It's like an alarm going off in your head. You want to react to it, respond to it. Hell, sometimes you just want to shut the damn thing off. But you resist it, ignore it, shrug it off; it'll go away, you decide. If I don't mess with it, it'll eventually give up and fade away.
Ah, but it doesn't, the guilt. It just manages to grow. Every time you touch him, it grows. You don't want to touch him, but God almighty, there's just something about the kid that makes you want to throw your arm around him or hug him. Were you ever this...desperate for touch before?
And the guilt grows as you come to realize that there is meaning behind your physical contact. A touch on the shoulder, a hand on his chest...you want to get closer, more intimate. Archie merely laughs or giggles, thinking it's all pure fun and games. That laugh, it echoes through your ears and sends a shiver up your spine. There's that alarm again, screaming in your head.
You calmly ignore it. And the guilt grows some more. Yet you continue your affection, lavishly finding ways to touch him that won't make him suspect anything and that won't make the guilt eat at you like a hungry beast. Hugs, pats on the shoulder, even going as far to place your hand on his for a millisecond, only to satisfy that urge to know what it'd be like to feel that skin against yours. Archie doesn't think anything of it and damn, if that doesn't make you feel worse.
Oh, but you do. You wake up in a cold sweat from a feverish dream, cheeks burning, eyes a blazing, and heart pounding. The alarm, it's been going off ever since you laid down to sleep that night. You glance around to find your pillow in your arms, your fingers grasping it tightly and you think, 'This...this can't be right. Where's Archie?' Only to come to grips with the fact that you were, indeed, dreaming of the boy and you were holding him close and it was wonderful and perfect and you could smell his hair and taste his skin and hear his breathing.
You shake your head, hoping to clear the visuals from your mind, but they won't leave. You can see him, clear as day, next to you, eyes shining brightly, that smile on his lips; you can hear that laugh and oh, it makes you shiver again. Only, you find that you've become aroused. With a bite of your lip, you manage to look down and when you see yourself, you choke out a sigh. With trembling hands, you take care of yourself. You don't even notice the tears at the corners of your eyes as you do so.
You're thinking of him. Every smile, every laugh, it consumes you, feeding your brain with mental imagery as you relieve yourself. Once it's over, you sit on your bed, staring at your soiled hands with a look of awe and disgust. You suddenly feel embarrassed, knowing that the kid was in the next room sleeping and here you are, just having gotten off...to thoughts of him. The alarms blare in your mind and now, you finally give in.
You fall back onto the sheets with a shaky sigh. Pulling the covers around you tightly as if to hide your shame. Tears leak and fall, droplets staining the pillow that you carelessly discarded before relieving yourself. You twitch as you hear the kid's steady breathing and you find yourself wondering what his sleeping face looks like. And with that, you drift off into a troubled sleep.
The guilt. It kept growing and you ignored it. Now as you toss and turn, trying every which way to get comfortable, it consumes you. With a heavy heart, you realize that you've fallen for the kid. And dammit, you've fallen hard. But you know it's impossible. Yet, you don't seem to care.
The guilt, it devours you whole.