FEEL

32. Hanker Sore

Hanker Sore ~ finding someone so attractive it actually kinda pisses you off.

~ The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows ~

~°~

My mother, a big Bible fanatic, would always say that a sin by thought is as bad as a sin by action. I think about that all the time. If we were all running on impulse, if we had no grip on our own selves, what destruction would we cause? Or what beauty?

Sometimes I look at Mr Pierce and think about all the artistry that must run across his mind. I can imagine the poems that reside there that might never touch paper because he doesn't think it good enough. The brilliant ideas that I might never hear. Sometimes, we would be halfway through dinner and he would have a pen and his notebook close by, and I would see it in his eyes the moment a rhyme scheme hits him. And he would scribble ink on paper faster than anything I'd ever seen before.

This only leaves me to conclude that his brain must be a wonderful place. If I was able, I would find residence in it. I'd engulf myself in the warmth of his effortless kindness and soak in the phenomenonal philosophies that guide his morals.

What boyishness must he be hiding in there, too, I wonder. What inappropriate joke makes him burst into a laughter akin to that of a teenage boy? What random impulses does he hold back, like those I get when I suddenly decide not to step on the lines along the tiles, or to reach the kitchen before the microwave timer runs out. What childish habits does he still hold on to? Like enjoying the thrill of collecting useless objects or finding fascination in torturing bugs.

Other times, I look at him, though, and I realize that there's an obscured edge to him that reeks of unadulterated profligacy. That his mind, however magnificent and worth exploring, has a darkness that consumes him so much that it spills out through his eyes, possesses them with something that burns hotter than the deepest flames of hell itself. That it hardens his expression like he's trying to keep it at bay, trying to contain it before it blows and consumes everything in its vicinity. And I'm usually in his vicinity.

A part of me knows that I should be afraid. It's the girl in me, I think, that knows by instincts when he looks at her that those thoughts mean her no well. That if she were to enter his mind and read them clear as day, her spine would chill in terror and she would never look at him the same again. The other part though, the deeply curious and developing woman, wants to incite them. She knows that despite their decadence, their wickedness, their defiled morality, those thoughts were the purest side of his masculinity. They were imposed onto him by the rawest vessels of his virility.

And she fiends for them. She wants to tempt them out of their confines, watch them wreak havoc. Watch them possess him in beyond just the eyes, but in the body, in the soul, in every atom in his being.

Twisted, yes, but isn't it human? To be tweaked a little different than the average other person? To relish in some thoughts and deeds that we shouldn't?

He invades my thoughts more than usual tonight. So much that I can't sleep. Which I didn't think would happen, seeing as I didn't see much of him today. These past few weeks of my being here, we had slipped into a comfortable routine. Although a little rocky in the beginning, we found our way around a symphony that played together well.

The very first time I came here, I remember having asked Mr Pierce if he spends a lot of time in his office, to which he replied, “A healthy amount, if I were to be the judge.” It so turns out that he's an awful judge. The amount of time he spends in there was as much time it takes to deliver a baby. Today, he didn't even come out to eat. And it seems my appetite has come to rely on him, because I couldn't eat, neither.