Restless

Pacing. Always pacing. That’s all she did these days, paced. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t do anything. Her mind was absolutely buzzing, whirring, spinning round and round in never ending circles. All she could do was pace, back and forth, back and forth, wearing a hole in the carpet. It was threadbare already, ratty and old, but now you could see the tracks in it where she hadn’t stopped. 

God, what was she going to do with herself? She couldn’t think, couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep…hadn’t been able to since that bloody red head had walked into her life and waltzed back out again as quickly as she’d come. Hell, they hadn’t even talked, just made eyes at each other across the bar with  flirty wink and a grin - and then she’d never seen the woman again. 

That had been a week ago, and it was driving her crazy - as was evident by the pacing. All she wanted to know was who the woman was and if she had been definitely flirting with her, but no. She had no way of getting in contact with her at all. 

Groaning, she pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes, continuing her pacing. She’d done this so many times now, walked this stretch of hall she knew it so well that she didn’t even need to see where she was going. Five more steps, then turn. Then fifteen, then turn and repeat over and over again, endlessly walking up and down that one stretch of hall, down the tattered rug that had been there for years. 

Well, at least it was good exercise. 

Author's Note

Day three of a thirty day writing challenge.