nothing exchanged but
the whisper of a knuckle brushing thigh.
It’s nothing.
It’s everything.
Giving her life,
a reason forexisting.
For if it wasn’t for him,
she would cease to exist.
A ghost of her own making.
I’m so caught up in my writing, I flinch when Ethan’s voice cuts through the silence.
“Alright, that’s time.”
When I lift my gaze to where he’s standing at the front of the room, his arms folded across his chest in a way that causes his biceps to bulge, he’s staring back at me, an amused smile playing on his lips. I quickly look away, my heart racing and my cheeks flushed.
How can he appear so unaffected when all I can think about is him kissing me senseless as he buries his cock deep in my?—
“I want you to pair up and discuss what you’ve written,” he says, interrupting my thoughts. “Focus on the emotional tension and how you’ve conveyed it without saying anything direct.”
Amy bumps my shoulder with her own. “We’re pairing, obviously.”
“Obviously,” I reply, even though my brain is still half on the poem and half on Ethan.
I hesitate before passing her my notebook, feeling like I’m exposing myself. I’ve never written anything so raw and unfiltered in my life. If only Professor Johnson were here to read this piece.
Taking a deep breath, I focus on Amy’s writing piece.It’s a short scene between two best friends from the point of view of the female character. The tension is there, but it simmers in a gentler way. A kind of ache that doesn’t know what it wants yet, only that it’s missing something.
It lingers quietly, like an unanswered question between them, in the furtive glances, the subtle context of words left unsaid. The uncertainty of safety versus the possibility of ruining the friendship.
I cast a glance at her and wonder who the guy is, whether he’s still in her life or if this is someone from her past, because there’s too much soul in this piece for it to not be rooted in some real-life experience.
“Holy shit, Leni,” she says, lifting her wide-eyed gaze to mine. “This is powerful. It’s like the tension is choking me from the page.”
An embarrassed laugh slips from my lips. “Thanks, I think.”
“No, for real. The way you’ve conveyed this star-crossed lovers theme with the mystery of their identities and the danger lurking behind just a single touch… it’s raw and powerful. That last line, ‘a ghost of her own making’, implying she would rather die than be without him, it’s just… Wow. I have no words.” She glances at her notebook in my hand. “Mine seems so contrived compared to this.”
I shake my head. “They’re two completely different pieces. What I love about yours is how quiet it is. The longing is there in every look and pause. It’s that ‘almost, but not quite’ energy that pulls the reader in.” I tap her page. “The way you wrote about safety versus risk? You nailed every girl’s vulnerability right there.”
Amy bites down on her lip. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” I smile. “So, who’s the guy?”
She blushes, ducking her head. “No one.”
“Mmhmm,” I say knowingly. “Well, no one is stupid if he can’t see how amazing you are.”
Ethan interrupts to let us know class is done, and everyone around us packs their things.
“I know you’re studying theatre,” Amy says, hiking her bag over her shoulder, “but your writing is really powerful. I hope you continue with it after you graduate, even if it’s just for yourself.”
