AN: I of course do not own any of the people. I have one dog and he is enough responsibility, I do not want any people. This is completely fictional in every way possible. I'm sure Taylor is actually a really sweet guy, or the cast would of beat him up by now. He's just not for story purposes. This is my first story to post anywhere so criticism is highly welcomed.
The Brilliant Dance
Darkness over falls the expanse of the apartment complex; Moonlight bouncing from brick covered walls casting eerie shadows upon the sand paper rough side walk. To any one standing in front of the vast building one would assume everyone was peacefully dreaming, and would remain so until the sun braved a peak signaling yet another day of work, school, and play. However if stood close enough to the bottom third doors in the complete silence faint booming voices could be heard from outside the moonlit walls.
Heathers head was pumping; a flush of anger tinted her normally pale cheeks, while her eyes held spinning agitation at every other word from her boyfriend, Taylor, that entered her ear. The half assed argument started once Heather claimed she would be home late the next day due to a dance rehearsal for the show. Frustration coiled tightly within her, she willed with all her might for Taylor to understand this was her job, something she enjoyed, something she put a lot of blood, sweat, and tears towards. While over the past few months of his senior year at college empty promises were thrown out of her mouth like word vomit. Words of reassurance that work would never conflict with their relationship. Heather knew the promise would never come true if she continued her career, she even contemplated quitting her dancing and acting career after Glee to make Taylor happy. She hoped that it would never come to that, that he would never make her choose between him and something that's been a solace for her ever since the tender age of fourteen when she learned much too young how real, and utterly ugly life could be.
"You're never home! You're never off, and when you are you spend all of your time with them. I mean God, don't you see them enough as it is. What about me, Heather?" The deep whinny voice cut her avalanche of thoughts short. Her frustrated blue eyes met his, seeing the anger swirling around his dilated pupils.
"Taylor, you know its not like that. I have been working this job for years, you should know by now how it works" her soft voice rand to him trying to calm his frazzled nerves.
"I know how it works Heather." His voice bites causing Heather to slightly flinch.
"The part that pisses me off; I mean really irks me, is that when you are off your hanging out with them!"
"They're my friends Taylor!" Anger beginning to tint her voice.
"Yeah" he chuckles bitterly "friends you see fourteen hours a day. Friends you get to dance with." His glance menacing, his pupils dilating more while he takes a shaky breath before continuing. "Friends you make out with" he finishes with a tone that shows his blood is simmering below his skin, heating to a boiling point.
Heathers exasperated sigh rings out. She is tired of this jealousy "Taylor, it is part of the show you know that. Why must you continuously bring it up?"
"Bring it up!" His voice booms, echoing against the flimsy apartment walls, "It's not really something I have to bring up. I mean my girlfriends a whore on National Television. I'm real proud." Sarcasm lacing ever anger bitten word, clinging and growing like a flame on dry hay.
The pink tinge on Heathers cheek flush blood red spreading up to the tips of her ears, "It's a character Taylor" her tongue dances around her mouth annunciating the word character like she was saying it to a five year old who didn't know the meaning of the combined letters.
"Well you seem to enjoy your character", he rings back with the same annunciation. "I'm sure your father would be proud to see his little girl play a high school slut! Boys and girls alike, huh, Heather?"
Before she could comprehend what she was doing her hand was moving through the air, fingers spread as so not to catch any wind that would potentially slow it down. Flat palm met his face causing the clapping slap sound to resonate; his head pulsed to the side with the force. Tingles ran up Heathers fingers and into her arm. Before another word was said Taylor's head snapped back. Pupils so large his eyes looked as black as her leather clad sofa, before a thought could bounce in her head her face was met with the back of his hand. Pain spread throughout her head, her already blood red cheek took on a tinge of purple almost immediately. Eyes watered, effetely dropping a salty tear down the now inflamed cheek.
"Get. Out." She gritted through clenched teeth. Her mind raced, in the years they had been together he never showed an ounce of physical violence. Whether it be due to the distance she couldn't be sure, but looking in his eyes now frightened her. She could see the gears in his head spinning full speed, like a caged pit bull he didn't know what direction he wanted this to go.
Suddenly his eyes shift, every thing goes quite and still just like the moment before a tornado strikes. He takes one menacing stride forward, and Heather takes one back. This repeats over three times, causing the flittering couple to do a tango until her back hits the smooth drywall of the room. Her eyes glance nervously from side to side while her hand slides up to Taylor's chest holding him at a distance to keep him from coming closer.
Taylor's fingers glide up the wall pressed tightly beside her head over her shoulder trapping her like a cage. Fingers from both hands tremble; one in rage, and the other in fear, the same vibrations yet the causes as different as night and day, water and land. Taylor shakes his head, teeth grit, almost like fighting the feeling growing within him. The dark feeling creates an aura around him. A stench of boiling blood.
Heathers trembling become shakes as an icy hand of fear grips her heart, she would like to think he would never hurt her but she is unsure, and when Heather is unsure she runs, its what brought her to L. A. With grace only a dancer could obtain she twist unfittingly fleeing to the opposite of his jail like arm. Her feet go to move in the direction of the door but before any movement forward can happen a hand grasp the sleeve of her shirt, putting her off balance. The wall, floor, and ceiling spin in her vision as she went down a glimpse of the coffee table catches her eye before a intense pain throbs along her eye brow. The room suddenly swims, vision going in and out of focus, the pounding in her head sounds like bullets firing out of a gun. Every thump of her heart causes a shell to run through the barrel in her head. A warm liquid begins to run down her face while a copper scent fills her nose. Her trembling hand reaches up to brush against her brow pulling it back to be met with the sight of her hand coated in her own shed blood.
"Please leave", her voice pleads, tears thick in her voice. Her vision cast up to Taylor his face slightly pale and his once tensed shoulders slumped. Guilt and regret filled his eyes and a tint of something Heather could not quite place.
"Heather, God, I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry." His voice trembled possibly with unshed tears as well. He stepped towards her with his arms out stretched. Heather scooted backwards; his arms fell like jelly to his sides.
"Please. Let me help you", he whines.
"Please", she slurs again.
"Just leave." He looks at her defeated and scared, however slowly walks to the door, the locks click out of the door jam while he opens it. His body walks out while his head stays in.
"Call me later. Please. I'm sorry." One last apology uttered while his head catches up with his body outside the door and he returns the door to its shut position. Heathers head looks around pitifully swaying from one direction to the other, the colors much more vibrant than she is use to, her head dips again almost doing its own dance to the music that is the thud of her heart. Nausea streaks through her like a lightning bold, before she can even comprehend enough to try and get up to make her way towards the bathroom her head sways to the right and she empties the contents of her stomach onto the apartment floor.
She sits back up with a strangled sigh, blood dribbling down her face, making a bee line to her chin before dropping aimlessly to the floor. She sees her cell phone sitting on top of the object that has caused her this pain. Her nimble fingers reach for it grasping it and puling it into her chest lika child grasping their teddy bear after a impossible nightmare. Black dots dance around her vision as she scrolls through to find the name that she is searching for, the person she is needing right now.
Five rings later and she almost gives up before she hears the groggy "Hello". No doubt she has woke her up.
"Naymm", the 'a' lost to the slur of her voice from the fog in her head.
"Heather?" The voice rings out urgent, Heather should of known by now Naya could tell when something is seriously wrong just y how she says her name. She tries to smile at this thought but the muscles used to do so pull at her bruised cheek, and busted eyebrow. She ends up gritting out a grimace along with a pained whimper.
"Heather! What's going on? Are you alright? Talk to me?" She could tell by the panicked spew of questions that Naya was worried. She tried to reassure her that she was fine she just needed some help but for some reason the sentence got lost in the wreck happening inside her head and all she got out was a gurgling sound then the word "help" followed by more painful whimpers. She could feel tears mingling with her blood on the side of her face. The taste of copper and salt mix would not be a taste she would soon forget.
"Heather. Heather!" Naya's yelling brought her out of her thoughts reminding her the frightened girl was on the other line. She tried to force more words as her head did the lindy hop to the now familiar beat.
"Please", was all that passed her pale lips, uttered in a barely there whisper. The emotional and now physical roller coaster she had been on was wearing her thin. Her eyes begin to droop with pent up exhaustion.
"I'm on my way Heather. You hear me? I'm on my way. You're home right?" Heather was able to weasel out a 'yes'. Thankful to her brain for working in the time she needed it most, now with the knowledge that help was on the way she let her head fall to the cushions of the black leather sofa behind her, and her eyelids droop close while darkness over came her.
