Sunday, May 26, 2013

42. It Must Be Love

Frustration was not an emotion that suited Callie. It never sat well on her shoulders; she was all smiles, sunshine and total optimism. She didn't usually get angry, she got sad. Annoyed at most. To those who knew her, anything else was completely foreign. And it usually meant something was really off with her own mentality. This frustration was an uncomfortable, unfamiliar feeling to house.

Callie's hands balled into fists and his the auditorium's stage as hard as she could manage. She raised one to wipe away the beads of sweat that had formed on her brow. Her hair was beginning to look a little more messy with each try and fail; it was clear she'd been there for a while now.

She fell, again.

On the same move, at the same turn and point. But it was a lot more than that. She just wasn't willing to admit it.

Calliope had heard her phone ring once or twice over the last few hours. She'd heard the occasional indication of a message circling the time as well. She was trying not to focus on it. Or rather, him. She pressed her palms down onto the floor, using the surface for some kind of stability. Why now of all times did this have to start getting to her? Her older brother was bad with relationship advice. Well, really, so was Eric - the oldest of them all. But at least he was used to putting on a brave face for his sister and pretending things could easily work out. But he was knee deep in his final exams and there was no way to get to him. Sure, he'd drop things for her, but she didn't want him to.

Slowly, she dragged herself back to her feet. She raised her hands and ran them across her head, smoothing down strands of hair that threatened to fly astray.

She reset her position, perfecting her initial stance and exhaling an exasperated breath before pushing off and trying again. Sure enough, she barely got into the section of her routine before stepping wrong and falling down, this time onto her shoulder. Callie instinctively let out a noise of unbearable frustration and slammed her curled fist into the ground. Her focus was wayward.

This, she couldn't do.

"I'm not good at this." She started to herself, as if working up the courage for an intent conversation. "This part, I mean. Like... When things get more serious. I bail. It's a pressure thing. You make me nervous and I'm not really used to being nervous. I'm never nervous. Nervous isn't a thing for me. I like when things flow. This doesn't. I don't know what it is. Well, maybe it's-" She paused, exalting a sigh and pulling herself up again.

No, it wasn't.
Word Count: 467

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