Living the life that I was, day after day, became a routine after a number of years. Teachers are recognised as individuals who are required to live by routine, in order to educate youth who are stranger to life's disorder. Planning classes, curriculum, absentees and chapters of foreign language literature; my life was a tale and each chapter retold the previous. My unwritten autobiography was a game of picking the minuscule differences from the repeated story. And being married to the woman I was, routine was multiplied by dog years.
My counsellor, my best friend, Emma, was the epitome of routine to those around her, who would recognise her existence as a tiresome task of their peripheral vision. Routine kept her grounded and allowed for a calmness to take over her fragile body; a calmness that would allow her beauty to radiate through her eyes as she fell in love with an image that would place me on a pedestal until reality came to be her rightful companion, months later.
Ironically, to me, Emma was the epitome of change. I could have been having the most horrendous day of the year, and in would walk Emma in her vibrant, perfectly mismatched, absurd clothing, and change the pitiful direction of my disastrous day.
Though, I realised she was more than simply a breath of fresh air. Understanding that Emma possessed the ability to take someone's breath away was not a part of my knowledge. To understand this radiant quality would require of me the capacity to breathe when she entered the room.
And suddenly, change took place.
Dwelling on the annoyance and destruction of routine was forgotten, as time made it's presence known, and emotion buried both of us in a pit of desire and lust.
Hours, days and weeks passed, as slow, tension-filled months drew from both of us the care we had for each other, and made it known through our eyes.
Emma sat quietly at her desk late one evening, an hour after SAT Prep, head bowed, back straight, as she studied a student report.
A knock on her door interrupts her concentration, as his head peaks between the door and the frame, a ridiculous, crooked, schoolboy grin plastered on his face.
'Emma.'
'Will, Hi.'
'You're here late. SAT Prep?'
'Yeah, just finishing reading some reports I set for homework last week. The kids are really putting in more effort this semester. Handing in reports, I mean. I like it when they acknowledge when you ask for their effort. You know, gives you a sense of appreciation.'
He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on her.
'It's nice to feel appreciated every once in a while,' he grins again and reminds her of how inappropriate her feelings for her best friend are.
'Certainly.' Her gaze lowers from his in an attempt to hide the blush from her tired face.
'Anyway, I just wanted to finish marking these. I don't like to leave them too long. I hate getting into that routine.'
'I know you do.'
An awkward silence fills the room and she searches for something, anything, to say to make the pain disappear.
And then he speaks, saving them from themselves. 'But you know change can sometimes be a good thing.' Emma understands what he is referring to. He wants things to be different between them, just as much as she does.
'I guess I just feel safer knowing what is done and what has to be done', she replies casually, her confidence uplifted.
He was going to tell her that he could make her feel safe never knowing and yet, knowing everything. He wanted to tell her that they could date without knowing when they would get engaged; that they could get married and never know what time of the night she would wake him to make to love to her, everynight. He wanted to tell her that he could hold her right now, safe in his arms, not knowing if another individual would enter the school and discover the emotional tryst that had been present for the last few weeks, coming to life.
Instead, he simply looked at her and waited for her to understand the fire burning in his eyes set a light by his urgent need to be close to her in every possible way.
'Will."
'Mmm?' A strangled noise escaped his lips in question.
'Please don't look at me like that.' Her eyes were downcast and filled with a mixture of lust and guilt.
'How am I looking at you, Em?'
'Like you want me.' A blush crept over her cheeks as she stood and moved to push her chair in, avoiding the seriousness of the conversation as she packed her things, obviously finished with the awkward tension for the night and making a move to run away from all of her problems; her only problem.
'You want me to look at you that way.'
Her eyes shot up in masked anger and shock, quickly transforming to embarrassment.
She swallowed.
'No, I don't.'
'You do.'
Tears pooled in her eyes as she poorly whispered a declaration of defence, 'No.'
'Yes, you do. You smile at me and you want me. You touch me and you want me to let you touch me. All you have to do is bite your lower lip and gaze up at me and all I can think is, God, she may be shy and not as confident as other women, but Emma Pillsbury has this way about her that just makes me want to-'
'Stop!' Her voice demands in a tone that delivers the understanding to him that she has never been more petrified in her life. And he doesn't want that for her. He has never wanted that for her.
'Please leave, Will. Oh, God.' She places her head in her hands and her body shakes. He considers moving to hold her, but that would be too much.
He doesn't want to make matters worse. He knows he said too much; asked too much of her. She's uncomfortable and crying into her hands, so he leaves
He goes to his office.
He knew it was coming before she even entered the room. The sound of her perfect heels made known she was in a fit of rage as she swung her body into his office, face flushed, within five minutes of their last encounter.
'I have never touched you! How dare you accuse me of that? I have never in my life touched you!
'Yes you have. You rubbed your thumb on my wrist at lunchtime when you moved to get your tea.'
'That hardly counts, Will.'
'Hardly counts? Hardly? Is that because you don't get to touch me in the way you want?' She blushed profusely at his words an confronting tone and turned to leave as quickly as she entered. She stopped in her tracks as he grabbed her by the wrist and turned her body to face his, their breaths mingling.
'I see you watching me sometimes, Emma. I can imagine what is going on in that perfect mind of yours. You watch me.'
'You're my friend, of course I look at you.' Her eyes are downcast and he tilts her chin up with his index finger.
'No, you watch me,' he insists, knowledgably. You watch me and imagine what it would be like to touch me, for us to touch each other.' His eyes bore into hers as she looks ashamed. 'It's okay to want to touch people, Emma.'
They are quiet for a time. Seconds, minutes, neither know.
'Do you want to touch me, Will?' She breathes out slowly in question, her eyes locked onto his, their innocence betraying the adultery of the inquiry.
'Emma', he struggles for words. 'I...I can't answer that question. I'm married.'
'So, it makes it alright for you to ask me that then, does it?' Her tone is harsher than she intends, but she realises this needs to be said.
He doesn't reply. He looks into her eyes and pleads with her to not ask him that question, his grip on her forearm tightening.
So, she doesn't. That would be stepping over the line. They had boundaries and she wouldn't be the one to break them. Confronting their desire for one another through words would only make it more real.
Her gaze shifts to the side and his head lowers to rest in the junction between her neck and shoulder. She's surprised and shocked. This s the most intimate moment of her life and suddenly she is too afraid to move. She has no experience and now he has removed from her brain all memory of why she came here in the first place.
Then she feels his lips on her neck, placing little kisses there and sucking gently. Suddenly, she isn't afraid anymore, and every dirty, passion-filled thought she paints each night when she imagines it is his fingers bringing her to release, surfaces.
She moans and his hand moves from its grasp on her arm to snake around her waist, bringing her closer to him, their eyes making contact again.
'Oh, Will.' His name escapes her lips in a whisper so soft she doesn't think he actually hears her.
'What do you want me to do to you Emma? Where do you want me to touch you?' A noise between a moan and a whimper escapes between her lips and he only presses himself closer, their eyes remaining locked.
'Everywhere.'
His hand travels down to grasp her thigh lightly and brings it up to his hip. She wraps it around and he places his strong hands on her behind for her to wrap the other leg around his torso. With her legs strongly wrapped around his body, eyes never breaking contact, he pushes her against the wall and begins to rock into her, his best friend.
'Oh, baby,' he groans in pleasure and she pulls away abruptly at the pet name she heard him call his wife at the Acafellas show, when she was sitting alone at the bar as she watched the picture-perfect couple order drinks.
Their eyes lock for a moment and he freezes in question, unaware, as his hand leaves her perfectly sculpted face. Not once has he kissed her thin, pink lips and he wants to change that as she pouts, her eyes wide as she slides down the wall between him, making a move to leave, the reality of the situation sinking in. She straightens her clothing and swallows, as their eyes never loose contact.
He doesn't act to stop her, knowing that although he is more aroused than he has ever been in his life, and all they did was touch, his heart screams for her to trust him.
Before she completely leaves the room, she turns in the door way and stands straight and prim.
'When I went to sleep last night, I wanted you to want to make love to me,' she speaks honestly and confidently.
He swallows and looks at her in question.
'But now I realise that I want to be the only one you make love to.'
'I want that too, Emma.'
She smiles sadly and leaves quietly, as he listens to the steps she takes down the hallway of the institute of education where he has just learnt a great deal about himself and his best friend.
And he realises that if change occurs, it needs to happen completely. If not, routine is always the safest option.
