Just the thought of...

Just thinking of her provokes so many emotions.

Just the simple thought of a tilt of her head, her hair falling down to her sides and her eyes on me makes me squirm. Her slow but beautiful smile growing as she rubs her hands across my chest, her gentle laughter as she sees how nervous I get everytime she touches me. And then the thought of desire, how enticing every curve of her body is and the knowledge that she feels the same of me. The thought of skin on skin, our bodies melting together with slick sweat and grasping hands as they desperately feel their way across each other. And then the truth pops, I'm alone at home and so is she. But I know she still thinks of me in the same way.

And then as I get up to shower, the thoughts turn and twist like a wounded boxer throwing his desperate punches into thin air. I think of other men violating her, touching her where I had once laid claim to myself. I feel my gorge rise, a bitter and guttural snarl building in my throat and escaping through my limbs with barely checked aggression. I shake my arms out and crank my neck around, feeling my muscles awaken, blood flowing through my veins and heart rate spike. I think of other men saying words and phrases I know could never be as true as what we once had and I turn the dial to maximum, feeling the hot water race across my body.

I grit my teeth in the shower, feeling my neck muscles bunch and tighten as my open and close my jaw in a controlled fury. As I think of every other man that's touched her, no matter how insignificant, I look down on my own body and evaluate. I imagine breaking his nose, picking him up by the waist and slamming him down on the pavement, ducking a punch and hammering my fists into his ribs over and over.

And then I think of the loss.

I imagine losing and the humiliation it would bring and I start to sober up, like a drunk being brought back to consciousness with IV's. The world around me loses its colour, and everything slowly begins to fade back to greys and whites. I imagine her yelling at me, telling me how fucking stupid I am for even thinking that me hurting someone she now cares about could make any shred of difference. I imagine lying on my back, physically and emotionally drained with bruises and blood scattered across my defeated body as she walks away.

I dry myself with a towel, my features relaxed and my world quiet. As I reach for my socks I hear her laughter as another man tickles her ribcage and moves his fingers up to her armpit and continues his torment. I imagine her hysterical and high pitched squeals as she tries to heave away, but he is too big and too strong and manhandles her back down to continue tickling and making her laugh. As my boxers slide on I see her pushing her hands and fingers to his chest, gliding down to his stomach and pelvis; I see her bite her lip and breath quicken as she thinks of what she wants to do.

I come out refreshed but trapped in my past. I think of her alone, I look around my own house and see nothing but distractions and idle time wasters. I think of what I've lost and begin to feel a familiar nothingness creep into my heart and head, already welcoming the blackness of incoherent and idle thought. I open my textbooks and she disappears, replaced with roaring muskets and economic figures.

She's gone until I talk to her again, but it always starts and ends the same.