feet away. Emma was startled when Casey took her hand and guided it to a position on her warm shoulder, placed her own hand on Emma's waist, and joined their free hands.

“You'll never learn to dance properly like that.” All the explanation offered by the brunette as she started to guide Emma through a waltz.

“Quit that, you aren't leading.” The protest died on Emma's lips at the commanding quality to Casey's tone. “Stop looking at your feet. Follow me, close your eyes if you have to. Better.”

Casey led on, didn't falter when Emma stepped on bare toes, smiled as Emma finally relaxed, as her movements became more fluid, more natural. Casey led her through the first three tracks on the disc.  Emma could feel every place where their bodies touched, and when she opened her eyes and saw warm blue smiling back at her she forgot everything else.  She stumbled the waltz, a blush tinging her cheeks as she stared back down at her feet.

“Eyes on mine Emma.” Emma nodded, tried to calm the racing heart that had become synonymous with looking at Casey's eyes.  Tried not to feel the warm breath on her cheek as Casey leaned forward to adjust the hand that had fallen when Emma stumbled. Tried to ignore the tantalizing strip of skin between the hem of her shirt and the top of her worn jeans.  Then she was back to the eyes that always caused a slight hitch in her breathing, and she had to remind herself that this was off limits.  Emma had to force herself to remember the little redhead that would probably not approve of Casey's current position.  This was the woman who could make her look right on a dance floor, could electrify her with a glance; this was the woman she couldn't have.

So with a concentrated effort she looked into Casey's eyes and the waltz began anew.  It was slow and sure, nothing like the previous dance. Emma's eyes never strayed to her feet, her heel never came down hard on Casey's toes.  Emma knew the music was still playing—but all she could hear was breathing... all she saw was blue... all she felt was wrapped up in her embrace. The dance went on while the world waited.


The world didn't wait long. They were so wrapped up in their dance that neither girl noticed the squeak of the old door opening or the new presence leaning against the door jamb.  A girl with eyes the color of morning grass stood transfixed as she watched the pair cavort around the impromptu dance floor.  As the space between Emma and Casey dwindled to nothing, Sam's eyebrows drew together and pulled down over ever darkening green.  The CD player gave two short coughs before dropping into silence.  The dancing continued without music for a beat or two, until Casey pulled them both to a stop. She didn't offer to pull away, instead moved her hands until one arm encircled Emma's waist and let the other hand drift up to a soft cheek.  The redhead in the doorway watched as Casey gently pushed blond hair, dislodged  by dancing, behind an ear.  The hand rested against Emma's cheek, thumb moved gently towards soft lips.  Emma dipped her head towards Casey, and this spurred the redhead into action.

Sam stormed into the room and gave Emma a rough shove. Emma backed up as Sam stalked towards her, only stopping when her back hit the wall. Sam stopped only inches away from Emma, pinned her against the wall with a furious glare. They stood there for three seconds of eternity, until Emma broke eye contact and looked up at Casey. When Sam noted the source of Emma's distraction, she hauled off and slapped her across the face. The sound echoed in the tiny room, shocking them all into stillness. Casey reached out for Sam's shoulder, attempted to pull her away. Sam wheeled on her and let fly a verbal barrage. Emma used the moment to escape, and fled out of the study room, down the hallway to her dorm



Emma is jarred back to the present by a knock on the door.  She ignores it at first, thinking it is probably her roommate. When the knocking continues she heaves a sigh.  Reluctantly she rises, goes to the door and glances out the peephole.  Brilliant blue is all she sees.  A sharp intake of air, followed by a prolonged breath.  Her hand finds the knob and locks the door.  Outside, Casey hears the click.

“Emma. Emma don't.” She talks to the door. On the other side Emma holds the sweatshirt tightly under her chin.  “Damnit Emma. Would you open the door.” All Emma can think about is the hurt in Sam's eyes. She leans back against the door.  A few moments of silence and then the door is opening. Emma jumps and turns around, sees the confused brown eyes of her roommate instead of the fiery blue she was expecting.

“She left when she saw me coming.” Emma feels her stomach drop to her toes at the words.
So this was written for a Creative Writing assignment, and a work in progress. Right now I am mad at it, but I think it has promise. and as usual I am in love with the characters. *snort* so I can write characters I love, but not a real story for them. Good Job Sarah Brooks.
© 2008 - 2024 carperawr
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SadistAngel413's avatar
It's good. I'd like to see more. Keep writing. Sorry it took me so long to get around to reading it. Please don't let declaring yourself a history major stop you from continuing your writing, that would make me sad.