Post by Emma Pillsbury on Sept 29, 2010 0:15:14 GMT -5
Emma stared at the pen mark on her desk in complete horror and fascination. It was blue, and curved slightly, like the barbell on navel jewelry that seemed to popular among school age girls nowadays. Emma had been staring at it for what seemed like eternity, but really was ten minutes.
If she could make it for fifteen, she would find Will.
...and what?
Eleven minutes and five seconds.
Emma's hand twitched on her desk, itching to go into her drawer and pull out her cleaning kit to scour it from the surface of the wood, but she willed herself to stay still, but she couldn't stop looking at it. What was it hurting, if she removed it? Why, nothing at all. No. That was the kind of behavior that had drove her and Will apart, and if she was being honest with herself- and shouldn't she be?- she still cared about him, still had feelings for him.
Eleven minutes and twenty-eight seconds.
Enough feelings that she was not cleaning the minutely obscene pen mark from her desk right that moment. Will would be proud. Not that she could tell him, exactly. Will didn't deserve to be stuck with someone who considered their greatest accomplishment of the day to be avoiding cleaning a pen mark off their desk. Will deserved someone glamorous, and non-neurotic, and, well, perfect. Perfect like Will himself.
Emma was far from perfect.
Eleven minutes and forty-three seconds.
Emma's hand flew from the desktop to the drawer, and she pulled out her sanitary wipes and began to scrub, her nose not even and inch from the desk, and before she even knew what she was doing the pen was gone and the wood grain sparkled.
"Damn it, damn it, damn it!" Emma moaned, tossing the wipe into the trash and feeling her eyes well up. "Almost twelve minutes." She said dejectedly, glancing at the clock.
If she could make it for fifteen, she would find Will.
...and what?
Eleven minutes and five seconds.
Emma's hand twitched on her desk, itching to go into her drawer and pull out her cleaning kit to scour it from the surface of the wood, but she willed herself to stay still, but she couldn't stop looking at it. What was it hurting, if she removed it? Why, nothing at all. No. That was the kind of behavior that had drove her and Will apart, and if she was being honest with herself- and shouldn't she be?- she still cared about him, still had feelings for him.
Eleven minutes and twenty-eight seconds.
Enough feelings that she was not cleaning the minutely obscene pen mark from her desk right that moment. Will would be proud. Not that she could tell him, exactly. Will didn't deserve to be stuck with someone who considered their greatest accomplishment of the day to be avoiding cleaning a pen mark off their desk. Will deserved someone glamorous, and non-neurotic, and, well, perfect. Perfect like Will himself.
Emma was far from perfect.
Eleven minutes and forty-three seconds.
Emma's hand flew from the desktop to the drawer, and she pulled out her sanitary wipes and began to scrub, her nose not even and inch from the desk, and before she even knew what she was doing the pen was gone and the wood grain sparkled.
"Damn it, damn it, damn it!" Emma moaned, tossing the wipe into the trash and feeling her eyes well up. "Almost twelve minutes." She said dejectedly, glancing at the clock.
